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Transcription

Book One – Temple of Assassins
Wars of Vindication Saga
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The landscape was littered with dead. The once lush fields had been carved into
a quagmire by the raging war. Mortar shells blasted the land, spewing mud and rock
in a violent shower that cascaded over the defensive line of troops. The relentless
crack of bolter fire with intermittent lascannon salvos kept the soldiers pressed close
to the ground, scurrying through dirt for veiled safety. Through the rivers of mud,
squads heaved replacement weapon platforms into position on the protective lip of a
dormant volcano. The behemoth mountain had exploded millennia ago leaving a wide
basin miles across the base providing natural fortifications to the side that controlled
the crest. Soldiers returned fire into the advancing Imperial Guard lines as they
received a cascade of shells that dropped among the assembled masses ripping apart
flesh and limbs, splicing blood into the downpour. Orders were barked over the
screams of dying men, rallying the spirits of the valiant; the broken were locked in
their personal hells unable to escape the terror. All were commanded to fight and fight
they did. The low grumbling tracks of a Leman Russ shook the souls of the defensive
line as it ground its way into the melee followed by a fan of Imperial Guard that swept
over the crest and into the armies defending Lorrqua. Overhead, rockets launched
from unseen bowels miles from the theatre were futilely cruising into the fray, then
detonated by the continuous sub-munitions pumped into air creating a permanent
black smoke that scorched the sky. The renegade planet had maintained its resistance
for just over two hundred days, as the Imperial forces tried to simultaneously
obliterate the opposition on three continents.
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It was not as the Imperial commanders expected, but then campaigns rarely
were. Imperial battlecruisers had deployed their landing craft under continued
aggression from the still active orbital defence platforms then retired outside their
strike zone, waiting until called upon. The Imperial Guard were planet bound. Each
side slowly ebbed and flowed across the battlefields like thick treacle. Heroic acts
were lost among the savagery. The defenders became increasingly desperate to rally
its citizens into greater support for increased munitions production under intense
physical and psychological pressure until the economy finally collapsed and martial
law was imposed. The government demanded significant sacrifice as did the Generals
on the field till they scored the victory that had halted the Imperial advance, placing
them for the first time on the back foot. Yet over the seven Terran months since the
campaign began, each side rallied and broke, ever increasing the death toll.
The Last Act was approved for deployment by the Lorrquans, but delivery
would take weeks. They had relied on troop strength against the Imperium and their
better judgement to deploy a scaled down version of a planet killer. Its creators still
calculated a worryingly high chance that it would sink through the mantle and
devastate the core. It was an optimistic appraisal that the many thousands of warstrewn dead would instantly be joined by only a few thousand more. In the worst case
scenario, it would be billions. They knew that both Imperial and Lorrquan troops
would be vaporized, but the incursion would end and the planet finally annexed from
the Emperor’s control to allow any survivors to face a new battle for survival over the
scorched land. Somehow Lorrquan ideology would continue. Yet, despite the eminent
secrecy, the plans had leaked out. The Emperor’s forces knew death was coming and
called for reinforcements.
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A wave of 481st Infantry crashed over the advanced positions as the battle tank
soaked up defensive fire and returned death with horrifying glory. Lorrquan soldiers
fell like dominos wherever the weapons of the Mechanicum pointed. Several bright
lances struck against the tank, the intense energy fizzled against the armour rendering
the paintwork a blackened char as it trudged down onto the opposition. A priest led
the chant, spearheading the Guard down the dead volcano’s inner edge.
Heavier weapons platforms turned to face the tide. The front line of Guardsmen
collapsed at the incoming fire, causing those behind to tumble. A few squads hung
behind the safety shield of the tank, until the perfect lines of the Leman Russ were
warped and distorted by a violent explosion. The armour finally penetrated by a
meltagun, pouring the hypercharged molecules of the beam into the fuel cells with
devastating consequences. The wreckage flew outwards, striking friend and foe with
equal abandon. Lorrquan troops capitalised on its destruction and cut deeper into the
oncoming soldiers. The Imperial Guard at the lip surveyed the rapidly failing putsch
on the down slope and called for a retreat. The Lorrquans mopped up the stragglers
and the wounded, but held the counter charge from cresting the basin until orders
were given for an advance.
A soldier surveyed the scene on the opposite slope of the volcano through long
range binoculars. It was the closest the Imperial Guard had come to breaking through
the outer perimeter, but their failure would cost them dearly. They had lost six tanks
prior to penetrating the defence along the basin and would spend days being driven
back by the heavy cannons that would pour their retribution into the distant landscape.
Embedded into the hardened magma the Lorrquans had cut their headquarters for this
part of the campaign. It was deigned strategic in that it represented the doorway to
rich mineral deposits required for their manufacturing industry, but also a number of
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lakes that were shepherded by the rising mountains of Denos behind the Lorrquan
defence giving fresh water and powering the generators at the dams lower down. The
network also provided shelter for the wounded returning from the battlefield, before
they could be sent on the long journey through the mountains to the city nestled
behind. The soldier stowed his binoculars and drew his jacket tighter round him,
shutting out the cold rain. The black and tan material had proudly borne a double vee
of the rank Sergeant, but now a partial sling. He turned heavily and limped into a
cavern, as hails of victory resounded from the troops in the basin.
The mountainous domain was under the purview of General Isroth, a man thrust
into leadership after his predecessors had been killed in action and found the burdens
a worthy price with the attempt at saving his home planet. Those in his service found
the General to be a formidable strategist and his confidence inspired a string of
victories against the enemy. It was well known that Isroth would brook no formality
of platitudes or disobedience in his men. It did not matter whether a soldier went into
the fray screaming or crying, as long as they had the gun and fired on the enemy until
they died was all that he demanded. If the senior officers had to lead their men into a
hail of fire, then so be it. Their replacements would be similarly focussed. Death was
a necessary and worthy price for independence.
The command centre was frantic. A steady stream of adjuncts flowed through
with constant updates from the battlefield and their carriers returned swiftly. Advisors,
statisticians, commanders all plied advice, but Isroth had the final say. Guards lined
the approaches to the room as the Sergeant limped his way into the maelstrom. He did
his best to stand to attention, straightening his mud-stained uniform and saluted.
Others crashed by, delivering reports straight to junior officers who had direct feed to
the senior commanders. The Sergeant was too lowly to be recognised, so he pressed
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further towards the command table. A phalanx of security closed together preventing
his access, readily identifying the interloper trying to make his way into the ranks of
senior officials. He grabbed the shoulder of one of the guards and tried to push his
way through, but the single-handed effort was rebuffed by the powerful sentry. Had
he caught his hand against the articulated joints, he would have had his fingers
severed on the bladed design of the glossy power armour worn by the General’s
security team.
‘Move back, Sergeant.’ The guard’s voice was delivered with sternly.
‘Out of my way Corporal.’ He fixed him with a dangerous glare, but the guard
was unmoving.
‘You have no authority here. Move back. Now!’ The guard said shaking his
head.
‘I have vital intelligence that could change the outcome of this war! Get out of
my way dammit.’ The Sergeant shouted, causing heads to turn.
The guard raised his gun, pointing directly at the Sergeant’s chest and
immediately joined by the other guards that had established a cordon in the room. ‘It
doesn’t matter to me what you have, but if you do not stand back I will fire.’
‘No!’ He shouted again. The guard gritted his teeth.
‘Corporal!’ A voice boomed from behind them. ‘Allow the Sergeant through.’
General Isroth straightened his back from a hunched posture over the data feed-outs
embedded into the resin surface of the table. His surrounding advisors had looks of
contempt pasted on their collective faces. The guards parted allowing the limping
figure to approach. He saluted again, agony evidently accompanied every move.
General Isroth returned the gesture.
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‘Now Sergeant, what is so important that you bring my command centre to a
standstill?’
‘Sir. I have extracted vital intelligence from a captured Lieutenant in the
Imperial Guard about their intended deployment of reinforces. It could devastate our
resurgence along the southern lines and collapse our campaign on this continent. I
request a pass to leave the front line. I must report to the Field Marshall’s office.’
‘Son. We cannot allow soldiers to escape their duties and we have protocols to
follow. Have your squad hand over the captured officer to Captain Theret. If we can
substantiate the claims then I will communicate your findings to the Field Marshall.’
It was delivered coolly and calmly.
The Sergeant was visibly shaking. ‘With all due respect General, my squad
were eliminated and the Lieutenant died whilst I brought him here. I have a partial
transcript and my testimony. It must go to the Field Marshall!’
The General maintained a level tone, but his face became stern to ensure that
there was no misunderstanding that this was a conversation. ‘I’m sorry for their loss,
but we need you out there. We will patch you up and assign a new squad to your
command.’ Isroth flicked his hand at an adjunct to carry out his orders.
The Sergeant did not budge, shrugging off the adjunct’s attempt to guide him
away. ‘My apologies General, but that wont be enough!’ He barked, slamming a
bloody hand against the table.
This time, Isroth looked in bewilderment that any junior would dare to speak to
him in such a fashion. Six feet of table separated him from this emotionally burdened
Sergeant and he had no hesitation in leaping over the short distance and knocking
some discipline into the officer himself. Even as the thought passed through his mind,
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he caught an undercurrent of intense fury in the Sergeant and decided that it would be
better to shoot him instead. Unconsciously he fingered his sidearm.
‘And what exactly will be enough?’
‘Nothing, General, save your voice print,’ the Sergeant’s anger gave way to a
slowly spreading smile, ‘your face and a retinal scan.’
The smile turned into a sneer as the Sergeant’s face partly melted and reformed.
The General whitened in realisation. Six feet of table was too short a distance for his
own safety and suddenly wished it was six feet of plascrete between them. Whatever
words formed in his throat died as the Sergeant’s limping manner transformed in a
slick killer that appeared in an instant on his side of table. The colourful skin of the
Sergeant was washed away to a shade only fractionally warmer than bleached bone. A
hand grabbed his throat and a thumb shoved straight into his larynx. With a twist a
sickening crack filled the room.
The advisors looked on in horror as their General slumped to the table and
unceremoniously slid to the floor in a heap. The guards immediately brought their
weapons to bear, but found a curtain of people blocked line of sight as they tried to
rush to the aid of the General.
The Sergeant’s clothes became rags across the floor as the black tunic intruder
annihilated the throng. Gunshots ricocheted off the walls, thrashing monitors and
hapless bodies alike, as the assassin continued to weave outside the guns’ trajectory,
hacking and slashing at the intervening masses. Blood splattered the walls and pooled
on the floor, until the final gun went silent. The assassin’s form had begun to assume
feminine curves as she wondered through the pile of bodies, surveying the carnage
hand on hips. Then in a moment of resolute decision, pulled the General’s body on to
the table. The shock was still imprinted on his features. He had watched her vile
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killing of his throng whilst immobilised on the floor. Only his eyes could move, but
the screams of terror had filled his ears. Vomit spewed forth from his lips. Being
unable to wipe it away he began to choke.
The intruder found a canteen and washed his face. She tenderly stroked his
cheek and eyelids, then fingered them open. A quick flick and she plucked out an
eyeball, holding it close to peer inside to scan his retina, then slipped it into a freeze
bag and pocketed it secretly upon her tunic. It was a flawless operation without a hint
of emotion on her face. The General had screamed.
‘Thank you General. As recompense, I will accelerate your passing.’
She pressed a finger to his neck, which made a barely audible hiss. Within a few
heartbeats the General shuddered and died, succumbing to the powerful toxin in his
bloodstream.
‘You know, that’s quite a mess you’ve made!’ A cold voice called out from the
doorway that cut the silence of the dead.
The assassin turned and in realisation, ran. In an instant the room was vaporized
in a blinding light that preceded the sound of the explosion. The mountain above
collapsed into the room regaining the void of the command centre.
The target moved slowly down the street, weaving between the vendors and
their customers that formed a merry dance in the shadow of the tall gothic buildings
that lined the stalls along a long and well worn cobbled road. The atmosphere was
alive with the eagerness of traders to ply their wares on the heaving mass; the shouts
and cries of updated prices, diminishing stock and best bargains filled the air. The
smell of meats, fish and vegetables in various stages of freshness, or lack thereof,
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mingled with spices, perfumes and burnt oils, drifted along the street aided by the
frequent back-venting from the waste water drainage system.
The market place was a fair size, boasting several hundred stalls and thousands
of people filing through. The surrounding city was host to an Empyrean construction
that kissed the sky, one of many constructions on Terra attributing the glories of the
mankind’s saviour. Around the gigantic shrine were smaller temples, adding glory to
the whole. Each were staffed night and day with religious officials, burning various
oils and incense in praise of the Golden Light, engrossed in endless incantations for
their deliverance against the enveloping darkness. Several thousand curates and
clerics, predicants and shepherds all serving the head preacher of the sector, required
quarters in the local area. Then came the taskforce required to administrate and
coordinate the workings of the Ecclesiarchy’s duties and the throngs of visitors and
worshippers. Municipal services, the policing force, armies of servitors all dealing
with the minutiae of daily life within the sector border. Further out from the temples
were the dwellings of Imperial bureaucracy directly associated with Ecclesiarch
operations and these were inevitably supported by an armada of civil servants in
primary, secondary and tertiary layers. Several million people who were required to
serve, several million more filing through on their personal quests in search a
meaningful engagement with the Emperor’s spirit.
Whether or not the searchers found resolution to their quests was a matter of
self-determination. Billions had travelled to Terra and perhaps only half ever manage
to return to their point of origin. Many tried to scrabble a living on their journey home,
but some stayed and died on Terra, attempting to scratch a purpose in the world of
their saviour. The Imperium had little time for the dregs of humanity, if they could not
serve or fight then they were no vassals for the Emperor’s enlightenment and were
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treated accordingly. Unwanted and discarded. This left millions vying for existence in
the remote corners of each sector, trading with likeminded souls.
Sunshine poured over the buildings into the marketplace, cloying the air. It took
a strong stomach to walk the many streets of the market without retching. Tyet had
only a few moments to acclimatise to the pungent smells, arriving from the relative
coolness of the underground train network.
He surveyed a tall man dressed in a finely embroidered tunic that flowed off his
shoulders, enveloping a dark coloured robe beneath. His face clean and bright as if to
match the resplendent colours. An interesting way to hide oneself in a crowd, Tyet
reflected. Only a few others in the melee were equally flamboyant, but by virtue of
the threads he blended into anonymity. Ecclesiarchy all, except this one. He was
closely followed by a humanoid figure shrouded in grey robes, but the juddered
motion in his walk betrayed the servitor beneath. A mechanically enhanced vat-born
drone only capable of elementary functions. With the correct reprogramming and
cybernetic enhancements they could be adapted to more sophisticated roles though by
the heavy footfalls and the way the upper body rocked, the mechanical componentry
on this particular model was in need of a major overhaul. There were several bodies
behind the servitor, milling between adjacent stalls, allowing Tyet to slip between the
throng, eyeing a familiar face carried by a slender figure.
Araya had grace combined with beauty and could have easily passed as a cohort
to a High Lord of the Council, though only two of the current members would have
engaged in such companionship. She watched the sites around her, allowing the gaze
to pass over Tyet, there was no connection with his eyes. No recognition.
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Each member of the team would cycle through one of five faces. Every face was
rehearsed since the first phase of their training at the Temple, so the assassin’s brick
could easily identify each other in a dense crowd.
It was not necessary to keep a respectable distance from the target, but it
afforded a longer period on the trace and lowered the number of changeovers. He
watched Araya abruptly over-shooting her mark and fail to blend back into the swarm
quickly enough as the duo stopped to send his servitor back to negotiate with a vendor
they previously visited.
He would have to admonish Araya for such carelessness, but caught himself.
This was the reason they worked in a four-man squad today, the size of the crowd was
oppressive. The garish individual, Kumek, was to be eliminated as soon as the
datafiles were handed over and the recipient followed. Under no other circumstances
could the elimination take place. Not that the reasons behind the details were of any
concern, only the duty to carry them out as directed.
However, the drop was going to occur during the day with lots of bodies around.
Tyet had conducted the background research on the area and it was going to be
impossible to keep them under surveillance by himself. The chances of revealing
oneself on a solo shadow and kill mission were high under these conditions and under
such circumstances, the target would refuse the meet and quickly dispose of the data
files. Hence an assassin brick was deployed as an absolute maximum; any more than
four agents would have been an insult.
Tyet had positioned himself on the other side of the street, watching Araya
adopt a sauntering pace and taking particular interest in several of the stalls further
down. Although he could not see them he knew Lunal and Chaan, the other two
members of the team, had adopted positions along the street, waiting for the change-
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over. Each member was wearing dissimilar outfits. Only he was wearing a full length
cloak and hood, which fitted well with the number of comparable styles worn by the
populous this sector. The heat forced his body to adjust the internal regulation of
temperature, but still found it uncomfortable.
Tyet was fingering the detail of a dragon etched into a bronze reliquary, using
the highly polished surface to pick out the path of the servitor. The imprinted dragon
had been run through by a spear held firmly by a valiant Emperor; a common
depiction used throughout the Imperium of a former titanic battle whose exact details
had diminished with time. Like all the other objects on the stall, they had supposedly
been blessed by a Cardinal of the Holy Synod, which was obviously reflected in the
outrageous price tag Tyet thought.
Noticing the servitor approaching his master, Tyet returned the receptacle to
stand amongst the myriad of its duplicates, firmly shaking his head to the angst of the
merchant who began to beckon other onlookers with a boisterous bark.
Tyet moved in parallel to the target, taking in the assortment of commodities
and occasionally stealing glances to the other side of the street. He rankled his nose
passing a vent that carried a putrid stench, thankfully his facial expressions were
masked by the deep hood. The crowd seemed unaware to the olfactory overload.
Splitting his focus between acting as a normal member of the crowd and maintaining
complete awareness of the objective was a demanding process, on top of which
knowing his mind was paying too much attention on the pace of his footfalls, the
detail of how he carried himself compounded the distraction.
He allowed his stresses to float free little, emptying himself of the quandary to
find solace in his training, which could now automatically take over. It was a trick he
had to learn quickly in the academy in order to make the selection for the
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Assassinorum. Even at a young age, self-control of the mind was a necessity, as were
many other attributes. Whilst it was usual to find tube-bourns in the ranks of the
Assassinorum, it was not uncommon for natural born to be admitted, especially into
the Callidus Temple. Polymorphine could only change the external visage, but natural
human responses were key to infiltration and long term duplication. Whatever natural
actually meant in this millennium.
He wondered at the people around him, their thoughts, their drives and purpose.
How different they were from him, a man with a specific directive. He could never
feel what they felt; the majority of his basic emotions were suppressed by years of
training. Only a few that were useful to infiltration were heightened in order to boost
the efficiency of his conduct. It was done willingly. Even the suppression of his
emotional make-up to turn a human into a finely tuned tool, barbarous and deadly,
wielded by the Emperor in attempts to maintain stability in all corners of the galaxy,
was a desirable escape from the stagnant life of trillions scattered over numerous
worlds. Every task assigned to the Officio Assassinorum was seized upon by the
agents as an honourable opportunity to serve; even in the simple task of bagging a
senior officiary of the Administratum.
As the thoughts toiled through his mind, the more inimitable elements of the
multitude came into sharp focus, though largely helped by the raucous noise that
accompanied a figure for which the crowd was keen to part and regard from a safer
distance.
The target, with the servitor close by, had also stopped to watch the spectacle,
affording Tyet the opportunity to regard the gangly figure dressed in, what Tyet
assumed, was a sack tied around his waist that stopped just above his knees. It took a
split second to realise that the individual was not wearing a decorative jumper and
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leggings. In fact the majority of the individual’s exposed skin was tattooed in rich
colour. Only the larger pieces of art etched on top of his head were discernible; the
all-seeing eye of the Ecclesiarchy and a twin-headed eagle of the Imperium.
The zealot was murmuring with frequent outbursts, loudly proclaiming the
truths of the Emperor.
‘He whispers to me, he tells me your thoughts. O the holiest of redeemers
knows your mind. You cannot conceal your darkest thoughts from him. You are a tree
in the forest trying to stand against the firestorm. Everyone must face the coming
conflagration, but I can help you stand firm. The Emperor has spoken to me. I know
what you need, I can help you. In His mercy he has sent me as your confessor’ He
reverted back to the muttering, casting a wild gaze over the multitude, his arms
gesticulating at random.
Tyet lost sight of Araya and the servitor as the throng had condensed to the
edges of the street to avoid coming within striking distance themselves from the
zealot’s stare, but stay within eager sight of the spectacle.
‘You cannot hide from our illustrious Emperor. The reckoning will come, you
must prepare yourselves. I see you.’ He pointed at a woman in the crowd. ‘What
future will your children have, if you are not redeemed? Purify yourself, here, now,
and your offspring may yet be set free of your damnation.’
He scanned the street, but neither the servitor nor his master could be seen. Tyet
began to move more forcibly through the revelry; it had conspired against him when it
had moments before concealed him.
‘I am cast into the night. A lantern to guide your footfalls, my brothers and
sisters. You are waning and you do not know it. Too many years have passed, but you
hear His voice today. Now!’
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Tyet made his apologies as he pushed passed a number of observers standing
idly by. He judged that a little more energy in the writhing mass would go unnoticed.
Pushing further into melee, he collided with another, a stocky gentleman that only
came up to his chest, but powerfully built. He grabbed Tyet by the arm, trying to
arrest his fall, but his momentum carried him over. Tyet snapped his other arm out
with lightening speed, grabbing a handful of garment, and heaved the gentleman back
onto his feet.
‘Thank you brother. I could have been trampled under foot and no-one would
have noticed till the sun went down.’ He spoke in Low Gothic, pulling out a
handkerchief to mop his sweaty brow.
Tyet made to move off, but the gentleman again took a firm grip of his forearm.
‘Wait a moment. I have yet to apologise for my carelessness.’
‘Forget it.’ Tyet interjected tersely. He again made to depart, but the gentleman
put his stocky frame in front of him.
‘Please brother. Allow me to seek forgiveness.’ He peered up, scanning the
hooded recess of Tyet’s cloak. ‘You do know it is the Celebration of Aquillis? Come,
let us share a drink and toast the old git.’
The zealot restarted his chastising as the gentleman maintained a firm grip. He
pulled a flask from a hip pocket, proffering it to Tyet. It seemed he had imbibed a
reasonable quantity already.
‘Another time.’ Tyet fought the impulse to snap the gentleman’s neck, but
confrontation with individuals not on the approved list for this assignment was strictly
forbidden. He bit his tongue in trying to maintain control. Surely the others would
have picked up the trail.
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No, he could not leave it for granted. He was in charge of this mission, his
responsibility. He allowed the remonstrations of his instructors to fill his mind, which
was always useful for focussing the mind.
‘Come man, the sun certainly brings out the crazies,’ he said nodding in the
direction of the tattooed zealot ‘let us wish them well. You must be hot under those
dark layers. Are you a man of the cloth? Why conceal yourself under there?’
Tyet paused and in a gravelly voice said ‘Leprosy.’
In an instant, the gentleman released his grip and took steps back, wiping his
hand against his thigh. He desperately tried to move back finding no refuge, he traced
a wide berth and disappeared towards the stalls from where Tyet had just come.
In this age, though bioengineering had been a finely tuned science for many
decades, the spread of humanity to the far reaches of the galaxy had also increased
mankind’s exposure to hostile diseases. A number of the old ones, once thought to be
eradicated, reared there ugly head. Often they would mutate, spreading with vigour
amongst the weak and weary pilgrims who transported them back to terra.
Regardless of the fact the Tyet was perfectly healthy, it had the desired effect,
seeing the sudden panic forming on his captor’s face. He finally broke through to the
other side of the street and quickened his pace in pursuit of the target.
There was a nagging doubt in his mind. Celebration of Aquillis. Tyet felt a
falling sensation in the pit of his stomach in realisation that he had missed an
important piece of information in his research. Tracking through larger crowds would
not have affected the mission, but celebrations of past glory seekers were frequently
accompanied with disruption, agitation and most notably altercations between the
locals and pilgrims.
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Thinking of how to do have done things differently was futile. Ultimately it
made no difference. If his error compounded his mistakes, the Inquisitor would ensure
he was suitably chastised. The team had sworn their oaths to the Emperor in front of
the Head of Operations, nothing but loyalty to the mission remained. It had already
cost him losing sight of the mark, he could not afford failure. It was not his Officio’s
way. Now was the moment to see the mission through.
There was still something lacking with the scene. For any celebration would be
watched by the sector guard and so far Tyet had not spotted the uniformed protectors.
He worked his way through to the booths lining the other side of the street. The
gatherers had thinned allowing Tyet to quicken his pace, though the throng filling the
centre of the street still heaved around the Emperor’s anointed of the day, causing
buffeting of individuals into his path. He scanned the passing faces to ensure he did
not miss them doubling back.
In side-stepping a burly woman meandering across his path, he felt a hand pull
at his elbow. Surely the inebriated dwarf would not have returned, thought Tyet as he
spun round preparing to box punch the assailant in the mid-rift. It would be a quick
jab just beneath the solar plexus into the diaphragm of the lung and with luck, the
action would be concealed by his whirling cloak.
As he struck out, he felt his wrist deflected. ‘Geez Tyet, that was close.’ Chaan
said in Low Gothic, having palmed away the strike with a purely reflex reaction.
‘Sorry, I thought you were… Never mind. Where is he, Chaan?’ Tyet asked,
reciprocating in Low Gothic.
‘Lunal picked him up, down the alley way to the left. They entered thirty
seconds ago. It’s as we said before. The package will be handed over away from the
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main street.’ She ran her hand through one side of her shoulder length blonde hair,
tucking it behind her ear.
Tyet relaxed a little round the shoulders. ‘What about Araya?’
Chaan shook her head. ‘She hasn’t passed me.’
‘I lost track of her after she passed the mark and didn’t see her on the way down
either.’ Tyet looked back down from where he came, hopelessly trying to pick Araya.
‘Damn it. Okay, I’ll follow Kumek. Can you wait at the entrance in case Araya comes
back this way? But I’ll need you shadowing us. It’s a warren down there.’
Chaan looked at him crossly. ‘For crying out loud Tyet, don’t ask me to do
something on this mission. Tell me! Do you think you’re the other one with
something to prove just because you’re one of the few males to have made it into
Callidus Temple?’
He let the admonition wash over him, ‘wait one minute maximum. Then follow
me in.’
He spun on his heel and walked between the tall buildings that formed a narrow
alleyway, barely wide enough for two people to pass side-by-side. Tyet unclipped his
cloak and cast it onto the pile of rubbish, strewn from the market, along one side. The
instant the cloak was parted from skin contact, an activator chemical within the fabric
began degrading the polymer chains, which cascaded a slow release of an aggressive
biochemical that would destroy any skin, hair and DNA sample left behind. He still
had a canvas jacket concealing part of his arsenal, the remainder was buried within his
skin, and he needed to move more freely and still maintain stealth.
The buildings were once part of the network of temples, constructed from
Ashlar with elaborately decorated corbels well worn by the centuries. Light had
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difficulty penetrating the gaps between the tall structures around him. The shadows
would allow Lunal to have kept reasonably close to the target.
Tyet knew she was capable, but feeling the responsibility for the mission he had
to ensure there was a successful conclusion. One of the team had to back up the
shadow.
The alleyway soon split into three directions, one to the left one to right and the
main branching round to the right further ahead, each unobservable from the main
street and each twisting to the contours of the elaborate building work, leaving no
more than fifty meters of viewable path. He sprinted past the left turn, then skidded to
a halt, having seen something from the corner of his eye. He backed up and gazed
down the length of the passage. There were no people present, which he had already
registered as he ran past, but spotted a luminescent flash from a wall slightly receded
from the entrance.
The device was no larger than a finger nail, and that was purely to make the
handling of these patches easier. The light was emitted at an ultra-violet wavelength,
unobservable to human eyes, but not to the implants in Tyet’s retina. He would lodge
a request to increase the pulse repetition rate. He almost missed it.
He resumed his sprint past the directional locator left by Lunal, leaving the
trailing voices of the market place behind. Penetrating further into the warren of back
streets, the textures of the walls changed from smooth cut beige stone to worn and
cracked surfaces decorated in various shades of mould. Run off from broken pipework several stories up subjected the alley to permanent dampness, pools collected
and coagulated with dust and airborne contaminants drifting in on the wind. A semieffectual drainage system took away the excess waste water, but the stench from
puddles of stagnated rain water mixed with the urine of vagrants and lost pilgrims,
19
looking for make shift accommodation overnight, could be tasted in the air. There
were few doors, mostly bricked up and metal-barred. Windows blackened with dust
and grime. In places ironwork stretched down from the roofs. Escape ladders from a
former age concerned with safety, now left to rust and ruin.
The alley turned sharply right. He crouched down shoulder against the
brickwork and carefully peaked his head down the next stretch. It was deserted. He
picked himself up and ran down to a T-junction, he could see another locator at the
end of the left wall.
Repeating the cautious approach he scanned first along the right hand turn and
then the left. A third of the way down the left turn was a heap, covered in a gray wrap,
collapsed against the wall. Just beyond was a turning, off to the right, as the rest of the
alleyway pushed further down and to the left, heading back towards the market.
Tyet pulled a pistol from under his jacket, affixed a silencer and double-checked
the chamber was loaded before moving off, keeping the mound on the floor in
alignment with the barrel. He had not moved that far down when his suspicions
confirmed that the servitor, having received a massive neural energy shock frying its
motor functions, laid motionless.
Lunal must have quickly and silently dispatched the servitor who had been left
on guard, but had presumably already charged down to the next intersection. Chaan
should have entered the alleyway by now, but his mind was distracted with the
thought of Araya. His subconscious fought back and berated him for not focussing on
the task ahead.
Readying himself through recitation of the litany, he neared the right turning
and motioned the pistol skyward. Pulling out an extendable thin periscope, he pushed
the end just past the corner of the building. Being field issue it was unobtrusive, but
20
also had a small view piece that limited the field of vision round corners or over short
walls and hedges.
Lunal had moved herself thirty meters down and into a recess of a doorway.
Only an infrared scan had picked out her body heat. Another thirty meters beyond
stood Kumek in conversation with another figure trying to keep to the confines of a
doorway, though their bulk broke beyond the shadows. Now that Kumek had stopped,
Tyet could not risk entering the alleyway to advance towards Lunal’s position. She
must have moved in Kumek’s shadow to have gotten so far without being observed by
the recipient. He could just make out a package being extracted from an internal
pocket and passed to the beneficiary.
Two shots rang out in close succession filling the confines of the alleyway.
Kumek and the figure slumped to the ground, blood seeping across the floor. The
package slipping from his fingers.
Tyet’s pulse quickened. He had not seen the muzzle flash from Lunal’s weapon.
A third shot pierced the air. Lunal fell from the shadow onto the street.
Heart in his mouth he gripped the handle of the pistol till his knuckles whitened.
He dropped the periscope, in an instant called up a replay in his mnemonics, watching
the felling motion of Kumek. The exposure angles of Lunal. Unobservable muzzle
flash. It could only mean one place the sniper was positioned.
Directly overhead.
21
◄2►
Even as the last thought formulated in his mind, Tyet saw a slender object
extended over the crenellations eight stories up. Not wishing to trust his
marksmanship with a pistol over that of, what had to be, a highly proficient sniper, he
sprang from his crouching position and sprinted back down the passage to the fork,
taking refuge in a small recess of a door. Moving with impossible speed, a shot just
missed his leg as he ran. He spread himself as thinly as possible against the blackened
door, trying to bring his heart rate under control. The quick sprint combined with the
adrenalin of witnessing the triple execution, left him short for breath.
Lunal, the datafile, the mission. How could so much go so wrong, so quickly?
He pined inwardly, but recollected an old adage: Mourn, if you are alive later to
mourn.
He knew there were mercenaries that operated within the Imperium but never
on Terra. Freelance and highly skilled ex-military or guerrilla soldiers sought
employment after their worlds were forced into compliance and frequently rejecting
enlistment into the Imperial Guard. Of course, their skills paled by comparison to
those of the Assassinorum, which had the accumulated experience of thousands of
compliant worlds and several millennia to hone their skills. To hunt an agent of the
Officio Assassinorum was a grievous insult that would always ended up with the
hunter dead and yet Lunal had been killed, Araya missing and the datafile left in the
open.
This had to be down to chance. They must have been trailing Kumek, known
about the datafile and sniper’s crosshairs had found Tyet’s brick unknowingly.
22
Evaluating his options, his sanctuary had become a prison. The periscope lay fifteen
meters from him, taunting, inviting, but hopelessly beyond reach. There was no
conceivable way of moving beyond the doorway without leaving himself exposed and
now there was no way he would be able to tell if the assassin was relocating.
The street in which he sought refuge was still deserted, save for the felled
servitor, yet he could just hear soft splashes echoing from a neighbouring alleyway.
He had to protect his potential salvation, ‘Sniper high left, cover fire.’ He
shouted in combat language; it was the chosen verbal communication of his assassin
brick as devised solely by the members themselves for assignment in hostile situations
where one did not want to be understood. Even other agents would have a difficult
time cracking the code, though in this situation it would be easy to gauge the general
idea conveyed.
Another shot punched into the pavement a hand width distance from his right
foot. The sniper must have moved to the extreme corner of the building and lean as
far out as possible. Tyet shuffled to his left to improve his cover. He smashed his
elbow against the door, more out of frustration than a concerted attempt to smash
through the reinforced entrance. The door reverberated, but failed to yield.
He saw the faint outline of a periscope appear from a side street angled towards
the skyline, quickly followed by two silenced shots. Chaan had wisely kept quiet till
she fired her first shots.
As the incoming sniper fire was redirected to the new target, Tyet ran back
towards his periscope, readdressing his attention only to scoop up the object. The
sniper had withdrawn partway behind the protection of the ramparts, which afforded
Tyet the opportunity to move unobserved, but no opportunity to guarantee elimination.
23
Deciding against firing, he did not want to push the assailant back and grant them the
chance of picking him off as he came over the top.
He quickly scanned the top edges of the surrounding buildings and determined,
as sure as he could be, was only facing a single gunman.
An escape ladder hung down the side of the building, leading all the way to the
roof. The structure was significantly coated with rust in places, having eaten away a
few of the rungs. He was relying on Chaan to provide enough cover fire so he could
reach the top. Putting his trust in their training, he jumped towards the wall, kicking
off with his right foot to gain additional height and grabbed the first rung.
Tyet pulled himself up to standing and trained his pistol upwards. He had, rather
painfully, learned to fire ambidextrous, so kept his firearm in his right hand using his
left to help climb the ladder. As he reached the missing rungs, only the side support of
the ladder was available and he had to use both hands to shimmy further upwards,
which was accompanied by an increase in number of rounds being pumped into the
sniper’s position by Chaan.
As he brought his arm to bear, the sniper outline disappeared. He could feel the
adrenalin accelerate his heartbeat to pound harder. He knew he was in a vulnerable
position, but with limited alternatives he continued to climb. A thought suddenly
occurred to him. Had he given himself over as a sacrifice, maintain the sniper’s focus
on him with a frenetic dash from cover, the sniper would have been more exposed and
given Chaan the best chance of a kill shot. He berated himself for not coming up with
the option earlier. Better to risk death and yield a successful mission than to prolong
this ambush and lose it all.
He neared the top as the assailant reappeared further down the parapet, having
shifted positions to gain a better angle on Chaan, which unfortunately allowed the
24
sniper to hide the majority of their personage behind the merlons. The roof possessed
a narrow wall walk, between the battlement and a large based spire that ascended
sharply towards the heavens, providing a limited means of escape.
Tyet slipped his foot between the wall and a rung to provide stability to slip his
left hand to unhook a small palm sized device whilst keeping the pistol trained on the
sniper’s position. The rung snapped loudly causing him to lurch backwards and
scrabble with the railings to arrest his fall. By the time he corrected himself, the sniper
had moved out of sight.
‘Target lost.’ Chaan called out from below in combat language.
He twisted the tab on the grenade and threw it onto the wall walk. Armed with a
four second delay, Tyet launched himself up and through the crenelle as the flashbang
detonated. The short radius pressure wave blasted loose a number of finials to the
street below accompanied with an intense blinding light. Tyet’s implants blocked the
majority of the flare and automatically switched to longer wavelengths. There was a
lot of optical deformation that was surprising to Tyet, the sniper had to be an
advanced hardware to disrupt high wavelength scans. The software integrated into his
retinal implants ran several simultaneous scans to find a shadow moving at the
periphery of the flashbang. Tyet fired twice, once at the target and the other just ahead
of its movement.
The debris began to settle, coating the surrounding masonry in grey and brown
dust that had accumulated where the rain was insufficient to wash it away,
pockmarked with a few larger chunks a loosened brickwork. The flashbang was not
designed to cause structural damage, but the ageing conditions of the buildings
conspired against him. The target had moved toward the roof entrance, Tyet ran
training his pistol at the access point. On a cursory glance the door had not been
25
forced opened, which probably meant the sniper had picked the lock and had some
rudimentary training for covert operations. Collecting and processing data throughout
the mission always increased the chances of success. It was not that Tyet had a feeling
of disquiet, such emotional states were drilled out of him throughout his training, but
observing the minutiae did raise the certain questions about what this operative
represented.
As he neared the door, his vision adjusted for the darkness emanating out of the
entrance. A small landing that swept sharply downwards. He noted the landings and
stairs were constructed from reinforced concrete and would provide some cover, but
this was also true for the assailant. Each could cling to the walls as they spiralled
down the staircase without proffering a target. The flashbang had had little effect, so
Tyet withdrew a customised grenade. It was an idea he stumbled across in the
archives for an assignment that had little practicality on conventional missions. He
was thankful for some foresight that in a tracking mission the device would be very
useful and a thought hung in his mind as to whether his teacher had guided him to that
search particular search. It certainly drew a raised eyebrow by the Mechanicum
Adeptus engineer assigned to the weapons school of the Assassinorum. It was a
simple conversion of a flashbang where the outer layers included nanobots that were
designed to adhere to almost any surface and emit a traceable signal on a specific
frequency. If the grenade functioned properly, the nanobots would dissipate rapidly
into the local space sticking to the target, but the signal was only traceable for a few
minutes as their power cell rapidly diminished.
The stairwell was a small space and would provide suitable channelling of the
explosion. He threw the device down the central node, which detonated after half a
second. The assailant should pass the flashbang grenade off as another attempt to
26
disorientate. The scanner was integrated into Tyet’s forearm, as with all prosthetics
and devices throughout his body, was hardwired to his thought routines and began
searching the selected frequency and through sonic bouncing triangulating possible
moving nanobots. A ghost image was formulated showing the target had already
descended to the third floor, who must having been moving with incredible speed.
They must have sacrificed maintaining aim on him for putting as much distance
between them as possible.
Unhooking the catch to spider silk wire, Tyet made a fast attachment to the wall,
the other was secured through a controllable dispenser attached to his waist. He dove
over the railings into freefall with his pistol extended out front, allowing himself to
descend four floors before snapping the dispenser closed. The spider silk drew taught
against the railings on the top floor sending him careening towards the wall. The
spider silk dispenser detached as his body flew into the surface underneath the third
floor landing. He twisted in his short fall to the second floor landing in a crouched
position, dissipating the kinetic energy through his bionics. It was a moment of
sacrifice that the sniper had not capitalised on.
His scanner had shown that the assailant had proceeded down to the next level
then backtracked up half-flight of stairs and proceeded through a door on the third
floor. Tyet worked his way up to the same floor. He tracked the sniper to rest in an
anteroom that provided good coverage of the main room, which was pooled with light
creeping between the wooden slats boarding up the windows. Dust had accumulated
in the corners of the room drawn through the eddy currents that had followed light
from outside. The buildings in this sector were earmarked for demolition, often ideal
breeding grounds for xenocs elsewhere in the Imperium, but on the secure firmament
of Terra, would only house the faithful, dragged by their will across the wastes of
27
space to find their fervour tempered by the harsh realities of an isolating and
unforgiving homeworld.
Tyet could see the footprints where the person had sprinted into the room and
turned sharply to the right where the anteroom the scanner had indicated they had
taken refuge. Despite a number of other rooms off the main room with their doors
open or missing, discerning whether these rooms were interlinked was difficult. His
mnemonics flagged up several attack strategies followed by a litany for the Emperor.
At this final thought, he could feel a stimulant coursing through his body, not unlike a
state of ecstasy and adrenaline rush combined together, but without the fogginess.
Tyet selected his last flashbang for a one second detonation delay, which was
timed to coincide with him diving low across the anteroom entrance and firing a
spread volley. He continued his roll to take protection on the other side of the
doorway at lightning speed. No shots were returned. It took a fraction of a second to
replay the optical images, looking for similar distortion or ghost images, but could not
locate any. The scanner still received the correct frequency trace from inside, but
could not fix an exact location. He computed the rough dimensions of the room,
selecting the highest probability position and loading in an evasive stagger and
rotation pattern then charged inside.
It took a full three seconds for Tyet to move erratically from the doorway to the
opposing wall, having discharged his pistol twenty times. A figure slumped prone to
the floor, landing awkwardly. The only sound came from the rifle as it clattered away.
The sniper had demonstrated exception agility in climbing above the door frame and
finding a foothold on the narrow pelmet and angling the rifle to cover the entrance; he
had fired three shots all of which had hit empty flooring.
28
Rising, Tyet crossed to the figure, clasped a hand around the neck and singlehandedly picked him up. The figure betrayed no sign of movement. Tyet examined
the masculine face framed by medium length, dirty brown hair. The nose had been
broken and badly reset, which seemed to be a focal point for deep scarring that
pointed from across his face. As the head flopped to one side, he could see two metal
studs implanted into the temple. Tyet froze. The realization of the camaraderie
bestowed by those marks throughout various Astartes divisions of the Imperium
caused him to instinctively release the figure.
‘Bad move, junior’
The words were spoken from outside the room at the same time as the full
weight of a blast weapon caught the side of Tyet’s head, snapping it backwards. He
collapsed as his implants came to a crashing halt, plunging him into darkness.
29
◄3►
He was falling through black, sharp pain angling through any senses that cared
to respond, like a rag doll crashing against a rocky shore in the middle of the night.
He tried to focus, but the throbbing became more acute, centring close to Tyet’s face.
He pushed it away allowing his mind to relax back into the void, but shapes began to
form in his awareness, refusing to evaporate. A myriad of figures clothed in black and
grey, sharp metal edges splintering the nothingness. Flashes of whirring light mixing
into red. One figure came into sharp focus, a curiosity accentuated by feminine curves.
A warm feeling grew at the familiarity, her lips whispering his name over and over
again.
This time the pain manifest and the grey shifted to lighter tones, blurry shapes
flickered in the diminishing void.
‘Tyet!’ the voice screamed, ‘wake up you useless cur’.
He opened his eyes to see Araya gripping his collar. She swiped the back of her
hand towards his cheek, but this time he blocked the movement. He could feel her
channelled raw power, his bionics only just coping with the restraint. She finally gave
up the attempt.
In sudden realisation of the owner of the face he shouted ‘Where the hell did
you get to’.
She snorted in a dismissive manner, ‘Good to see you’ve got your priorities in
order.’
His senses came fully online, having dropped out at the blast impact. He sat
upright to find himself on a cramped floor, surrounded by men and women in black
30
suits. The majority had their head garbs removed, chatting to one another over the
grumbling tones of the airlift transport they occupied.
‘That sniper. Who the hell was that? Who took me out?’
‘Ex-Veterans, co-opted for this mission.’
‘I should have expected something like this to happen. We’re nearing our final
stages and this was a live mission. Everything counts and we got swiped by a couple
of old timers from the Space Marine chapters.’
‘They would have chosen the very best for this level of testing. You’re just
damned lucky they chose a point six calibre and managed a glancing hit otherwise
your grey matter would have been displayed for all to see. A stand down code was
piped through before the coup de grace. The second marine had enough restraint at
seeing his partner tumble, but they had some serious force field protection. So he’ll
pull through.’
‘Rossarius?’
‘Not quite, but whatever they had, meant his gene-seed will continue in its
current body.’
Her words did not quite achieve the comfort he sought.
‘Still, I’m sure you’ve given an old veteran ample source for nightmares for the
next few years.’ she continued.
‘Yeah, especially because of his breath in the morning!’ a friendly
eavesdropping on the conversation conjoined.
The craft was flying high over temples and administratum towers. His
mnemonics were updating his thought processes as to the events surrounding the
blackout. He looked around the craft and saw Chaan not too far away, Lunal
conscious, but hooked up to a medical bench. He righted himself, swinging down onto
31
unreliable legs causing him to stumble into Araya, knocking her backwards. It drew
laughter from a group wearing masks of accentuated cranial features, menacing leers
fixed in bone white. Tyet ignored them as Araya stabilised him.
‘Thank the Emperor you’re alright’ he remarked at Lunal.
She turned her head with a look of anguish, ‘No thanks to you’ and turned to
face away from him.
‘The sniper put a round through her second heart.’ Araya stated matter of factly.
Tyet looked at Araya and shook his head, ‘This exercise was brutal in more
ways than one, hey?’
‘Yeah, but don’t fret Ty. She’s just bitter at being caught, like the rest of us.
Much easier to lash out at the ones closest to you’. She stroked his cheek. His
reinforced skull could easily cope with most hand to hand assaults, but the skin was
left tenderised at her attempt at resuscitation.
‘And I thought such emotions were routinely beaten out of us for a reason.’
She leaned closer, whispering in his ear. ‘You can’t fight a woman’s primal
emotions Ty. Something you’re going to have to find out sooner or later.’
He couldn’t decide if it was a threat or a promise. She laughed. It was a peculiar
oxymoron given the adverse situation they were in a few hours ago.
Tyet attempted to get to his feet, but a combination of his condition and the
turbulence caused him to tumble. Araya caught him and dumped him back on the
deck. He waved his hand in thanks.
‘So we lost the mission?’ it was almost rhetorical.
She nodded.
‘They already take a download?’
She nodded again. He sighed.
32
‘We all get scragged?’
‘Technically all were hits, except for Chaan. So there was someone to read our
names out at the Memorial service that actually knew us, but also to tell just how
badly we screwed up, had the Marines not stood down.’
It was a sinking feeling that all his Temple conditioning could not avoid. ‘So
where did you get to anyhow?’
Araya shrugged as though indignant of her own mistakes and preferred not to
air them. He could not hold her gaze for long and instead looked about the hold. There
were around sixty students in this training cohort, a few being tended to by medics. A
couple of teachers were working their way through the throng, followed by scribes
taking dictations of the events. To Tyet is was the familiarity of organisation during
mobilisation.
‘Have you been debriefed yet?’
‘No. Just a cursory exchange from teacher Smyth.’ She nodded towards in the
direction of the teacher.
Smyth had operational command of missions for both students and full agents, a
notoriously strict individual, long retired from the field as a Vindicare assassin. Now
he was the bane of any would-be assassin that did not measure up to his ideals of what
the Officio Assassinorum should produce. Given that its agents were to be the
toughest and most capable across the Imperium, Smyth believed he had just cause to
give the students every reason to despise him through the methods employed, which
had often been likened to those used by the Inquisitors. Painful, bloody and
occasionally terminal. If one believed the rumours, Smyth was one of the few teachers
that actively volunteered to deal with the failures of new recruits. Rumours were
33
commonplace in the Temple by its very nature of training, operations and even
politics.
He would be in charge of their debrief once they returned to the temple, the
harshest critic whether the student excelled or not. A prospect that Tyet was not
desiring. An assassin could withstand an excruciating level of pain, but an assassin
teacher could devise new means of going beyond those levels. Ably assisted by an
inquisitor. It was widely considered an honour and a matter of pride for each student
to endure, though something privately that the individual would never relish.
Tyet replayed his team’s performance looking for where they and in particular
he went wrong. He was in charge and it would fall in his shoulders the hardest.
Though there was one saving grace.
‘Any idea how many actual terminations on mission?’
‘No more than six as far as I can tell. Thercina and Strobel didn’t recover from
injuries sustained. And a brick from Clade Vindicare were wiped out.’
Tyet swore then looked over at Lunal, ‘I’d better make amends’.
Araya grasped an arm and hauled him to his feet. ‘Your funeral’ she piped.
Tyet looked directly into her eyes. ‘I may have screwed this mission up, but we
all got through alive and I can’t have breaches in my team.’ He turned towards Lunal
and added under his breath ‘For as long as it is my team of course’.
Before he could take a step a booming voice called out. ‘Ah, looks like sleeping
beauty has awoken’ the voice was loud above whine of the transport’s turbines and
almost synthetic in quality. A number of students laughed and a few sneered.
Araya spun round quickly, Tyet at a slower pace, to see a stocky, powerfully
built figure, a head shorter than them both, but no less intimidating. He bore extensive
bio-augmentations, pipework and tubes lacing their way between the limbs. His throat
34
had been replaced with a vox, a sophisticated communications port that also doubled
as an ultrafine filtration and environmental breathing system. The designers reckoned
the vox could faithfully reproduce speech, but to a trained ear could never
successfully reproduce mimicry. His neck also bore a head hardwired to his upper
torso that was often covered with a grinning skull when on mission. Such was the
agent of the Clade Eversor.
‘Is this training getting to you Tyet? Having to sleep off the worry and stress of
command? You simpering pissant.’ The figure jeered.
‘Lyetan, when you due to back in the fridge? Just stepped out to snort your
latest fix? Better get back before your diarrheatic brain defrosts and seeps out of your
nose.’
The words lashed out from Tyet’s lips laced with menace. The corners of
Lyetan’s mouth turned down into a feral snarl, the counter-taunt had hit the mark.
Tyet smiled in self-congratulations of the effect.
‘Dishonouring the Emperor with a complete failure in the mission. Letting
yourself get splashed by old men. I’m surprised you haven’t taken your own life in
shame.’
He spat at the floor in front of Tyet, who took a step towards Lyetan, the tone of
body language not missed by Araya. A number of heads had turned towards the
standoff, surrounding Callidus students preparing themselves to join the fray should it
escalate. It never did. It was law that no student will ever take another student’s life,
though minor scuffles were inevitable. When an Eversor was involved, even a student
was often uncontrollable and the teachers did their best to keep them separated to
avoid an over-exuberant interchange leading to the dismemberment.
She squeezed between the two, pushing at Tyet’s shoulder.
35
‘Not now Ty, not here.’ She tried to frog march her group leader away from the
rising friction. The Teachers had sensed the confrontation and started to circle.
‘Yeah you don’t want to endure Smyth’s debrief without all your limbs intact.’
He laughed as he pushed his way back through the huddle towards the groups of
Eversor students. Chatting across the deck resumed.
Rivalry between the students was useful for training, so the teachers maintained.
Yet with the Eversor and Callidus a deeper seated enmity had grown over many
centuries. It was forbidden for an assassin to kill another, unless they were classified
rogue or had failed training and were no longer considered assassins.
‘I know what you’re going to say, but it’s not worth the hassle right now. He
just wants you to compound today’s failure with you demonstrating to the Teachers a
lack of emotional control.’ She cautioned.
‘The Curse of the Callidus.’ He referred to the historic problem of their Temple;
of all the assassins, the Callidus were the only ones that had to use emotions or the
appearance of emotions in their daily routines. Sometimes it was difficult to
distinguish between the two states. ‘You’re right, but one day I’m going to put him
down, the self-righteous bastard.’ Tyet shrugged away the indignation. ‘I suppose he
was successful?’
‘I guess so. Don’t feel dejected Ty, we’re still breathing and can still wreak the
Emperor’s vengeance among the stars.’
Tyet moved beside Lunal to offer his apologies. The foreground continued to
blur past the transporter with taller structures in the distance passing more slowly,
silhouetted magnificently by the approaching dusk.
36
He woke with a start, sweat pouring off his body. Tyet motioned his hand over
the illuminator, which gave a gentle light to his dormitory. It took a few moment to
calm his breathing. He ripped off his top, using it to adsorb the sweat from his body,
then threw it into laundry chute.
It was a small room with two bunk beds on either side of the main access way,
with a smaller door on the opposite wall leading off to a bathroom. It was spartan,
save for a few token mementos adorning the walls along each bunk and a computer
terminal with detachable screens for the occupants. A few books and scrolls were
neatly stacked away, with an open copy of Litanies of the Emperor sat proudly on a
lectern ready to give advice and encouragement to its readers. Devotions were a part
of their training schedule, but not as strict as the monastic lifestyle of the Adeptus
Astartes.
Despite its frugality it had been home for the last four years. Each student had
started in the Temple in larger dormitories and as the years passed, they were
transferred into smaller rooms. Whilst they still had student status, they would have to
share, but this had added benefits in the education regimen. If they successfully
graduated, they would be transferred into the agent’s sector belonging to each Clade
and could seek individual accommodation, although there was limited need for
isolation for an active assassin as each agent would likely spend much of their time on
board starships flitting between assignments.
Students were admitted at various stages of physiological progression and from
a variety of backgrounds. Their training was centralised within the Temple. All four
Clades were housed within the vast towers, halls and underground bastions. The
Clade Temples had originally been decentralised, each having their own secret
location scattered throughout Terra. After the Horus Heresy, vast numbers of agents
37
were lost and the selection and training criteria had caused the then Temple’s
Grandmaster to bring the remaining schools together to foster a unified spirit.
His internal clock showed it was early, breakfast had started. Splashing water on
his face in trying to wash away the grogginess brought little relief. There was a
haunting sensation, an ill-defined phantom he associated very clearly with the
nightmare that woke him, threatening to pounce in reality.
The last twenty-four hours had been a gruelling experience and it was not yet
over. The long flight back from the mission site had not helped, with students
swapping details of their own mission, a few other failures and a number of successes.
He knew each assignment was to be assessed on their own merits, but he took Lunal’s
injuries personally. The bullet severed her second heart, but as the medic had later
discovered, microscopic fragments had punctured her lungs, stomach and kidneys.
This was difficult to identify until blood and bodily fluids clotted causing
haemorrhaging and successive organ failure. Each Callidus agent underwent
physiological modifications, not as extensive as in the other Temples due to the need
to pass as human in whatever guise was necessary, but it provided basic internal
upgrades to boost performance and organ redundancies. As soon as the bio scanner
reported further problems, the medic had injected a paralysis drug, flooded her lungs
with an oxy-rich fluid and shoved her into a suspended animation unit commonly
used for Eversor agents. On arrival at the Temple, the cryo-units were first to be offloaded into the Temple’s medical facility, the field medic had placated Tyet saying
that damage done the viral-tipped fragmentation round could be remedied and Lunal
would recover in time from her injuries.
‘Troubled dreams?’ Araya was sat upright in her bunk above his and let her
legs swing casually over the side. She wriggled her toes playfully at him. The
38
regulation black sleep suit was an ultrafine weave and skin tight to aid breathability
and maintain ambient temperature. Over the years Tyet had known her, Araya had
blossomed, a formidable body, lithe and buxom. Her beauty equally matched by her
deadliness and it was the combination of both qualities that he respected on a
professional level and admired on a deeper level.
‘Somewhat.’ He palmed away her legs and sat on his bunk resting against the
wall, Araya jumped down and shuffled to his side.
‘Want to talk about it?’
He peered into her eyes, finding sincerity. Quickly checking Chaan’s bunk to
find her turned away, breathing deeply, still asleep.
‘The teachers would have my hide. It’s the same images that I was told to purge.
No matter what I try, they still return. Only they are getting more intensive, but
despite them being so clear in my mind, I cannot make any sense of them.’
He paused to capture his thoughts. ‘I was walking on a barren plain, the earth
scorched of all life, now cracked and pockmarked. It’s night time, but two moons
provide an ethereal glow to the landscape. I can sense others about me. A battalion of
Space Marines, but I don’t know their Chapter House. The livery and colour scheme
are strange to me, but I sense that I belong with them as an agent of the Officio
Assassiorum. The marching produces a slow thrum, a regular beat kicking up large
volumes of dust slowly blotting the stars and I hear whispers.’
Tyet took a moment to compose himself. ‘Many are garbled, but the voices I
can make out utter words of heresy. They’re coming from all around us and in an
instant the beat of the march stops. The dust blow away and I see all the Marines
around me have been laid to waste. Their power armour torn to shreds, blood soaks
the landscape in all directions and I’m standing there in the middle of it all wearing a
39
simple white gown, but the blood is rising up my tunic. Shapes form in the blood.
Humans or humanoids materialize, each trying to grab me and pull me into the lake of
blood. A piercing scream rings in my ears.
‘A female shrill permeates my entire body, a focal point of the whispers and
murmurs. She says she is Kassandera, a purveyor of truths. She tells me of the
mankind’s downfall at the hands of the Emperor. The Emperor she calls the true
deceiver. I respond, but no words escape my lips, so I try to reach out and throttle her,
but she laughs at my immobility. My arms and legs are restrained and it takes all my
strength to keep standing upright. She tells me to listen to her song and then begins to
sing a strange and foul melody. I want to vomit and can no longer withstand the
restraints.
‘The largest moon falls from the sky as I am pulled under the surface and I
begin to drown in blood. I hold my breath till my lungs burn and then I wake. The
images are bizarre, but no less vivd. I recite them clearly as they appeared in my
dreams.’
She hung off every word, not offering advice until he had finished.
‘Who is she?’
‘No idea. Her face isn’t familiar and I’ve never been able to find the name in the
archives.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘The concern is that I, we, have been
through some gruelling training sessions on xenocs and the horrors of the Warp and
yet this repetitive dream is the only thing that affects me this way. Pretty weird huh?’
‘We’ve all been under a lot of pressure, it’s bound to manifest itself in some
way.’ She offered in a placating tone.
‘Except the training missions will become increasingly intensive and if my
subconscious is cracking then my future in the Assassin’s Temple will be curtailed.’
40
‘You’ve got to stop worrying about it. Don’t take what happen to Lunal
personally. Yes you could have had a better result if you led it differently, but don’t
forget we’re all capable individuals and we’re all vying for graduation, so we’re as
much to blame for failing in our respective parts.’
‘So you’re wanting to be put on a tighter rein?’ He grinned.
She shrugged smiling.
‘Ty, you’ve got to keep your mind centred in reality.’ She placed her hand on
his arm. ‘Don’t allow these fantasies any quarter. One word of this gets to the
Teachers, you’ll be burned as a heretic. Keep your mind focussed in the here and now.
If you need a distraction, why not let me be your focus.’
He cocked his head towards her, unsure of the implications of her words. Araya
pulled his arm and cupped her free hand around the back of his head drawing him
closer. She kissed him gently on the forehead, his cheeks, his mouth. She made for a
more passionate kiss, but sensed his trepidation. Pulling away, still hand in hand, she
could see his puzzled look.
‘Hey soften up a little.’
‘I’m sorry Araya.’ Tyet stroked and kissed her hand. ‘It’s just that you’re an
outstanding student, the best in our year. That and other things, well you’re just a lot
intimidating.’
‘And so those other women were your way of distancing yourself from me?’
She queried, her face unreadable.
‘What other women? Anyway, I know you are the desire of any of the Callidus
students for practise, for pleasure. And teachers too from what I gather.’ Why the hell
did I say that? As soon as it was out, he wished he could retract those words. ‘I
mean...’
41
Araya pulled back a little. ‘Have you been spying on me?’ She said crossly.
‘That’s part of my career, or at least it’s going to be if I survive the next few
days.’
‘And you think that gives you a right to invade my privacy?’ Araya still
maintained her scowl.
‘You know very well we are not afforded privacy.’ He paused in the iciness,
trying to think of a way to salvage the moment. ‘Perhaps I acted out of sliver of envy.
You confuse me as much as you excite me. How could I ever think myself your
match?’
Araya pondered his words for a moment and a smile broke through. ‘Nice
recovery, Ty.’ She positively beamed, his heart leapt.
Tyet took the advantage, drawing her into a close embrace. His hands began to
wander, his finger tips caressing her hair, her neck working downwards. A sensual
kiss turned into a fierce battle, reflecting his inner emotions. Araya grabbed his hands
in a vicelike grip, he wasn’t sure whether to fight it.
Araya flashed a glance towards Chaan and back to Tyet. ‘Come on.’
She drew him off the bed and into the bathroom. They held each other close and
hands wondered again, searching, caressing. Tyet suddenly hesitated, seemingly
waiting for permission to proceed to the next step; Araya sensing his arousing interest,
pulled off her top, her long black hair splashing down around her shoulders. She
flicked her garment around Tyet’s neck grabbing hold of loose end, entrapping his
neck, and forced him down on to her breasts. From a half crouch position, he lapped
away near suffocating in her cleavage. He allowed his hands to caress her back then
buttocks and gently teased down her trousers to start probing with his tongue.
42
Araya grabbed his head again directing him to where she wanted. It was only a
short while before she began to whimper with pleasure and then soon after ripped his
trousers away, giving his erection special attention. He offered no resistance to her
machinations, ignoring the pain as they crashed into the bathroom furniture. Tyet was
knocked backward to floor where Araya mounted him forcing him deep inside. His
hands stroked her body as she moved with fervour, her body began to glisten with
sweat in the luminescence of the strip lighting.
Tyet bit his lip, holding on to the moment. A minute or an hour passed in which
he lost himself in the emotion and excitement caused by the rhythmic motions, until at
last she screamed in ecstasy and then both let go in climax.
‘Well you seem to be capable of focussing when given suitable incentive.’ She
said finally.
Tyet drew her into another kiss, but she batted his hands away, dismounted him
and lent against the basin, looking at him as though surveying a conquest. A
expression of intrigue filled an austere face.
‘Well?’ she asked.
Tyet propped himself up, staring at her magnificent body, until meeting the eyes
and recognising the seriousness.
‘Very er... nice.’ He ventured.
‘Nice?’ she repeated monotonically.
‘Did I get it wrong?’
She cuffed him over the head. ‘Have you learned anything about coupling
rituals Tyet? How many hours of sex education, art of romance and seduction lessons
have we been subjected to over the last few years? How much practise have you had
43
with the other women in our House or the female faithful outside these walls? And all
you can say is “nice”!’
By the Emperor, how did she know about those? It hit him suddenly that she
must have been ordered to seduce men from the pilgrimage as part of honing her
skills and it would not have taken a genius to apply that was equally true for the male
counterparts of the Callidus. I’m such an idiot.
‘You’re going to be a dead giveaway if you act like that on mission.’ She
remarked almost seething.
His face dropped the smile for consternation as Araya jumped into the shower
and scrubbed as if she liked nothing better than to remove a taint. He stared at the
water sluicing her body; her words now cooling what the sight moments ago had
aroused in him. She turned to allow the water to fall over her hair and back and
exchanged the stare, daring him to continue looking as she cleansed her front. A
deadpan expression caused him to finally look away.
Tyet sighed inwardly, picking himself off the floor and pulled on his trunks. He
checked the recently acquired scars in the mirror, which had almost healed with the
accelerants in his blood stream.
As she stepped out of the shower, she asked, ‘have you got a better response for
me yet?’
Still feeling crestfallen, Tyet tied a towel round his waist, wiped his mouth and
turned to leave.
‘Pity’ she said under her breath.
He stomped back into the dormitory to find Chaan standing, talking with
Teacher Smyth.
44
‘I hope your workout has put you in a suitable frame of mind, student Tyet’
Smyth said, nodding towards the bathroom door.
Tyet wondered if he should feel embarrassed. Smyth might have been there for
a while collecting more ammunition to be entered on his permanent records. A second
figure entered who was flagged by a sentinel bedecked in deep purple robes tied to a
bronze Imperial crest. Inquisitor status. Tyet’s stomach dropped and Inquisitor Cireez
would have registered the dilation in his pupils. The exact response of trepidation that
he gave all students.
‘We’ve got a few questions for you.’
Not so strangely, the thought of not going with them didn’t cross his mind.
45
◄4►
Tyet sat in the corner of the canteen staring blankly at the coffee steaming in his
cup. The shaking had stopped, an annoying involuntary reaction to the abuse liberally
applied to the nervous system during his “debriefing”. The scars would heal with time,
but the memories would not be purged. Besides, fully fledged agents accumulated no
medals; their success measured by their lifespan and the wounds collected between
life and death. Hot caffeine became a focal point to channel away some points of
deeper introspection that would be otherwise best left for a psychiatrist. That
profession had died millennia ago to be amalgamated with the rise of the Ecclesiarchy.
It was not unusual to undergo what would be generally regarded as torture; the
Inquisitors were particularly gifted at antagonising the human and occasional alien
body, pushing the barriers of pain well beyond its normal ability to endure. Certain
devices from an arcane era helped keep the mind conscious, whilst the flesh wreathed
in pain. The questions kept coming and when answers were given that did not meet
with satisfaction, it was soon followed by prolonged exposure to the machines. The
Astartes marines were a set of the toughest humans amalgamated into an army, but
only the senior commanders and heroes could endure the torture faced by the
assassins.
For a would-be assassin, this had become part of the regular training programme,
ensuring that the weakest wills and wandering minds were removed permanently from
the Temple. Callidus agents and perhaps the Vindicare, were most prone to this
technique, given that their bodies were kept largely as originally designed. The
Eversor had extensive internal rewiring that allowed the body to resist and should the
46
situation become lost and the body succumb then self-destruction. The Culexus were
practically immune. The Warp had tortured their bodies and minds from an early age
that mental-physical adaptation was instinctive. The gifting of the other Temple’s
agents would not be used on missions in a manner that would subject them to being
captured and interrogated, though it did happen.
The Callidus were masters of subterfuge, with their most powerful weapon
being a biophysicochemical transformation drug, polymorphine. The entire outer
visage of the user could be changed from its natural shape to an infinite variety and
complexity. With careful manipulation of the biochemical pathways and nerve
endings, the contortions and changes could be controlled, allowing the Callidus
assassin to adopt particular faces, which gave them special advantages for infiltrating
underground networks, maximum secured installations and occasionally alien
intelligence agencies through the impersonation of recognised individuals. Under such
conditions, this also required the assassin to adopt mannerisms and characteristics of
the user so that the impostor would not appear out-of-place when the infiltration
occurred. Changes in the basic personal interactions would immediately raise
suspicion. Each agent underwent extensive training in mimicking and attitude
adjustment and realignment, the original psychology should never be altered, but the
impersonation psyche carefully folded over the assassins core thoughts. These
missions would throw the agent into closer contact with humans, which also meant
increasing the chance of an assassin being caught and subjected to a variety of torture
techniques. Until the assassin escaped and killed their captors or died in the attempt.
In order to limit the chance of a Callidus member of breaking, each trainee was
subjected to intense sessions of physical, mental and psychological torment and the
Teachers sped up the evolutionary weeding out of weaker elements. They might even
47
have agreed it was barbaric, but in order for Temple Callidus to perform their duties,
they would say necessity outweighed the cruelty. The actions of one agent could steer
the entire population away from an eternity of anguish and subjugation.
It took many years to condition an agent and was the second single most cause
of ejection of unsuitable candidates from the Temple. So that the students could not
prepare their minds and bodies in advance by taking suppressants, the sessions with
the Inquisitor were kept random and always involved ingenuity in the methodology
employed. Though after each training mission, an Inquisitor would without fail pay
each of them a visit. The first single most cause of ejection from the Temple was
failure under interrogation.
Each time Tyet recalled the hours after the intimacy with Araya, the searing
pain was prevalent and potent. Blinding flashed permeated the mind, causing hands to
shake. The Teachers had taught them to not try and bury the agony, but subjugate it.
Consign it to a simple matter of flesh, something that the mind could detach itself
from. It was a trick that most of the students had yet to perfect. It was also valuable
moments to assess his own thoughts to the treatment, in an attempt to find ways of
controlling such reactions, but even from a philosophical standpoint, a human’s state
of mind and interaction with flesh was an intriguing conundrum.
He had just finished chatting with a quartet of second phase students. Moutis,
Rakneld, Essek and Yageo. They had arrived at the Temple at different moments, yet
had gravitated towards another. Being male and in the minority within the Callidus
division it was necessary for the comradeship to strengthen their resolve in a female
dominated environment. Tyet had met them in the dojo towards the end of their first
phase and had taken a liking to them, helping to prepare them for the transition into
the second phase. Each would-be-agent had a tremendous workload and in the
48
Temple, personal survival was paramount. Yet Tyet had taken time to assist, feeling
he was returning a favour that was bestowed him by a senior Callidus student during
his first phase. Chandra was her name. A truly amazing individual had left her mark
by breaking down his preconceptions about gender involvement in Imperial support
and assassinations.
He saw a little of his own recklessness in the quartet. It had started as an
innocuous challenge. A precocious, but egotistical Yageo had seen Tyet’s
performance in Echinn, what was widely held as a Culexus-only sport that Tyet had
managed to break into the lower ranks. Yageo had wanted glory and then lost
spectacularly to Tyet’s greater strength and mentallic prowess. Out of the four only
Rakneld possessed the strength capable of delivering incredible blows against Tyet’s
defence. He was not surprised to learn that Rakneld had been selected from Fenris,
but his affinity for Polymorphine outweighed his application to join the ranks of the
Space Wolves chapter. There was a feral element in his countenance that had not been
expunged, though fiercely loyal to the Callidus Temple. It was testament to his final
year of training that Tyet could counter Rakneld so quickly, thus invalidating his
opponent’s strength, easily turning aside the muscle.
Moutis was a natural leader, inspiring confidence in the quartet, and yet
adaptable under the direction of supervision. Essek and Yageo were equally capable,
but Tyet suspected a subtle timidity in Essek that would prohibit his transition into the
third phase. Yageo was the much needed injection of humour in the placid seriousness
of training, though as he freely acknowledged that his mouth got him into more
trouble than kept him out of it.
The quartet had stopped by to provide a cheery chastisement, which Tyet
rebuffed with tales of their own near failures and embarrassments. Callous words
49
were just words with emotional attachment and emotion was the weakness of the
beholder.
‘You look terrible.’ The familiarity of the voice snapped Tyet out of his reverie.
A fellow Callidus student in the same year as Tyet sat down, another of the few
males among a predominantly female Temple. It wasn’t that gender prejudice existed
in the recruitment stages, but the female body was often more susceptible to the
effects of polymorphine.
‘Are you ready for some company or still working off Inquisitor Cireez’s gentle
touch?’ Nysen asked.
Cireez was the velvet to the metal gauntlet of Teacher Smyth, yet Cireez’s
velvet was art and subtlety combined into the very essence of agony. The inquisitor
didn’t need a gauntlet. Tyet motioned to the vacant bench on the opposite side of the
table. Nysen sniffed the coffee mug as he sat.
‘Definitely needs something stronger in there.’
‘Except that we cannot drink enough synthol to overcome our accelerated
metabolism.’
‘I keep telling you to try Liana’s special brew after an interrogation. The only
thing to ever seen floor a student Eversor.’
Laughter belted out.
‘Better.’ Nysen remarked at his friend’s change of mood.
‘Yeah, that was some coming-of-age celebration. But if I remember correctly,
four had to have their stomachs relined, two actually went blind and had to have new
eye grafts, the Eversor was permanently discharged from the Temple and Liana spent
a month undertaking penal duties in, where was it, the Ecclesiarch’s septic complex.’
‘True, but it improved her underground infiltration technique!’
50
Tyet’s smile broadened, fighting the spasmodic pain jostling for attention at the
forefront of his thoughts.
‘You and she still relationship training.’
‘She scrubbed up well after that escapade and she is an enthusiastic training
partner. Even got to try a few of those Karma Sutra images you dug up in the Imperial
Archives. Damn she is flexible!’
‘Remember the punishment I got for removing them? The Chief Archivist has
no sense of humour. Anyway, going to have to be careful or you’ll both end up
incarcerated.’ If coupling was found to be anything other than casual without formal
approval of the Teachers, the partners were instantly handed over to the interrogators.
‘Not to worry. We both maintain diversity as the Teachers directed. However, I
hope that Liana will remain a long-term asset in that respect. All I got to do is bed
creatures less attractive than her!’ he winked. ‘And what’s this I hear about you
Araya?’
‘News travels fast. How did…’
‘Chaan.’ Nysen interjected. ‘You don’t really expect to keep these things a
secret in a community such as ours?’ It was rhetorical.
‘It just happened so quickly. I’m not even sure why she responded so...’ He
couldn’t find the right word for it.
‘Don’t knock it. Araya is exceptional. I would have tried popping her if she
wouldn’t have ripped my head off. Or have my testicles cut off by Liana.’
‘Don’t you find it odd at the amount of sex preparation we’re given for a
situation that may not arise in any mission we’re sent on.’
Nysen formed a contemplative look. ‘Compared to the rest of the programme,
it’s a minor fraction and it’s the only time we get to immerse ourselves in stimulation
51
rather than just simulation. Well that and trying a gender switch transformation, which
I recall you failed spectacularly at morphing into the female form.’
Tyet barked a cough.
‘You’ve obviously got an opinion, so why not share it.’ His friend familiar with
pattern of conversation.
Tyet looked around the canteen, one of the few places that students, teachers
and staff from across the Officio Assassinorum Temple would congregate. Students
taking a respite between lessons would often attend the mess in large numbers if
agents were due back from the field, in order to pick up stories, new skills or useful
hints. More often than not, missions were classified, so rumours were rife. It was the
place where legends were formed, tales of intrigue told to excite the younger elements.
Naturally, there were few Cullexus agents that would appear in this area. They
were too intense and creepy, that made most students and other Clade members avoid
them. Also, there were no full Eversor agents. Towards the latter half of their third
and final phase in the Temple training programme, their suppressor drugs were
withdrawn, allowing the most potent cocktail of stimulants, agitants and hormones
smash into their naturally aggressive tendencies. Eversor agents were submersed into
semi-cryosuspension between assignments as it would be almost impossible to release
them on their own volition without them killing everyone in their path, foe or friend.
So the Clades of Callidus and Vindicare drew closer together in comradeship
and also in jovial competitiveness. Stories told were never without merit. At the
creation of the Temple, such behaviour was opposed by certain senior members
concerned with bravado and showmanship displacing loyalty of service. It had
actually generated stronger drives in the students by engendering greater commitment
to better themselves and their peers. Still, the House Master’s had agreed to bring in
52
Inquisitors after each mission, which had slowly given way to becoming an integral
part of an assassin’s training, to ensure the methodologies were fully justified and
severely punished where not. Such recklessness, as they deemed it, was driven far
beneath the student’s and agent’s surface, but could never be fully removes.
Creative tallies persisted through the centuries and millennia that might have
appeared insane as well as immoral to the outside universe. There was an agent,
Burtas, who Tyet had discovered held the record for the most kills with a feather! He
amassed fourteen kills using a variety of feathers to strangle or suffocate his targets. A
total that had stood since he created it. The legend recorded his words that he did not
care about creating an image for himself, but that the universe in all its diverse forms
would become instruments of death to those who opposed the Emperor. It was an
exhibition of artistic licence if ever he saw it. Tyet had also found accounts associated
with Burtas’ file and was not surprised to find that the scrolls also revealed two
students and a newly converted agent that had not survived their Inquisitorial
debriefing sessions when they had engaged with similar activities.
Today the numerous tables only occupied a few after the late evening meal. The
Culexus students travelled in a minimum of pairs and always with a psyker minder.
Another cluster was gathered round a Teacher in silence, their nodding betraying
telepathic communication. He caught the eye of an older student looking directly at
him rather than sheaves splayed across his table.
Tyet caught the pull of his mind as the Culexus attempted to drain him of
energy. It was his own fault for projecting into the Culexus’s mind, but like standing
next to black hole it was hard to resist the pull towards destruction. Even as Tyet
escalated the resistance in his mind, the season of Echinn matches honed his
responses, he felt a giant fist smash his cortex severing the connection. The Culexus
53
minder had intervened and stared at Tyet in admonishment, till Tyet had formed a
sufficient apology in his thoughts.
‘We’re always being watched.’ He turned his attention back to Nysen, who was
none the wiser for the exchange. ‘I wonder if the acts of sexual coupling betray more
of the individual’s true selfhood than just their reactions to certain situations.’
‘No bad thing then. Ideal purging territory.’
‘But we’ve been taught that the intimate acts we practise are supposed to be part
of a deeper emotional bonding between two people. Conducted in private. Do you
ever find it disconcerting that we’re always under surveillance, particularly in that
regard?’
‘No.’ Nysen said without missing a beat. Distinctly a reactionary response. ‘It
refines us. Makes us stronger, better agents of the Emperor. They need to know if we
are capable and we need to know what to improve upon in every aspect of our
conduct. Intimacy, like most other aspects of the Callidus agent, is about performing
such moments accurately. At least enough to fool the target.’
Nysen scanned Tyet’s face, looking for some insight. ‘You’ve never been
worried about being watched before, so why now? Was it something before Araya or
after?’
Tyet drained the last of the coffee, allowing his thoughts to cast back beyond the
session with the Inquisitor to Araya. He traced the contours of her body in his mind,
whilst his mnemonics reproduced the image stored in the bio-electronic relays within
his cortex. A gift of the Mechanicum. The former stimulated a sense of excitement,
recaptured from earlier that morning, the latter nothing. The price of reliance on
technology; the separation of emotions from all acts. Was it Araya’s post-coital
reaction or Smyth’s awareness of the act? Perhaps it was something about Araya.
54
‘Not sure. She barely spoke two words to me at lunch.’ He finally reclined in
the chair, relaxing his body. ‘But curiously I’ve just realised a way of dealing with
aftermath of the Inquisitor.’
‘Oh.’ Sounding eager for more.
‘Araya. Well at least the thought of Araya.’
Nysen laughed out loud, drawing the gazes from the canteen. ‘You make me
almost want the memory file, if only to ease my suffering after my next session with
the Inquisitors. You won’t mind sharing, it’s purely for medicinal purposes!’
‘Wont that still count as above your station as far as Liana is concerned?’
‘Perhaps, but with a file like that,’ he glanced down to his crotch, ‘I may not
miss them.’
It was Tyet’s turn to laugh.
‘Must have been brutal.’ Sensing it was safe to switch the subject back to the
interrogation.
‘Exceptionally, but at least I passed another round of psycho-indoctrination.
There’s something almost artistic to that man’s talents.’
‘Sounds like you have feelings for Inquisitor Cireez, Tyet.’
‘Perhaps a modicum of respect. One professional to another.’
‘Professional my arse.’
‘If your arse is the only suitable thing on your body working for this Temple,
we’re deep in shit.’ Tyet retorted.
‘Do you think your respect is well placed? After all, respect caused you to
freeze against the Space Marine Veteran and received a potential kill shot.’
‘We’re taught to obey our Teachers, our orders and the Emperor’s divine will.
Naturally that extends to certain agents of the Emperor, His Chapter houses and the
55
Marines selected to serve Him. Who are we to decide who to kill and not to kill? We
follow orders, just like Inquisitor Cireez.’ Tyet used a remonstrative tone, Nysen
looked wary. ‘It’s just a pity the bastard is so good at his job!’
‘So, is Araya as professional too?’
Tyet saw the wry grin.
‘Let’s just say she is something truly exceptional. And if I had said that this
morning I might have stayed on her good side.’
Two trays slapped down on the table next to as Chaan and Liana sidled next to
the seated pair. Both wore jet black slip-suits with dark grey piping, having just come
from an afternoon of infiltration exercises. Their counter-surveillance hardware and
facemasks had been stowed in the locker room.
‘Took your time.’ Nysen taunted.
Liana punched him on the arm and not too playfully either. ‘You could have
waited for me.’
‘What? They’d have retired me by the time you fixed your makeup.’
‘Give me strength.’ Tyet exclaimed loudly.’ You’re like an old married couple.’
Nysten and Liana stopped instantly, looking at Tyet with incredulousness. ‘A
what?’ Liana piped.
Tyet shook his head. It was not the first time that his passion for historical
studies went over the heads of his fellow students. ‘Never mind.’
Chaan turned to Tyet. ‘What the heck are you playing at with Araya this
morning?’
Tyet groaned. Everyone must have known by now.
‘Ignore Chaan, Tyet. Araya spoke… very nicely of you.’ Liana offered.
56
He registered the derisory tones and decided at a parting shot as he stood to
leave. ‘At least I got out of Cultural Appreciation classes this morning in exchange for
recuperation. Didn’t you have some trite dance drivel?’
‘Yes, but that only means you’ll have to catch-up with Teacher Ghatan in a one
to one session and Araya will be jealous!’ Liana remarked. Teacher Ghatan was a
portly woman with, as the students generally regarded, as much grace as a gyrating
Ork with two power fists and a bad temper. Though they would not have denied she
possessed extensive knowledge on the subject. Of dance and social etiquette that is.
Tyet almost stopped, wanting to enquire further about what Araya may have
confided in her other companions, but chose not to rise to the bait. He did not care
about a little ridicule, but there was something regarding this morning still gnawing
away in his mind. Instead he decided to use a little mimicry, repeating Liana’s last
words, tone and pitch perfectly; a talent he had developed at an early age, of which he
knew the others were a little jealous.
He wandered the corridors almost aimlessly, not caring which paths were
trodden, but wending only through the Callidus sectors of the Temple. It was not
forbidden to enter the other Temple areas during the day, the restrictions were
imposed after the last lessons finished at the midnight hour. Each Temple had been
modified and extended over the years stretching high into the reaches of Terra’s
atmosphere and tunnelling deep underground. One could walk for many miles without
leaving or passing into another Clade. Though in their youth, students would often
make forays into each other’s sectors, but wisdom had since curtailed their activity.
There were a number of shared facilities available to all members of the Officio
Assassinorum, located centrally between the four main Temples, serviced by an army
of librarians, scribes, servitors and their adjuncts all living within the confines of the
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Assassinorum. External experts were often recruited as Teachers, specialists were
accorded the same privileges as a retired assassin, though trainee assassins were
always predisposed to warming more favourably to those from their own Temple.
None of these, except the Temple’s own servitors, scribes and medics, were allowed
outside the central areas; despite the vast numbers involved in the bureaucracy of this
Imperial organ, the teaching programme was jealously guarded from all outsiders.
As to be expected, the mission assignments and records department were off
limits to all, save a few chosen personnel and the assassins consigned to the tasks
dictated by the Emperor’s will through the High Council. These were guarded by fully
fledged agents and the Culexus also employed a small number of exceptional Grey
Knights to double their protection against the warp elements, an ancient directive
from the Emperor that became incorporated into tradition.
There had once been seven separate Temples, each with their own speciality and
customs, united under the auspices of the Grandmaster. However, the centuries had
taken their toll, three of the smaller Temples had been adsorbed, their skills shared
and their identity faded, though certain romantic elements had resurrected the ideals
of these lost Temples. The final number had been reduced to the four, each with their
own Temple Master who oversaw the entire operation of each Temple and liaised
with the Grand master’s office for final agreement of each mission.
Each Temple possessed a smaller number of facilities that were purpose built
for their own students, usually containing a treasure trove of historical documents
invaluable to the aspiring historian, which was also embargoed to other trainees, thus
providing a secure refuge as well as a place of personal study.
After a series of scans to confirm his identity, Tyet pushed through the stone
door into the confines of the Callidus study room, though cavern was more apt. A
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number of students from different years clustered in the safety of their fellows, easily
distinguishable from their garbs. Novices in the Temple wore white robes, except
where the circumstances of the lesson dictated its requirement, which gradually
darkened over the years to full black with a grey rainbow stripe representing the
transition and accomplishment over the years leading to graduation. Tyet was at best
guess another half a year away from making the final transition to full assassin. The
third stage of training was as long as necessary.
A few juniors looked up at him and politely and quickly looked away.
He moved silently, checking each step, through to a section hosting material for
the more senior members, drawing close to a table and its occupant.
‘Can I help you, Tyet?’ Araya spoke firmly without looking up. Her senses were
acute.
‘Any chance we can talk?’
‘Sure, talk.’
Tyet looked about finding familiar faces in the alcoves of the study section.
‘How about the arboretum?’
She finished reading to the end of a page and scrolled her datapad closed, a
compact and powerful data storage and processing device comprising of flexible
conductive polymers with an inbuilt 3-dimensional projector and fully integrated into
the mnemonic circuitry via remote communication, which could be packaged away to
the size of a writing pen.
Araya stood, her face expressionless giving nothing away. Tyet could feel his
pulse quicken, she could probably see his pupils dilate and breathing rate increase a
little. Her fatigues hugged her body, but in a more practical fashion for outdoor
pursuits diminishing her curvaceous lines. Strangely he found this more alluring than
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her night clothes, which had left little to the imagination. He accessed a cardiac
relaxant programme, which was more appropriately used for lowering the heart rate
and in turn the oxygen demands on the body for prolonged submersion events.
They walked silently along the corridor leading towards the central node of the
Temple complex, but the lack of conversation was making him uneasy. The emptiness
of the walk was creeping in, but he drew strength from the absence of prying ears.
‘Araya, I’m trying to piece together my actions these past twelve hours, actually
the last seventy two, in order to figure out what I’ve done wrong. But rather than land
myself in more trouble and alienating you further, is there any chance you would let
me know how I have caused you to become distant?’
‘You really don’t know and you do not want to venture a guess?’
‘I can deduce that you’re fixed on something I did or didn’t do. The
inappropriate compliment?’
‘I’ve known you for a long time Ty. We’ve been through a lot together. Seeing
how you have endured the training so far to become a very good leader. Yes, despite
the occasional drawback.’ She cut over his shaking of the head. ‘We recognise that in
the Callidus school, men get the short end every time. Look at Nysen.’
Tyet knew this to be true. Nysen, like many other male Callidus trainees, had
been ostracized from several bricks and whilst his team membership to the same
group had been maintained during the final year, he had confided in Tyet that it often
felt forced. Not that such petty bullying meant anything to the older students, but a
younger and emotionally alive kid could not reconcile the anguish. Their one
advantage in being male was in the selection process for relationship training due to a
huge inbalance in the male to female residency, but this often rendered those moments
of a man’s usefulness to denigration and derision.
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‘What I am saying is that, I respect you,’ she faltered, ‘I like you.’ Her words
proceeded out of trepidation. ‘And from what you started to say, perhaps, was that
you were attracted to me. It gave me fulfilment of a hope I had carried for a while.
And this morning was incredible. I have never experienced such intensity, allowing
my true emotions for someone close to manifest itself within the moments of passion.
The Teachers hinted that such states could be achieved, but I never knew I honestly
thought it was reserved for the rest of humanity and something lost to us.
‘But then your words came out so clinically. I’m sorry for retreating into the
disguise and clouting you and I did not mean to cast aspersions as to your
professionalism. You were convincing and may be that was all you wanted. A chance
to use my body and cast me aside like a revision book once completed.’ Tyet could
hear her voice impinged with sadness. It was a quality in Araya he had never known
before.
They arrived at the courtyard leading out to the arboretum. The concrete and
woodwork corridors panned out to gravel tracks through a wide stretch of densely
packed greenery. They continued under an outcrop of trees, foliage began to rise
about them fading into the night time air that the lanterns along the courtyard wall
failed to penetrate. Tyet grabbed her hand, causing her to look down at the contact
and then up into his eyes. He cancelled the cardiac programme, feeling the response
of natural hormones flaring into life.
‘Araya. I failed you and I am sorry for that.’ He was choosing his words
carefully, trying not to allow the memory of her lips to overtake more important
thoughts. ‘I had no idea that you felt that way, that my reservations could cause you
sorrow. I also failed myself. Before this morning, I never knew I could harbour such
feelings. It’s strange and wonderful and I’m still trying to apply what we have been
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taught to this morning. I realise it can be a terrible thing. Yes, clinical. And…’ He
caught his words, unsure as to whether it was wise to proceed.
‘Go on, please.’ She bit her bottom lip.
‘I know you too, Araya. As I said this morning, you are a formidable student
and I meant every word. I was only appealing to you out of you duty to the Temple
and the Emperor.’
‘It’s not all I am, Ty.’
‘As I am beginning to apprehend. But what do you want?’
She stroked his cheek. ‘Just to spend a little time with you, if you are willing.
We can enter an arrangement, a bit like what Liana and Nysen have.’ Tyet pulled
Araya close, but she placed a finger on his lips. ‘I just don’t want to be just another
tick in your book. Evaluated, graded and then cast aside for your next conquest.’
They continued to walk further into the arboretum. It was deserted.
‘I wouldn’t do that.’ He promised, but sensed the uncertainty is his own voice.
‘But I haven’t finished my grading either and there is a sense of truth in what said
earlier this morning. They notified me last month that I must undergo further
examination, which means that they are likely to pair me with someone and I doubt
I’d be fortunate that your name would be on that assignment paper. Seems that
Callidus men are often failing at this task; Nysen also has to retake the tests.’
Seduction examinations were conducted at moments scattered over several years,
each student was appointed a name to which they must successfully partner with, but
this must be done without the recipient being any the wiser. It was made increasingly
difficult as each student was suspicious, being conscious of their own assignments,
even with rampant hormones ailing those reaching puberty, so often targets were
chosen from within the administration team and occasionally from the local populous.
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‘I know. Liana is in the same position. She thinks she is being punished for
spending too much time with Nysen, which is why I waited. They passed me before
the Kumek mission and I have no further gradings in that respect. Consequently, I am
free to continue at my leisure and want it to be with you, Tyet.’
‘So, you’ll allow me to finish my tasks, as long as I assume targets that are less
attractive than you?’ he ventured with a grin.
‘Don’t sully this.’
‘But with your beauty, all others fail to compare. In that respect you have no
worries.’
‘Ah. A little imagination and you offered a far better response. How should I
reward such talent?’
Her smile was proof that his words were accepted. They drew in close. The
midnight chime sounded.
‘We should get back.’ He suggested.
‘No.’ she said resolutely. ‘I want you without any barriers. No concealment, no
enactment. I just want to fill my senses with primal emotions.’
‘What if we get caught by the patrols?’
‘If we, as third phase students, are unable to make it back to the dormitory
unseen, then they have every right to kick us out of the Temple.’ She said
mischievously.
‘Point taken.’
‘Soon.’
‘Just promise me, you’ll keep this from the others.’
‘You know how it is with us girls.’
‘Actually, no.’
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‘Than you had better learn.’
She grabbed him in a fierce embrace; they made love behind the hedgerows, out
of sight and almost out of sound.
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◄5►
Allowing her finger tips to run across the smooth surface of the wooden door,
Laran could discern the muffled chattering of happy children beyond. Given that one
day the twins would assume a hereditary mantle of planetary governance, security
was all important even within the confines of the President’s Palace, therefore the
doors to their dormitory, whilst freely yielding to the occupants of the room,
possessed high-definition palm scanning to allow internal access. The corners of her
mouth drew upwards in that her charges should be in bed and at least pretending to
sleep, but that quickly drew back to a stern line as she pushed back the door. It was
inevitable that at the first sound of the palm scanner allowing external access, the
children launched themselves under the covers, but could not suppress a squeal of
delight.
‘Y’aless, Y’alarr, what did I say would happen if you were not in bed asleep by
the time I came back?’ Laran tried to keep her voice cold, but she knew how the twins
reacted if she betrayed a smile on her full and friendly face.
Y’alarr threw back her covers, sighing ‘Come on Laran, we’re just not tired.’
Y’aless mimicked her twin’s act and said testily ‘After all it is your fault for
getting us all worked up and excited with the tri-d-vid and chocolate and fallal juice
earlier.’
‘You won’t tell dad though, will you?’ Y’alarr pined.
Both children widened their eyes in submission at the glare of their babysitter.
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‘Tonight I think…’ Laran allowed her grin to finally emerge, ‘not. But you must
get some sleep. I don’t want to hear from the guards that you’ve been wandering
down to the pantry again. Either of you.’
The children nodded. She continued, ‘In fact your father has some guests this
evening and it is proper for the children of His Supreme Excellency to neither be seen
nor heard,’ She spelled out the last few words, ‘until the morning!’
In pulling back the door, she paused momentarily ‘Oh the usual fireworks are
scheduled in about fifteen minutes, but I have set the suppressor on window so you
will not be disturbed by the commotion. Good night.’
The children bade their nocturnal farewells, the room light was extinguished
and the door clicked shut. Laran visibly sighed then nodded at the security personnel
stationed outside the twin’s room, though the armed living statue did not respond,
before turning on her heels and headed down the spacious hallway. The Palace was
impeccably decorated on all four levels with treasures and artefacts from all over the
world and from various points in history, but the spacing, presentation and wall
lighting effects gave the impression of a clinical museum rather than a well lived in
home. Though some external light was piped in at the end of the corridor and from
tall windows lining the east-west passage, perpendicular to where her charges slept.
The floors were alive with thick plush pile that felt like snow being crushed under
foot allowing Laran to crunch her way past the occupied guard’s desk monitoring the
sleeping quarters for the higher members of the President’s aides and family.
‘Still playing up?’ the guard enquired.
Laran nodded, ‘but hopefully I wont see you again. Night Karl.’
She had perfected a smile to illicit a favourable grin, a quality of her womaness
that opened the hearts of men, then crossed the corridor opening to both sides. After
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yielding to another set of palm scans she pushed through a set of double doors
descending to the staff quarters on the floor below. She hopped down a single flight of
stairs and pushed through to a similar looking corridor to the one above, but this level
was not under personal surveillance from the intense scrutiny of the guards, rather
cluster lenses were mounted at various intervals along each stretch allowing a remote
observer the variety of wavelengths and some scanning capacity. Laran strode
towards the female staff changing room allowing her black shoulder length hair to
streak out behind and then bounce with the rhythm of pace.
The room was deserted, unsurprisingly at this time of night. She quickly kicked
off her shoes and stripped off her top and bottoms and after extracting a length of
material from the bag just removed from her locker, quickly stuffed away her work
clothes. Laran turned towards the full length mirror, which captured her amply
curvaceous figure, but the raw feminine attractiveness drained away at the face set
with stony consternation as she swallowed the contents of a small vial. If the purple
liquid was bitter or sweet, her demeanour did not betray it, rather she remained
motionless for a few minutes and slowly, and barely perceptibly, her hips began to
narrow, the generous curves of her previous form reshaping to slender, more athletic
lines. The black underwear being of a stretch fabric adjusted smoothly to the new
contours. The hair remained the same length and colour, but now framed a sharp
angular face. Any instant friendliness that usually accompanied her face faded, being
replaced with a more hawkish demeanour, though she knew full transformation would
take another half hour. As if content with the initial changes, Laran climbed into the
material pulling it up around all her body parts, which appeared as though she had
been immersed in deep black tar, but leaving a the eyes untouched. Hopping onto the
basin, she stretched up to move a ceiling tile, grabbing a small hold-all and then
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extracting the contents within. Various parts were used as adornments to the black
suit; clipping on a facial prosthetic, holster, boots and oversized gloves that featured
rows of sharp jagged edges. Connection pipes from a small backpack clipped into the
glove and holstered gun giving the overall impression of servo-mechanical bolstering.
Finally she bundled both bags together in the sink, unclipped a vial containing a
deep blue powder, carefully sprinkling a quarter of the contents onto the bags and
then turned on the taps. As soon as the water hit the powder the sink suddenly flared
into a smokeless novae reducing the bags to char. Unhooking a small data pad, a
green button clicked into life followed by a red blink at the depressing of another. The
room around her shook, accompanied by the sound of glass breaking and unbalanced
objects hitting the floor; in an instant the lights extinguished and re-illuminated as a
generator kicked into life somewhere in the confines of the palace.
Moments later the shouts from security guards filled the corridor outside,
barking orders at any occupants of the rooms along each level. The words clear
bounded around several times increasing in intensity as the guards moved nearer to
the changing room. She already knew that the security cameras along this level would
not reengage from the backup generator and that the Palace guards would rely on
“eyes only” for security.
Laran moved quickly to the side of doorway keeping her back flat against the
wall and slid down into a crouch. The door burst open as a gun, followed by a straight
arm and finally the rest of the owner pushed into the room. With snake-like rapidity
she grabbed the wrist of the gun bearing arm and with the other hand punched into the
elbow with a soft crack. The guard gave a small yelp on an intake of breath, but any
further scream of pain was stifled as the blade from the glove perforated his throat.
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Devoid of communication only terror leapt from the guard’s eyes and darted
around the place pleading with inanimate surroundings for assistance only meeting a
penetrating stare for his captor maintaining a vice-like grip. There was no anger, no
menace, just a majestic blue of the iris that under normal circumstances might
conceivably be relaxing. With uncharacteristic masculinity Laran shouted ‘Clear’
back through the doorway and a flick of the finger the blade sprung a further six
inches slicing through tissue and bone severing all connection the guard had with life.
The body was dragged out of the doorway and pushed against the wall as Laran
removed the earcom and placed it round her own ear and the voices of the security
crowded in.
Regulus at arms, repeat Regulus at arms. Awaiting go – no go. Ramma and
Ranna secure a tinny voice rang out. The twins were safe and their father under escort.
Glancing through the outer door, guards could be seen further down with a
controller maintaining vigilance over the precession. As Laran moved out the
controller turned as if expecting a familiar uniformed guard to move further down the
corridor, but before his expression changed there were a number of high pitched
buzzes, the controller and two other guards clutched their chests, another his throat as
if stung by invisible mosquitoes. Had the guards been fully cognitive, they would
have noticed puffs of smoke rising from the spiked glove adorning the masked
intruder. Within a fraction of a second all fell to the floor the colour drained from
their faces. There were six rooms left, one with its door open from which no guard
had yet returned. Laran sprinted through and moments later a fifth security officer lay
sprawled in a pool of blood.
Depressing the earcom she spoke with a masculine deep and gravely voice
‘level four clear’.
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Acknowledged, level four clear
As other voices chimed out over the earcom, Laran dragged the bodies into
rooms closest to where they lay, pulling the doors shut. It would not take long to
locate them, but at least a cursory glance along the corridor would prevent instant
concern.
She ripped apart the shutters of the dumb waiter and climbed inside. Although
the darkness enveloped her, the prosthetic glowed dimly green. It was a tight fit inside
the vertical shaft and yet afforded descent to the lower levels without need of a
climbing aid. Each search team would leave a brace of guards at the staircase doors
after a successful survey of each floor and remain in place until the Palace had been
confirmed clear, though knocking out the main power supply would not revert the
status level to normal until fully restored. Laran keyed another sequence into her pad
and again pressed a button causing the led to blink red. A minor shake of the building
ensued, causing her to lose her footing and drop, but punching into the sides of the
shaft caused the metal plates to buckle and arresting further fall. Re-ascending, she
slid the shutters of the dumb waiter open, unholstered her pistol and carefully adjusted
her position to gain a better look at the stairwell. The corridor had been plunged into
darkness and the guards could be heard barking various instructions.
The earcom screeched status red one, Regulus proceeding to secure station.
Two streaks of light criss-crossed along the walls of the corridor; the guards had
reverted to torches for illumination. She ducked her head back into the recess of the
shaft and watched the pattern of dancing light. The lights disappeared as sounds of
running feet increased.
Someone could be heard shouting from near the direction of the stairwell
‘Coming through, watch out’.
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Laran shifted a little towards the corridor as a group of nine people ran from the
east to the west corridor, running perpendicular to that in which the dumb waiter
resided. The two guards had doubled in number and were watching the group pass
their position, depicting a lighted path for the crashing conclave. As the footfalls
pounded out of sight the guard resumed their attention. Laran unholstered her pistol
and quietly slipped out into the corridor keeping the pistol trained on the first guard.
The gun fired in rapid succession with near silence, but the muzzle flashes betrayed
her presence. As the first guard almost comically squeaked as the round hit his chest,
the second guard doubled over with the shot penetrating his stomach. The third guard
swung the torch to bear firing her sidearm along the arc of light, squeezing off two
rounds before crashing down in response to a head hit. The final guard dove to
protection of the west corridor, his screams filling the surroundings.
‘Intruder level four, dammit, the intruder is here, he’s here!’
The guard had placed his firearm around the corner discharging at random.
From behind him several other guards came crashing out of the room from which they
had bundled their charge.
Regulus secure. Heavy guard to level four, repeat all heavy guard to level four
squawked over the earcom.
Laran had ran at pace from the first shot, observing the fire arc prevented by the
extension of the arm braced against the corner of the two meeting corridors, grabbed
the wrist yanking the body forward and rotating the gun back towards the guard. Her
left hand grasped at the throat, as the right squeezed down on the guard’s hand. The
first shot punched through the guard’s shoulder and his arm went limp unable to
proffer resistance as a slayer of his comrades. The next four rounds smacked into the
approaching guards draining the gun, with returning fire adsorbed into the back of the
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prostrate guard she held. A round spanged off the wall, another catching Laran’s
shoulder and several more sailing overhead. The shots had come from behind as she
twisted the guard round to be used once again as a shield, an obvious afterthought that
the T-junction would provide excellent cross-fire and difficulty to clear quickly
single-handedly. The sound was also betrayed with the illumination of torches
becoming discernible from the now steady lights gleaming from the floor of the
guards along the west corridor. With damage done and no further desired, her sidearm
sprung into action felling two security detail instantly, the third had hunkered into a
doorframe. With careful aim a single round punched through the wall into the head of
the hidden figure, which summarily slumped forward into the open. A limited amount
of light trickled in through the tall windows from the surrounding district depicting
the final resting place now awash with blood.
Laran kept her pistol trained over the east corridor and moved the embraced
guard down the west corridor; the guard’s wheezing becoming frequently interrupted
by coughing fits.
Regulus encased!
‘You can’t get to him now, it’s over’ he spluttered, ‘you wont be able to
penetrate that door. You can’t even bargain with my life. You failed!’
Laran holstered her pistol and gently placed the guard into a sitting position
against the wall where a stray light from the floor provided contrast to his bloodied
face. She knelt beside him tilting his head up towards her gaze.
‘No good, no good, no good’ he hissed; the wounded fellow had obviously
slipped into shock.
‘I know’ came a soft voice from behind the face mask, ‘this was the whole
point’.
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She raised the remote control, his eyes locked on without immediate recognition.
She clicked it once and the west corridor was instantly rendered dust and flame as the
door, in through which the group had recently bundled the President, and surrounding
masonry was blasted apart shattering the north facing windows along the east-west
stretch of the corridor.
Fresh grazes coagulated pools of blood on the guard’s forehead were being
dusted, the blast had knocked out him unconscious; Laran guided the guard to lie flat.
When shouts could be heard from the stairwell, she turned towards the window
unfastened a d-hook and a retractable length of wire. Clipping it to window
framework she mounted the sill and jumped into the darkness. Her body arms spread
wide prepared for freefall. As she descended the midnight air, she froze in position.
‘So…’ came a strong female voice, ‘As you can see it was not necessary to get
to the target directly, rather just confine them into a designated area. By first tripping
the mains supply of electricity and then at a later interval the back-up generators, the
target was guided into their secure destination as defined by Palace procedure on the
Adarra homeworld. The agent had successfully employed a Mother’s Gullet
manoeuvre over the period of four weeks to get the explosives and weaponry in, but I
think we can agree that within this scenario the length of time was necessary given the
intermittent level of security measures in place. But from what you’ve seen, what are
your thoughts?’
Laran’s body floated impossibly in midair, the paused image generated by a
bulky looking projector. The owner of the voice patrolled the floor in front of, the dais,
which supported the projector, looking up at the three inclined banks of seats. Rows
upon rows were carved out of a once rich wood now worn with age and wear, though
still gleaming with life through regular polishing. Around half the seats were filled
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with young looking faces with their attention turned towards the teacher; a scribe
busied himself in the front row taking the dictation at a fast speed, his quill a blur in
motion. The majority of the students wore strait grey tunics with black piping, the
differences in the faces were accentuated not solely by the facial contours or hair
colour but rather more noticeably by the presence or absence and design of the
prosthetics. The left bank of seats bore students with more elaborate embellishments,
exuding an almost cybernetic quality, concentrated into the same areas as though
united by their disfigurations. Two guardians with similar headpieces cast their silent
vigil over these students. On the right the students displayed smaller pipe work into
the skull, who flitted between states of restlessness and consternation at random. The
centre contained numerous individuals, a greater proportion of which were female,
who showed no obvious sign of mechanical decoration. They sat in black fatigues
captivated by the spectacle.
By contrast the teacher wore a full length black tunic with a red and bronze high
collar sitting on a black fabric framed in bronze piping that cascaded forward as a
stole and rearwards as a cloak; the detail of embroidery was in matching tones of
black that shimmered magenta when caught in the right angle of light, giving colour
to his pale complexion. Her hair was closely cropped except for a long greying
ponytail, a style echoed by several members of the audience. A four pronged schmiss
on the left side of her face, from a past campaign, focussed all attention to a
completely whitened eye. Several of the students raised their hands awaiting selection.
The teacher surveyed the faces, pointed ‘Serak’ and the remaining hands went
down.
‘Why not select a Vindicare agent for the kill? The President would be a farily
straightforward target when moving outside the Palace.’ Serak queried.
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‘Because not every problem in life can be resolved with four feet of solid
penetration.’ A chuckle echoed through the rest of the auditorium and the teacher
allowed a smile to appear at the corners of her mouth. He continued. ‘Yes, the Exitus
rifle is a formidable weapon and ideally suited for long range solutions. This required
a few other disposals along the way, prior to the events in the simulacrum you’ve just
seen. You can assume, as it was, that the Temple’s Operations Committee selected
someone from Callidus house due to their flexibility for the task requirements.’ The
teacher selected another student who had raised their hand ‘Darin’
‘The final bombing was a non-contact termination, which extends the operation
timeframe.’ Darin said resolutely.
‘Yes…’ inviting further introspection.
‘So the agent has to remain reasonably close by in order to ascertain whether or
not the target had been eliminated. Moreover, trying to obtain evidence of the kill is
made harder by the steps that should be undertaken, in this case by the Palace
security.’
‘True, although not impossible with polymorphine skills, it certainly does place
undue time constraints for re-infiltration. Kerlav.’
‘Why not await reports in the aftermath and then evaluate whether regaining
access is required?’
‘Anyone,’ the teacher bounced the question back into the audience ‘Lyetan?’
‘Surely the Imperium does not want to expend further time and effort than is
necessary. Reassigning the task to another agent is not honourable and betrays the
impotency of the assassin. The logistics involved in transporting an agent back and
forth across the galaxy with the ever present problems of the Warp cannot be efficient
or reflect well on this temple in the eyes of the Imperium.’
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‘Which is why we impress upon you the importance of assuming responsibility
and ownership for each task.’ The teacher rejoined ‘Though it seems likely the
Presidential aides would want to reassure their government and world in any situation
where the President was not actually killed, the reverse could also be used as a ruse to
smoke out the perpetrator who is duty bound to finish the job. In this case the cover
identity was compromised and it took the agent another month to shadow and swap
with a suitable candidate able to direct the new President’s office along more proImperial lines. Even Clade Eversor must recognise the importance of patience.’ She
cast a raised eyebrow in their direction.
‘The service shaft was a critical step. Bit of an oversight with Palace security.’
Piped up Ising.
‘Yes, but do not underestimate strands of fortune. Use them when they present
themselves. The narrow shaft was a low grade priority system not thought to present a
security risk, however to someone all ready within the confines of the Palace it
presented free movement between levels once the main power had cut out, tripping
the laser network within.’
‘Why not use a poison handshake with the President’s children?’ Nysen spoke
out.
‘Creative, but there’s always a chance that the children would simply infect a
myriad of staff before they would get into contact with their father. Same would go
for Swallow Surprise and Rudegen’s Gambit. The children are not the answer.’ She
spread her hands with a shake of the shoulders to invite further responses.
‘No, but they are the problem.’ a Cullexus student, by the name Poldani, with a
boosted muscular frame spoke out.
A frown formed on the teacher’s forehead ‘Explain.’
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‘If the simulacrum is taken as accurate, then it looks as though she might have
grown affectionate towards the twins and probably wouldn’t have used them anyway.’
‘You do not believe it a necessary façade, Poldani?’ she asked, shaking her head.
‘Perhaps, but added to that, is how she treated the guard after using him as a
shield. Operating procedure dictates immediate disposal of assets once they’ve served
their purpose. Why treat him so gently when he had taken several hits and was going
to die if she wasn’t...’ the student faltered.
‘Well.’ She cocked his head to one side.
‘If she wasn’t irresolute.’
A number of students drew a sharp intake of breath; to imply that a Callidus
agent was weak in front of a Callidus teacher was more than impolite. But if this
remark generated any anger, none showed. Instead she gave a deliberate response as
though she had already expected this line of reasoning.
‘Do you really think it a sign of weakness, to show compassion? How we treat
our enemies when we have them subdued and they no longer pose a threat is what
defines our character. There was no need to hasten his death, it would come soon
enough.’
‘But even if compassion was considered a strength, the enemy can conceivably
turn the tide. There are no guarantees that showing compassion means we would
receive it in return. Moreover, if by chance they lived through it why would they
show preferential treatment in kind?’ Poldani spoke with increasing confidence.
‘If you are resolved to cold heartedness then there is no chance your enemy
would treat you with respect, except maybe through fear. This is not to say we operate
with empathy first and foremost, rather do not let indifference dictate your every
action in service of the Emperor. After all he is, was, human and it is his desire to
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unite the galaxy under his rule. If peace is to last, then its subjects cannot have reason
to despise and reject the Imperial yoke because of the way unity is instilled and
enforced. I know this all seems idealised, but it is something to strive for. There are
many times when the Emperor’s might must go forth and exercise against its foes,
those who will not, cannot accept human leadership. I am not talking about stamping
out xenophobia, I’m sure that our past will show we have done more in the effort of
eradicating other alien races, but many of them reject the wisdom and leadership of a
human figurehead. Even within the scattered strands of the human race, there are
those who have a similar attitude, but we can lead with the gun or lead by example.
You have to remind yourselves what is the purpose of the Emperor’s crusade.’
Tyet raised his hand until the teacher gave him permission to talk.
‘But there have been a number of documented cases where survivors or
relatives of those actioned become vengeful.’ Tyet interposed.
‘Is it sufficient justification, then, to terminate all those related to by bond of
flesh or comradeship just on the off-chance that they might retaliate at a later stage?’
‘Yes! The saying that “the only real defence is active defence” appears apt.’
‘It’s an archaic expression that only survives through philosophers and
philosophical warmongers. It is a strategy that becomes necessary due to the policies
undertaken by the administration that create.’
‘But there are cases where retaliation appears, well, justified. Cases where the
agent has conducted themselves perhaps a little too enthusiastically.’
‘We’ll be looking into some of those cases towards the end of the year. For now
I would say that we are often presented with the present situation arisen through a
complex weave of counteractions and it is not a question of who initiated it or who is
ultimately responsible, but how to resolve it. We could speak hypothetically and ask if
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Emperor knew that a number of his Primarchs would rebel leading to human civil war
that would bring humanity to the brink of annihilation, would he have killed them at
birth? There is reason to believe that two of the originals exhibited such aggressive
tendencies and should have given ample warning to the Emperor. Would he have been
morally right to do so? Do individuals have the right to exercise free will or are we all
committed to predetermined actions?
‘Anyway, can we find later examples where systems retaliated to the actions of
this Temple? Of course. Tangarossi of 34,401, De Mannus of 34,998, Ichbald of
35,011. These were survivors of what they perceived were atrocities committed by
our fellow agents against friends and families. Perhaps they had a point, it is likely
that each of these could have been prevented if the agent had not been so, as you put it,
enthusiastic. Each world was offered various forms of reparations and yet still took up
arms against the Imperium. Naturally the Astartes and the Imperial Guard stamped
out the rebellion and yet insurrection continued for many decades and involved the
murder of high level appointments. As a note of interest, the De Mannus incident
required three further visits, during the second, one agent was killed and had spurred a
four agent deployment. You can imagine how devastating four Eversor agents are! So
it is easy to see how both sides could take it personally. In fact, I want you to review
each of these three cases in preparation of the end of term examination. I will have the
security seals released.’ She nodded to the scribe. ‘So how are you to recognise when
to act with a modicum of mercy?
‘Every instruction that comes from the Imperial Order must be followed and
only under exceptional circumstances is it interpreted by the agent. As you know,
orders come from the High Council to the Operations Committee within the Officio
Assassinorum,’ she gesticulated to encompass the surrounding dwellings ‘which
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selects the appropriate house from which the agent is assigned, who is chosen by the
House Master. The agent and House Master will discuss the parameters for the
assignment, supported by the relevant scribe, including any intelligence from field
operatives. The agent will cover the necessary background research for a feasibility
study, which is then sent before the Operations Committee. Final approval is issued
by the Grand Master’s office before the agent departs. So, whilst the final instruction
must be carried out exactly as described, the manner of delivery is left by and large to
the agent. There may be times when an agent, particularly from the Callidus or the exClade Venenum, would spend weeks or months in an assumed role. No Imperial writ
can cover every eventuality; even the Emperor does not have that much foresight.’
This was met with whispers and quiet mutterings of discussions between fellow
students as the teacher encountered the gaze of older man bedecked in resplendent
regalia looking agitated and biting his bottom lip. A few students in the front rows
caught this and looked on with eager anticipation. The teacher kept her expression
blank and moved on.
‘So we have a choice, of course. It is what makes us human. It is also what
defines the unique attributes of each of the houses within the Temple. Remember, first
and foremost we act according to our training, but we must also make allowances for
our intuition and, for those that can, our feelings. For those that survive the next few
years, you will be able to relate your experiences of that process.’
‘Teacher, could you tell us what is it like?’
The teacher glanced at the doorway, just above the entrance was a series of
lights with only one left ablaze.
‘Another time perhaps. Your assignment due by the end of the week is to
investigate under what circumstances an agent is allowed to interpret an Imperial
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Order and the Temple Charter and give examples of previous missions. You may start
with Dunroamin VI, but a reminder that plagiarism will be met with severe penal
duties. Dismissed.’
The final scribbles died out with the last remaining light over the door. The
students gathered their personal effects and filed out in threes and fours each nodding
and saying Teacher as they passed the dais. The two guardians took up sentry
positions at the front and rear of the students bearing the more elaborate headgear, but
appeared with focussed consternation saying nothing to the teacher as they passed.
Such was the often trance of the Culexus.
The scribe departed through a separate door on the opposite side to the students
with scrolls of parchment draped in his arms. The final students cleared the milling
leaving a tall elaborately dressed figure that had occupied the front row during the
lesson. He appeared to be muttering to himself angrily until all the students had
departed.
The teacher had shuffled a few notes back into their case, glanced up to see
Skellisum, then resumed focus on a datapad, ‘Problem?’
Skellisum looked quickly looked around the auditorium to ensure no-one else
was present, then blared ‘What were you playing at? How dare you humanize the
Emperor in that fashion and in front of students! Have you lost your senses?’
The teacher sighed and retorted ‘I had to dare a great many things in my line of
work, it was required on a daily basis. You also forget yourself; you are a guest here
and I would remind you to keep a civil tongue.’
‘Which is why I waited till afterwards to say something.’ He stormed ‘The
Ecclesiarchy have devoted their lives to spreading the glory of the Emperor to all
reaches of the galaxy, only to find this kind of destabilizating influence being spread
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on Terra as well. Do you not know the importance that mankind needs to recognise
the Emperor for what he is. What possessed you to say such things?’
‘First, I would be careful how you levee the charge of possession if I were you.’
The teacher stared into the eyes of the Acolyte and saw them shift towards her
schmiss exuding a visible shiver. ‘Second, the last time anyone checked, the Emperor
was born human and still possesses a few cells binding his spirit to this reality.’
‘But he has moved on. The most powerful psyker in the world, protecting us
from the horrors of the warp. He is now a god and we should honour him for that
every moment of every day for his transcendence.’
‘Spare me. For centuries this temple has taught principals based on loyalty to
the Emperor and not religious sycophantism. We exist to maintain the order the
Emperor desires for the galaxy; you are here to educate these students about various
aspects of religion throughout the galaxy.’
The acolyte’s cheeks reddened, his breathing becoming more rapid. ‘You know
I am the eyes and ears of the Ecclesiarchy. Yes I was brought here to help, but I will
not tolerate this... this blatant subversion against the bestowing of godhood on the
Emperor or against the Ecclesiarchy.’
He turned and to storm out of the auditorium.
‘Stand fast Skelissum’ she called with authority in her voice.
Whether it was the sudden change or the first time of hearing Teacher Muriko
raise her voice, the acolyte stopped in his tracks, his chest pumping hard. He turned to
see the teacher still with a demeanour was still calm, but stood bolt upright with her
arms crossed disapprovingly.
‘Tell me Acolyte, do you know how they make real coffee on the outer worlds?’
the teacher queried in an almost jovial manner.
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The acolyte screwed up his eyebrows, of all retorts he had not expected this.
‘What? No.’
‘The coffee plants flower producing a cherry, a small fruit, which takes a
number of months to ripen. They are stripped off the branch, sorted according to their
colour and then taken apart to obtain the coffee bean, which is dried usually in
sunlight. The coffee bean is then thrown into a mechanical grinder where it is
physically torn apart and ground to produce a finer powder for use in a coffee
beverage.’ The acolyte shook his head in disbelief, but the teacher continued ‘One
word of advice. If you dare question any agents loyalty to the Emperor again, our
years of service, or my teaching methods, you will know what it feels like to be that
coffee bean!’
The acolyte became furious, unable to control his outburst, ‘You wouldn’t dare.
Touch. A member of the Ecclesiarchy. Our star is on the rise and we have support of
the High Council. We carry His light in our eyes, His words on our lips. No-one will
stand in our way. Do you think the power wielded by the Officio Assassinorum will
be allowed to continue unchecked forever?’
They stared at each other for a moment, anger pouring off one and defiance off
the other. The teacher snorted and said with a lilting smile ‘Hic sto. Hic maneo.’
Muriko strode down the corridor to find a pensive Tyet waiting.
‘Something on your mind Tyet?’
‘Yes Teacher. I want to seek your advice on my upcoming assignment.’
‘Step into my office.’ She said gruffly.
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◄6►
Tyet had never had occasion to visit Muriko’s office. Previous meetings with
his mentor were conducted within the classroom and if seclusion was required, a
number of formal meeting rooms were available for student to teacher engagements.
Muriko’s office was a small affair, with a few chairs, presumably for staff meetings,
and many books surrounding a wide desk, giving the accurate impression of being
cramped. The wooden shelves were highly polished and a trace of lacquer was
discernible above the remnants of fragrant wood. Parts of the shelving were given
over to glass displays, which proudly trophied a number of personal items, a Callidus
facemask, a highly polished sabre, an open book ordained with alien hieroglyphs and
several medals of valour.
‘I don’t care much for the smell of esters they lace this synthetic polish with,
but I do prefer the sight of books encased in rich wood. It’s a discomfort generated by
the impact of the fragmentation grenade that gave me this.’ Muriko waved towards
her face. ‘But I find that burning incense allows me to continue to suffer tolerably
well. Please sit.’
She motioned to one of the vacant chairs. There was conformity among the
chairs, which Tyet had always thought odd. A Teacher usually, and quite rightly he
thought, would possess a single chair that possessed a little more opulence than the
others in order to signify importance of their position. Muriko preferred that her
visitors were treated as equals. One of the many factors that made her a good
confidant.
Muriko sat down next to Tyet.
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‘You know I cannot give details of this training mission. If I was aware of the
particulars, I would be forbidden by the codes to divulge them until the appointed
time.’
‘I know Teacher. I wanted your advice.’
‘I’ll give what I can.’
‘In the lecture you said “Which is why we impress upon you the importance of
assuming responsibility and ownership for each task”’ Tyet recalling the exact words
from mnemonics, but refused to apply his mimicry and reproduce Muriko’s tone. ‘I
did this during my recent training mission. It was a tag and bag routine, but the point
man was eliminated and Araya missing due to an unpredictable element being
introduced. I took out the sniper as quickly as possible, leaving Chaan to complete the
assignment. But she was also compromised as I was by additional forces. It seems the
mission was designed to be severely biased in their favour.’
Tyet paused long enough that Muriko responded. ‘Point one and this should
have been drilled into your forethoughts right from the start. There is no such concept
as a routine mission.’ She stopped to see the Tyet had acknowledged this before
proceeding. ‘These missions are designed, from your perspective, to introduce
random elements that an agent could encounter in the field. They are occasionally
formulated to represent ethical or moral or political infractions against the Imperium,
but must test your resolve and capability of dealing with rapidly changing scenarios.
When you are that far from the mission controllers, it comes down to the individual to
assess, overcome and carry through the assigned tasks.’
‘I understand.’ Tyet held off trying to counter at this point.
‘Point two. Was it right for you to have personally eliminated the sniper or to
have let Chaan so that you could see the mission through?’
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Tyet was quiet for a moment. He examined his feelings of the situation to find
that he did react out of a desire of retaliation, but there was also another reason. He
just was not convinced, which fuelled him into relinquishing Kumek and the datafile
to Chaan. He voiced his former point. ‘But I also maintain that I was acting out of
instinct. There must have been more to the mission. The sniper was an unknown
factor, another player in the game associated with Kumek. I sensed the need to gather
vital intelligence as to the size and the motivation of this new element. We know that
these are real missions that are closely monitored, but they are live fire exercises.
Kumek died, Lunal and I received hits. I understand that the Space Marine
involvement was controlled, but until they were revealed, they were an unknown
force.’
‘Your honesty can be a virtue and it can also ensnare you, but it’s a good
assessment of the exercise. Much easier to process in hindsight. I have read the
transcription of your interrogation by Inquisitor Cireez and was impressed by your
resolve, but ownership does not mean you assume all tasks.’
Inwardly Tyet’s pride had been comforted a little, though he was aware of the
problems of allowing such emotions too much presence. ‘Wait a moment, how did
you get a copy of that transcript.’ Then as an afterthought added, ‘Teacher.’
‘Occasionally, the records are passed on for review or further assessment, but
let’s not distract here. What should you have done on that mission?’ Muriko
continued smoothly.
Tyet suspected Muriko as being less than truthful, but honour stayed his tongue
on that point. ‘Exactly what I did, which was to eliminate the new threat, allowing
another competent agent to complete the mission. I still don’t believe it was correct to
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have waited for Araya to back me up. Perhaps I could have moved more purposefully,
relying more on my senses than technology.’
‘At least you have realised that a gun ho attitude was the single most reason for
you failing in that mission.’
‘Actually I think it was my recognition of the Space Marine Veteran. A split
second delay allowing his friend to attempt a kill shot.’
‘Tyet, a little insight. Whilst you are a student, you will never know whether the
missions you undertake are entirely fabricated or wholly real, otherwise there is the
danger if complacency. Whilst you encountered a couple of Veterans, could you have
really been sure they were among the faithful Chapter Houses?’
‘Could the Assassinorum really have placed individuals from the chaos legions
here on Terra?’
‘Horus led his army of traitors up to the footsteps of the Emperor’s palace.
Anything is possible.’
‘So I should have killed him, even though he was actually a brother marine?’
‘You must appreciate that they are chosen for these missions because they are
the best. At least the best the Imperial force training camps can provide outside this
Temple. They were told of Kumek and your team, although not that they were
Imperial assassins. They are given as much information as possible in order to
improve their chances of survival and they accept the risks.
‘Training and honing assassins’ skills to meet the demands and dangers within
the purview of the Imperium is a strenuous challenge in itself and we do not seek to
terminate every assistant we use. Your reaction at seeing an undercover Veteran was
expected; the mission controllers had predicted it.’
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‘Predicted!’ Tyet fought a sudden surge in temper. ‘I could have been killed
through the contrivances of the controllers.’ As the words left his mouth, he wished he
could have retracted the childish impulse.
‘Naturally. Only the finest students can be stamped with the Emperor’s seal of
approval and set loose on the universe.’
‘And the remainder discarded.’ He was seething.
‘You came close to paying the price for truly failing that mission Tyet. Again, a
common reaction of students in your position.’ It was carefully delivered without
compassion, but neither was it overly critical. ‘You are confronted with the harsh
reality that your purpose in life is that of a tool. Some realise it sooner and others will
be killed before ever understanding that. You will be used as the Emperor’s will sees
fit and you will be sent to die if that is also His will. This is what you swore to at the
very beginning of your life here and prior to every mission you were assigned. These
final missions are concocted to be vicious in every way possible in order to test just
that. Do you truly have conviction in your oath to the Emperor and this Temple?’
Tyet made to immediately answer in affirmation, but closed his mouth, looking
down at his hands. He had become agitated at Muriko’s words and loaded a control
programme into his system, which restricted the testosterone levels in his blood and
removed the edginess. It was like being confronted with a mirror that amplified the
truly abhorrent qualities one hoped never existed. Tyet recoiled in shame at the
dawning realisation of his apparent immaturity.
Whatever Muriko saw in that reaction, she did not dwell upon it, but continued
‘It is never enough to speak ritualised words. The Ecclesiarchy are real masters in that
domain.’ She paused to see if Tyet wanted to respond, who did not seize the
opportunity. ‘You wanted some advice on your upcoming mission.’
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Tyet nodded.
‘The unknown is our greatest enemy, but nothingness is empty and should not
be feared. Find the enemy and make them known and strike with the blinding fury of
the Emperor. Your concern I assume is in being able to account for every eventuality,
but this is impossible. Even an assassin’s life may teeter on the brink of destruction
despite our best efforts.’
‘How would you prepare for it, Teacher?’
The Teacher smiled ‘My methods would differ from yours purely based on our
age difference. Not very comforting I know. I wish I could offer more, but I am
prohibited from directly affecting a student’s mission.’
Sensing the despondency reeking from Tyet, she turned in his seat to extract a
leather bound book from the shelf. ‘I know you are an avid reader of history, so you
may find this interesting. The original is long lost and this copy is still fragile, so best
care with it. You’ll notice the text is an archaic language. It was used on Terra, but
died out millennia ago. This translator will help.’
She handed the book to Tyet who took it cautiously. ‘Thank you Teacher.’
‘It records the events of a group called, if I pronounce it correctly, sam-u-rai. It
should prove illuminating.’
Sensing the conversation had drawn to a close, Tyet moved to the door, but
before leaving voiced a passing thought. ‘Teacher. Was there any way of winning that
scenario? Had I killed him, I would be responsible for the death of a Space Marine.’
‘There will always be retribution for killing a brother marine, even in ignorance
of who he was at the time.’
‘But would it have been the correct thing to do?’
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‘If you have faith in what you are doing is right, then you should have no fear of
the consequences. Even if they do lead to your own death.’
‘If I may be allowed to ask a personal question, have you ever faced that
scenario?’
Tyet thought he may have overstepped the mark, but Muriko responded ‘No. I
was fortunate in that regard.’ and then voicelessly worded ‘At least, so far.’
Lip reading the last part, Tyet queried in kind.
‘Of course. You do realise the testing never really ends.’ Muriko said silently,
Tyet reading the words forming on her lips.
Tyet departed with more troubles than he started. Replaying the entire
conversation allowed him to pick up the nuances and stresses Teacher Muriko had
used, but the final exchange was unexpected. The main point that flashed in his mind
was that he had taken the oaths lightly, just recited them as fanciful litanies. At least
he could feel saying them with greater conviction, next time. These were not just tasks
for the competent. Each mission was his duty and he would feel honoured at being
assigned to them; life did not matter, only service to the Emperor.
He would have to bounce these ideas around with Nysen at their next break,
which also brought the thoughts of Araya. They had agreed to keep their future
activities secretive, especially from the other members of their team, who should
assume that Araya and he were unable to resolve their disagreement. This had led to a
modification in Araya’s attitude, becoming publically more hardened towards Tyet. A
somewhat unpleasant activity as the recipient, but he was trained in deception and had
experienced greater rewards in consolation of the outward snipes. This inevitably
involved finding time in a packed schedule and unobtrusive places within a Temple
filled with agents that by their nature would be creeping around. Callidus were
90
renown for such creativity and the chance of being caught added to the zeal of those
few moments together. It had also stopped the vivid dreaming, though Tyet could not
be sure whether or not Kassandera joined into the manic thrashing of nocturnal
thoughts. At any rate, it was an improvement.
Araya had been dispatched off-world for a solo mission and was estimated to be
away for several weeks. Unsurprisingly, no information as to the nature of the
assignment or where it would take place was disseminated. They had devoted greater
time to their wild forays of the flesh during the lead up to her departure, but had
agreed that time apart was probably most useful for Araya, so that she could
concentrate on the task unhindered and Tyet could finish repeating his assignments
away from possible conflict with her emotions given the nature of the exam in
question. They also concluded that the time apart should also increase the spice of the
return celebration and with two weeks having gone by, he was adamant that it would
be a sensational reunion. At that point Tyet had promised to consider revealing their
partnership to his friends, end the concealment and dropping the outwardly frosty
interchanges. It also provoked a sad thought of the missing the emotional high he got
from having to maintain a stealth in the relationship, but had decided to devote time to
historical research on romance. This was in part also due to a few references gleaned
from the Cultural Appreciation classes with the friendly, but rather large form of
Teacher Ghatan.
He thumbed the spine of Muriko’s gift, a tome printed on flexible crystal
sheaves aiding its durability, but not offsetting its friability. It was leather bound in
keeping with the traditional style of books found in its former habitat. The letter on
the front cover had been printed using a semi-precious metal, now faded. He traced
the embossed print, easily discerning the individual letters to read “Shogun”, a name
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completely unfamiliar. Tyet turned the small device handed over as an aid for the
book. An optical reader was situated at one end and when scanned over a word, the
internal mechanisms would fire a laser over the printed text, capable of reading a wide
size of print and in many languages and generating an audible rendition.
He moved carefully along the corridor picking his way past small groups of
younger students marching purposefully in the other direction. He opened the pages at
random, sensing the quality of the crystal with his fingertips. The imprinted text
remained clear cut, betraying the ageing cover, which Tyet assumed would have been
replaced every millennia or so. The print layout was similar to any manuscript or
textbook in the 41st millennium, but the characters bore a staccatic quality. Easy to
read individually, but coupled together to form words that he assumed had long
passed out of conventional use.
He sidestepped another student only to find they had moved back into his path,
bringing him to an abrupt halt. Thankfully he had a tight grip on the book preventing
it from falling.
The bulky frame of Lyetan deliberately blocked the corridor, his face full of a
sinister quality.
‘What do you want?’ Tyet said hostilely.
‘I just wanted to make sure you are okay over your recent failure of the mission.
Or was it failure with Araya? I can’t remember which, but at least you have stopped
crying like a mewling baby after its mother.’
Lyetan had taunted him solidly for the past four weeks since the mission. The
altercation with Araya had not remained within the Callidus temple and was not
helped by Araya and Tyet’s subterfuge. How Lyetan had found out about Inquisitor
Cireez having used a powerful nerve agent, which also doubled as a lachrymator, Tyet
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was unsure, but was likely to have followed the same route as his spat with Araya.
Through the gossip networks that students were often keen to maintain.
The taunting was unwarranted. All Eversors had their tear ducts removed and
were immune. Tyet had come close to losing his had it not been for the medics
resealing the ruptured membranes. But the reality of these situations was lost of
Lyetan. It was just another opportunity to rile Tyet.
He made to push past, but Lyetan grabbed his forearm, the rapid speed caught
Tyet off guard. The Eversor’s agility was often underestimated due to their bulky
frame.
Not wishing to drop the book to the floor, he boosted his arms to prevent Lyetan
from completely controlling his movement, but the Eversor paid no heed, seemingly
happy to have only secured a grip. The corridor had become quickly free of students.
‘So what’s this?’Nodding towards the book.
‘A book that belongs to Teacher Muriko.’ Hoping the association of the object
to a Teacher would disinterest Lyetan.
‘Muriko! Is he your latest relationship assignment? How does it feel to hump
something that old? You probably enjoy an easy ride after Araya left you.’
Tyet’s temper flared. Lyetan had insulted a Teacher. This was a matter of
honour. He pulled his upper body back, using the security in the restrained arm to
offset a high kick to Lyetan’s temple, but the Eversor palmed the kick to one side and
allowed his opponent’s momentum to carry him further in front. Lyetan grabbed at the
throat with his free hand, forcing Tyet’s other arm behind him till it reached the base
of his skull. He was only just keeping Tyet in a tight lock and even though his boosted
muscles were fractionally stronger, it was sufficient advantage.
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‘Seems like I have touched a nerve in a Callidus.’ He hissed in Tyet’s ear.
‘You’re so pathetically weak. I am surprised that you haven’t submitted yourself for
voluntary euthanasia and saved the Calldius House another mouth to feed. You’re a
stain on this Temple.’
‘And a stain is exactly what you’ll be on the floor if you don’t release him.’
Lyetan cocked his head towards the voice to see Chaan standing there, arms
crossed, sounding almost bored. A scuffing noise along the floor from the other side
and Lunal appeared. Lyetan’s tracking systems had not sensed their presence.
Surrounded and outnumbered, he released Tyet.
‘There will be a time when your bitches aren’t around to save your neck.’
Lyetan hissed at Tyet.
‘Ooh, tough guy.’ Lunal retorted mockingly, but Lyetan had moved down the
corridor away from the altercation.
‘So what were you two love birds talking about?’ Chaan enquired.
‘Save it. I... We’ve got to get to the next lesson.’
The three arrived late at their next class and although no more than fifteen
seconds behind Lyetan, the Eversor Teacher had penalised the Callidus students. Tyet
tried to explain that Lyetan had instigated their delay to which the Teacher had
rebuked them for resorting to immature behaviour, earning them an extension to their
penal duties, leaving them to fume silently through the lesson.
After their punishment that evening, Tyet had returned quickly to the dormitory
to clean up before making his way to the study room. He could not differentiate
between Chaan and Lunal being furious at the injustice of the Eversor Teacher or at
him for making the Callidus name appear weak in front of their peers. It was only
after a frank discussion with Nysen that he decided that it was more the former.
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‘When have the Eversor Teachers ever shown a tiny bit or respect to the
Callidus? In the twenty years we’ve been here, they have always treated us worse than
tyrannid excrement.’ Nysen exclaimed.
‘But to have insulted Teacher Muriko, a highly accomplished assassin…’
‘It does not matter. We need to rise above the pettiness of a simple-minded,
chemhead Eversor.’ He grinned at his own hypocrisy.
‘Twenty years of getting the short end of the stick and nothing ever being done
about it.’
‘You know as well as I do that even the Callidus Teachers say it is all part of the
training. I have never heard an Eversor insult a Teacher directly, so they would just
palm it off as character building.’
Tyet nodded, ‘But if this has happened for decades or even centuries, would not
a Callidus student harbour a grudge, even when becoming a full assassin? Surely the
teachers would not forget their upbringing.’
‘Perhaps we’ll grow out of it, as they did.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure.’ He gazed over a passing Eversor and focussed his
hatred into a single mental strike. The Eversor visibly shuddered, but went on about
his business none-the-wiser. ‘Oh to have the Cullexus mental power’ he whispered to
himself.
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◄7►
The weeks leading up to Tyet’s mission had passed swiftly. A date was given
for the mission briefing and he used the intervening time for personal introspection as
well as progressing various assignments. He was busy in the central library
researching current weapons technology possessed by the Eldar, when a younger
Callidus student had quietly approached him, waiting patiently until her presence was
acknowledged. When a minute had passed, she coughed politely, Tyet looking up to
see the smallish frame of the student in grey fatigues, befitting her early student years,
blush as she apologised for the interruption and handed over a scroll. Muriko had
requested Tyet to join him in the fencing arena at the start of this evening. It was a
surprise request.
Tyet packed away the books and parchments and headed towards the gym was
slight unease. It was not unusual for a student to be requested by a Teacher to perform
menial tasks; students were duty bound to serve. He had some experience with the
sabre as all Callidus students were raised in the arts of using the C’tan, but always felt
awkward using only one side of his body to conduct attacks in a fencing match and
instead preferred the double short sword in which full body contact was permissible.
It also meant having to use a school blade, which he was sure was poorly balanced,
but without inspiration for this pursuit, he was never going to invest in a blade with a
finer pedigree.
The fencing arena was a small flat space, sunken four foot into the floor,
allowing spectators gallery to peer down on the duellists and affording them a little
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protection. A number of students had gathered, stopping their own matches to watch
Teacher Muriko take on Tyet.
‘It has come to my attention that Student Tyet wishes to challenge me.’ Muriko
announced loudly to the gathering.
Tyet was filed with a sensation of incredulity, having never sought such a
challenge and not long ago having defended this teacher’s honour. Tyet knew that
Muriko held the position of House champion since her appointment to Teacher status
two decades ago. It was a hopeless cause; Tyet was fast, but Muriko would be faster.
Muriko continued, ‘It is with an element of reluctance that I choose to give him
this opportunity, but I do so in the hope that he may yet improve himself at my
instruction.’
The words did not fit the challenge that Tyet had never made, but there was no
option except to face the House Champion with the sabre. Uncomfortably, Tyet began
to disrobe his outer garments and pull on a protective plastron.
They were both stripped of loose clothing from the waist up, a toughened
leather hide wrapped round the non-sword arm. Each sabre was rendered surgically
sharp, which tested the resolve of the combatants. Anywhere from five to fifteen cuts
to the flesh and a victor would emerge. Sometimes the swordsmen would get caught
up in the emotion and run another through. Should the opponent prove resilient to
survive the trip to the medic, it would earn the instigator a session with an Inquisitor
and a lifetime ban from the arena. Accidents rarely happened in the dojo.
The sports vest that Muriko gave expansion to her schmiss. She bore an
extensive pattern of scar tissue that stemmed from her neck across her front and back.
Tyet knew that even with limited sight in Muriko’s whitened eye, he knew Muriko
would out class him.
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And he was not disappointed. The first bout to five hits had lasted less than
thirty seconds. Despite the speed that Tyet could mount, the blade was parried and
deflected with ease. Muriko had not paused, but continued in her fluidic dance till all
hits had landed with precision. Not too deep to cause the blood to pour, but sufficient
cut of the skin to reveal the location of the points. Without the plastrons it could be
worse, but Tyet beheld the awesome blade work of Muriko and shook his head. Even
if he had no protective clothing, she would have been able to repeat the exercise with
the same level of precision. This drew a ripple of appreciation from the crowd for
Muriko and derisory chants for Tyet, all kept at a low level that no individual could be
identified. It quickly broke into murmurs.
Tyet withheld the desire to laugh at his inadequacy in full agreement with the
spectators. Muriko used a small towel to wipe the tiny droplets of blood from her
blade; Tyet to remove a little the sweat from his brow.
‘You need to control your emotions Tyet.’ Muriko admonished in quiet tones in
the short break.
‘I don’t think keeping my emotions guarded will help against you, Teacher. I
cannot control the blade with your level of finesse’. Tyet admitted.
‘I am not talking about your use of the sabre. I am talking about your altercation
with Lyetan.’ She kept her voice deliberately low with stern lines written across her
body. The spectators thought it simply a Teacher giving instruction to Tyet. ‘There
has always been enmity between the Eversor and Callidus, borne out of the
divergence of principles. You need to learn to overcome your instinctive reactions for
the sake of the Callidus Temple. We cannot allow such pettiness to persist and divide
the Assassinorum.’
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‘Even though it was a blatant provocation!’ Heads turned and tongues stopped.
Tyet felt guilty and lowered his head in shame. He could dare not repeat Lyetan’s
words about Muriko to her face, although given the Teacher’s generally high level of
knowledge about the mundane exchanges within the Temple, it was likely that she
knew.
‘There are often greater issues at stake than individual disagreements. There are
greater dilemmas for an assassin to face than dealing with a minor case of harrying.
Heed my words Tyet, you need to actively avoid these situations.’ He paused to
straighten his leather arm defence and slightly mouthed, ‘Do not forget what I said at
our last meeting.’ He fixed a gaze at Tyet who gave an imperceptible nod, before
continuing aloud. ‘And for the Emperor’s sake, stop trying to make sweeping cuts
from the elbow. It’s too easy to see and easier to parry.’
The next match had doubled in length over the first, but was still a one-sided
victory. The third match, Tyet had scored three points. The Teacher exhibited no signs
of fatigue and had praised him for finally adapting to his attack patterns. Tyet left the
arena slightly stunned at the interaction with Muriko. Twice now he had resorted to
silent communication under the guise of Teacher-Student interaction and felt that was
a lot more Muriko had wanted to say.
Nysen caught up with him as he left the arena, heading back towards the
Callidus Temple.
‘What on Terra was that about?’
‘I think it was punishment. A little reminder to watch my step.’ He said honestly.
‘Actually fifteen little reminders.’ The accelerants in his system had resealed the cuts
within minutes, but still left each site feeling irritated. He had loaded an analgesic into
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his bloodstream before the fencing match, which had at least taken the edge off
impending strikes.
‘She gives you a book about a group of Homo Sapiens Sapiens with swords, all
long dead, uses you to blunt her sabre, warns you off retaliating against Eversors and
you won’t tell me what is actually happening?’
‘I would if I could!’ He was being truthful. The events played quicker than any
sense he could derive from them. ‘But I’m still trying to piece it together. We came to
this Temple at the same time; have you understood all its inner workings?’
‘No, but I don’t recall ever receiving a gift from a Teacher before.’
‘Ah, jealousy then!’
‘Hardly. Being a pin cushion is not my ideal pastime.’
‘Well, I hope it doesn’t become a regular occurrence. I could always challenge
Muriko to Echinn.’
‘Yes, and then you find out she has strong pysker ability and pummels your
brain too. Not that anyone would notice much difference if your grey matter is turned
into pulp.’ He added as an afterthought.
Echinn was a game favoured by the Culexus where during the match a frail
mind would quickly lead to ruined flesh. Therefore, it was often dangerous for a nonCulexus to participate, but Tyet had proven himself a competent player, at least in
defence. He could shield his mind and punch through haze and illusion attacks, but
could not easily mount a sufficient counter to stun a competent opponent long enough
to claim victory and was left using pure speed and agility to put points on the board.
He was mocked by his fellow Callidus for attempting to participate, but then it also
meant he was Callidus House Champion by default.
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They turned along a new stretch to see a familiar shape walking in the opposite
direction, enveloped in dark black fabric terminating at the neck to reveal the full face
of Araya, her long hair tied back. Her smile faltered slightly at seeing Tyet, who
managed to overcome a surge to hug her and gripped on to an indifferent attitude.
‘Araya, welcome back.’ Nysen smiled. ‘When did you return?’
‘Two days ago. Have just finished the debriefing session.’ Her attention fully
focussed on Nysen.
‘So what happened, where were you posted?’
‘I cannot say much about it yet. There are a few senior individuals from the
Administratum and the Adeptus Arbites that have requested interviews before
disclosure could be granted. Suffice to say that it was successful in more ways than
one.’ She prostrated herself theatrically before Nysen, but he stood there quizzically.
‘Congratulations Araya. On making full assassin.’ Tyet said cordially.
It slowly dawned on Nysen that Araya wore the full black uniform with a series
of greying patches across the collar, representation of achieving full agent. She
nodded in appreciation at Tyet.
‘Oh yeah! Congratulations. We should celebrate.’
‘Later, definitely. Right now I need to catch up on two weeks with next to no
sleep.’
Nysen watched her saunter away as Tyet kept his gaze firmly in the other
direction, keeping perfectly still.
Having sensed the cool interchange between his friend and Araya, Nysen said
resolutely, ‘I wouldn’t worry about it Tyet. The full black tunic makes her thighs look
big.’
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Tyet switched the conversation as his mind wandered. Araya had given nothing
away and no news of her return. He felt that reading more into the circumstances
without evidence would be unwise, but could not help feel a little dejected. He had
never known a debriefing session to take three days, but then his experience had only
stretched to last few years that involved live fire exercises. No student knew when
graduation would result from a mission, only that it may occur at some point during
their final year. Tyet had once tried to discover whether a final year student had failed
to graduate, but the searches had proved futile. Either no student capable of passing
the year was allowed to proceed into the final stages or, slightly more concerning, was
that no student had ever been able to report failing.
Nysen met Liana in the dormitory and had departed for what he had referred to
as “revision”. Tyet decided to sprawl out on his bunk to continue his Eldar technology
essay. The libraries at the Temple were extensive, covering a wide section of interests
out of necessity. It was the privilege of the Grandmaster’s position to acquire vast
amounts of information flowing through the Imperium and at any level. Students
could, with permission, access the latest intelligence on thousands of different worlds
or a hundred different species that the Adeptus encountered. Though its ability to
remain up-to-date was only limited by the Administratum processing and filing the
quintillion bytes of data that flowed into its offices every minute.
Rather than giving a completely technical account of the various weapons that
the Eldar had revealed on the battlefield, he had included several paragraphs on their
cultural background as a stimulus to technological creativity. This inevitably required
a brief review of their ideology, which had flowed into previous tactics for
engagement, highlighting the parallels in their conduct. He attempted to unite both
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strands before detailing currently known armaments, though felt the lack of
knowledge of their production facilities would leave the final conclusions lacking.
Halfway through proofreading the draft, he adjusted his pillow for better
support and found a small piece of card. It bore a small scrawl of cursive writing,
“Sorry for not finding you sooner” and gave a room number and time, simply finished
with an “A”. He berated himself for his previous doleful mood as he checked the time.
He had two hours to wait, which made completing the essay a laborious task with the
impending distraction.
At the appointed time, Tyet stood in front of Araya’s new quarters and swiped
his hand over the unit that would announce a visitor. His name had been logged on the
computer in order to gain entry to these levels, which had admitted him after being
subjected to a series of automated scans. The restriction to certain levels afforded its
occupants greater privacy, though the door scanner was mere curtsey.
The door slid open as Tyet moved inside, Araya stood up from her desk. It was
a smaller room his dormitory, but only contained a single bed.
‘You took your time.’ She said harshly.
Tyet was taken aback and spoke in defence. ‘I think you’ll find this was the
moment when you wanted me here.’
The door closed smoothly behind him as she pounced into his arms, kissing him
fully. He grabbed her waist, trying to support her weight, but the momentum brought
the pair crashing against the door. They kissed furiously.
The broke apart long enough for Tyet to remember, ‘I brought you something.’
He held up a red rose, slightly crushed by their union.
‘A flower. How… interesting.’ She couldn’t contain her sense of bewilderment.
‘Any particular reason why?’
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‘I’ve been studying… Oh well, just a thought.’
‘Go on.’
‘It’s an old custom and it still forms part of the ritual of courtship on a number
of worlds, particularly in the Mara sector. The flower symbolises a blossoming of
passion, the colouration relates to intensity of the emotion. There is also medical
evidence that links a hypothalmic stimulation to the olfactory sense. And... I’ve just
lost you with senseless prattle.’
She took the red petal flower, turning it over in her hands as though trying to
deduce a connection with his explanation. She sniffed cautiously. A humorous
spectacle on any other occasion, but Tyet withheld a smirk. ‘No Ty. It really is a
beautiful gesture. I am sorry for not being better studied to be more appreciative’ and
gave him a lingering kiss.
‘So, can I ask where you’ve been, what the mission was about?’
‘You know better than that. Until the Administratum have processed the details
and given me formal clearance, I cannot divulge anything. Until that moment, the
mission, for all intents and purposes, has not happened.’
‘Not even a little hint?’
‘Would you have my recently acquired full agent status stripped from me this
quickly?’ she pouted.
‘I can think of better things stripped from you!’
‘Very corny.’
‘I cannot help but be curious.’
‘About me or the mission?’ she said with a sly smile.
‘The mission Araya. I’m sorry.’
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She dragged him to the bed and made sure the entire night was spent making
him very sorry indeed.
The Room of Sanctification was large, able to accommodate one hundred
students and agents. Wooden chairs rested on cold and worn flagstone floor, neatly
arranged in rows with wide channels separating them into smaller pockets, all facing
the raised platform that stretched the full width of the room. The exposed concrete
brickwork walls were adorned with regalia from the individual Temples, interspersed
with Empyrean artefacts and statuettes. An external observer might have said it was
decadence laced with decay, all too common across the Imperium.
Halfway up each wall, small shields were arranged starting from twenty
originals and fanning outwards, connected by a thin copper lines depicting the lineage,
filling the entire circumference. Each depicted the coat of arms of the hundreds of
Chapter Marine and Imperial Guard armies, testimony to the vast amount of other
people’s blood that also supported the Emperor’s throne. Many were faded, signifying
the longest serving Chapters and the ageing room used over many centuries for
briefing. A number of shields had been stripped from the walls. Entire Chapters were
lost in the Horus Heresy and torn down accordingly. Their untainted predecessors
stood alone, tracing back to two missing originals.
The room was a homage, originally designed to instil a sense of purpose in the
agents, but the intervening time and the psycho-conditioning ensured that each
assassin was highly dedicated and so the imposing decor had become superfluous.
Tyet sat in the front row, alone, pulling at his tunic. A scribe stood motionless
on the podium. Both waiting. The scribe’s ocular implant emitted a faint glow, which
sharpened to a point when focussing on the parchment it held. The rich cream paper
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flowed from its arms and it was re-reading the last entry script in a habitual manner;
the terminating sequence it had signed for the details of a previous mission. This
scribe was considered asexual due to the degree of body degradation and bionic
replacements. Often, they were once keen historians, whose only links to the human
flesh were the remnants of grey matter that were retained in a reinforced skull. The
extensive neural networking ensured efficient processing, accurate recording and
ultimate loyalty. A keeper of secrets and a programmed devotion to the Emperor,
although the medics maintained the notion that it was a simple augmentation of
existing desires.
Tyet began to ponder the key aspects of devotion that infused the flesh and
could at will command. The door slid opened as three officials filed through, as Tyet
stood to attention until given permission to return to his seat.
Millennia had passed since the Temple had been created to hone the skills of the
finest agents available to the service and protection of the Emperor. During the early
years, assassinations were common ploy in crafting a unified Earth and reuniting the
outer colonies; though that should have been considered a misnomer as the outer
colonies were still contained within the Sol system, where humans had hunkered
down within various planet-bound biospheres and converted lunar habitats. Assassins
were deployed swiftly, meeting immediate threats. They were still fully independent
individuals, where pay loosely bound them to the idealism of the Emperor’s wishes.
Humans had since spread much further with time and the development of technology
capable of penetrating warp space, had found xenocs both in real space and the warp.
The keener colonies and planets embraced new ideas and alternative science and in
others there had been nothing short of a brutal raping of resources. Expansion into the
unknown had greatly diluted the Emperor’s command over his dominion, which was
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then exacerbated by ferocious warp storms preventing intersystem travel. Across vast
tracts of space, leaders had found themselves free of the shackles of the central
governance. Often they would play the waiting game, until ships once again flowed
with resources from the Adeptus divisions. Occasionally a few had strayed, now
capable of accumulating more power to themselves, without paying homage to the
Emperor. Accordingly the assassins role had expanded over a vastly increased area,
with trillions of souls forming a variety of different cultures and histories and of
course under the threat of subversion of humans by hostile alien forces. Naturally, the
best of the technology invented within or borrowed and stolen from outside the
human race was acquired for the use by the Adeptus; until finally the Mechanicum
finally took over the responsibility to maintain the workings of the physical and often
portrayed spirituality of the machines. The Temple of Assassins had strengthened
significantly and though pay had all but disappeared within the huge juggernaut of the
Adeptus, the assassins’ value was beyond calculation. Bioengineering had improved
their capabilities and had also limited their independence as new chemicals and drugs
were difficult to synthesis and only available through established channels. It was
never intended to provide full control over each agent and neither was it deemed fully
necessary when a young enough mind entered the Temple for training, the programme
was tantamount to brainwashing the idealism of and duty to the Imperium into each
cohort.
Externally to the Assassins Temple, the Ecclesiarchy had sprung up in order to
carry the Emperor’s light beyond his immobilised body, which had proved an
effective means of control over the masses once the Frateris Templars were instigated.
This had led to a shift in power even at the table of the High Lords where the
Ecclesiarchy had amassed a substantial support base, in the Emperor’s name of course,
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and had begun to beat down the Administratum. A number of agents had been
assigned for services rendered towards more spiritual connotations with carefree
abandon. Whilst the Administratum tried to slowly wrest power from the Ecclesiarchy,
each Grand Master had protected their Temple from the political ramifications of
religious infarction and the assassins deployment was more carefully considered than
ever before.
Adequate preparation for each agent was required once a mission had received
approval from at least one member of the High Lords of Terra and ratified by the
Grandmaster of the Assassins Temple. The Grandmaster’s office would pass the
mission profile to the Operations group, who in turn would delegate to the partner
group within each Temple according to the requirements of that mission. An
Operation Oversight Committee would then select an appropriate agent or number of
agents, as well as make requests of the Adpetus Mechanicum for equipment and
weapons, to the Navigators for deployment and to the Astonomican and various
departments of the Administratum for the latest intelligence. A fully integrated a
seamless operation was conducted behind the scenes to deliver the vital parts for each
mission. The Assassins Temple also housed the training facilities for all future agents.
Accordingly, members of the teaching staff were included in the Operation Oversight
Committee, though if a student were selected, they would not be wise as to whether
the mission was a purely training or fully live exercise; often it was a mixture of both.
The details of the problem for which an assassin would be chosen to deal with
on behalf of the Emperor were soon to be revealed. Thus, through the door to the
room in which Tyet now stood rigidly, the Deputy Master of the Callidus Temple, a
member of the Oversight Committee and another from Logistics entered, all bedecked
in robes that the centuries had turned from formality to ceremony, but Tyet knew that
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the first two were highly capable assassins in their own right. Just inside the doorway
a Cullexus agent maintained a silent, motionless vigil keeping the powers of the warp
at bay; though here on Terra it would be almost impossible for an entity to tunnel
through to the resting place of the most powerful pskyer in the human race, whose
mind was cast among the stars whilst his body slowly decayed in his golden throne.
Yet, a Cullexus still provided immediate protection.
The Logistics representative exchanged a few hushed words with the scribe as
the others waited for acknowledgment to proceed. The Deputy Master proceeded at a
nod.
‘Student Tyet’ the formality was not lost on the recipient, ‘You are requested to
fulfil a duty for the Emperor. Are you in agreement?’ The scribe recording every
word and inflection.
‘It is with honour I serve the Emperor.’ Tyet responded automatically.
It was a ritualistic exchange before the actual details could be conveyed.
‘You have been selected to travel to Isser in the thirty eighth sector as part of
the reinforcements for the 91st Harstan Regiment, known as the Stormriders. The
planetary governor is to be removed permanently from office.’ Tyet’s heart leapt
unprofessionally and only tremendous effort and disciplining kept his body from
doing also. This was the first off-Terra solo mission he had been assigned to and
could mean one thing; the final phase of his assessment and transfer to full assassin
status on successful completion and return. The Deputy Master ignored the slight
flush in Tyet’s face and continued. ‘You will have five days in which to complete the
mission before extraction and your true nature will not be known to anyone including
the Imperial Guard. This is the essence of the mission. Do you accept in the name of
the Emperor?’ It was supposed to be the opportunity in which an agent could decline
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should they wish, but in several millennia no-one had ever refused. Suicide missions
included.
Tyet paused, as all three members suddenly fixed their gaze firmly upon him.
Drawing himself to fullest height, ‘Yes sir.’
The Deputy Master moved towards Tyet, equal in height, but separated through
a vast number of years. He peered into the other’s eyes as if searching for an inner
light. Whatever he found there in Tyet’s enforced stolid demeanour must have made a
connection as a smile slowly broke across his face. Tyet had kept motionless, not keen
to further betray his emotion.
‘Then you will swear an oath.’
Tyet kneeled on the cold floor in front of the three gathered about him and
swore in the name of Emperor an ancient litany selected from the Callidus Temple
book. With words he suddenly felt a passion rising from within. A strength of
conviction. He rose as the Deputy Master clapped him on the shoulder, handing him a
sealed parchment.
Where Astartes Marines taking on specifically designed roles for the Emperor
would usually follow a similar ceremony, they would proudly display the seal upon
their armour into battle. Assassins would file their seals in a secure location until
conclusion of the mission, no matter how many agents it may have taken to complete
the assignment or for the High Lords of Terra to revoke it. Tyet had found that the
largest number of agents consecutively devoted to the successful conclusion of a
particular task had been twenty one. Though why this fact was made available and the
mission details kept away from prying eyes of the students had never been
satisfactorily answered by his teachers. He also found that since that time, referred to
as the Minar incident, the Grandmaster undertook the power of veto over an order
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from the High Lords and could rescind the mission if less than half the High Lords
had voted. There were missions that were unsuccessful even after deploying more
than twenty one agents. The majority of these missions stemmed from the time of the
Horus Heresy.
Now that Tyet had officially accepted his role, the agent from the Oversight
Committee took over and spent the next hour explaining the finer points of the
mission. Tyet cross-checked various points, which allowed the Logistics agent to
enter the exchange. He committed the facts to his mnemonics, which ensured total
secrecy, the details could never be extrapolated unless the agent was alive, or at least
their brains were. And every assassin could self-terminate, thus keeping vital
information locked away forever. Tyet would be able to recall them for his own
preparation, but was prohibited from divulging any details to his colleagues and even
his teachers. In Tyet’s mind, the entire meeting was geared towards a live exercise,
though he felt he could not seek clarification. His suspicion was further supported,
though not conclusively he acknowledged, when requesting details of back-up. None
were in place, meaning the mission had a low probability of failure. This could mean
a straight forward task, but also limited the inclusion of an observer.
Such an easy trap for a student. Tyet remonstrated himself at that thought; there
were no easy missions even for an assassin. It would be a major and sometimes fatal
mistake to be complacent. He was not required to significantly alter his visage and a
two week supply of polymorphine could be secreted about his person. He further
probed exit strategies, bringing this meeting towards a conclusion and due to his
student status, there would be a final meeting prior to departure where Tyet would
present to the same group a tentative plan. The Deputy Master asked for any further
queries.
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A thought crossed his mind, ‘Will I be required to terminate the governor in any
particular fashion?’
It was not a usual question, causing the Deputy Master to search his own
memory files on the mission brief. It was a rare situation where an agent would be
required to perform the task in a particular manner, but often it was down to the
creativity of the individual assassin. This had led to the establishment of legendary
characters within the Temple. A status the every student aspired to.
The Deputy Master simply replied in his usual gravelly tones, as if casting off
such youthful impudence was an everyday occurrence, ‘No. A covert action resulting
in an eternal cessation of the governor is all that is required.’
Possibilities immediately flooded into Tyet’s thoughts, despite desperately
trying to dampen his zeal. His last team exercise was put behind him, the teachers had
not restricted his name from entering the mission pool. This was his first solooperation, a chance to prove himself and begin carving out a name. Naturally his class
attendance schedule had been cleared allowing him several days in which to strategise
before departure, though the deadline for his treatise on the technological
developments, or was it now stagnation, of the Eldar had been advanced, much to his
annoyance. He also found that the completion date for his relationship assignment
also coincided with his departure, which had elicited much ridicule from Nysen, but
thankfully no vexation from Araya. There was one occasion of complete distraction,
his heart not being in the moment, but Araya had tactfully not inquired as to the
source of the problem. He constructed his new visage in the 3-dimensional graphics
emulator and downloaded to his neuronal interface, which would guide the adjustment
of his body in response to the polymorphine administered. This was often the biggest
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clue as to an eminent departure and excellent practise for remaining tight-lipped at the
constant barrage of questions from his fellows.
Six days had swiftly passed before Tyet had boarded an unmarked shuttle to an
orbital station close to Terra, where he commenced the trek on a supply transporter
towards Isser, meeting up with reinforcements for the Stormriders en route. Tyet
puzzled as to whether Polymorphine was strictly necessary for this mission, but orders
were explicit. A lone solider with a duffel bag and a new phizog, facing the
immediate future with trepidation and excitement. Tyet smiled.
‘It is not wise to antagonise representatives of the Ecclesiarchy, Muriko.’
‘I do not care about the politics, Grandmaster. We have both served in the
frontline and my position affords me the comfort of not having to suffer their pathetic
image of self-worth.’
Muriko wrapped hands round her drink, as if drawing comfort from the warmth.
Despite the veiled attempts at controlling the Terran climate, the air still grew frigid
early in the year. Grandmaster Kintas and Muriko strolled through a private garden
that afforded privacy. Save a few hardy insects, they shared the garden with the
Grandmaster’s personal guard. Armoured giants possessed boosted metabolisms,
giving them incredible speed to match their strength.
‘It is my privilege to serve the Emperor by commanding this Temple. Our
mandate was handed down to us by him centuries ago, which means...’
‘I know what you’re going to say, Grandmaster. There is no need to remind me
like I’m some whimpering first year.’ Muriko interjected with a little venom.
But the Grandmaster continued more forcibly. ‘Which means that our
operations are directed by the High Lords of Terra. One of the positions at that table is
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occupied by Paulis III, the head of the Ecclesiarchy, and your indelicate treatment of
his representative here makes my position more difficult than I would like.’
‘You want me to apologise to that incompetent too?’ Muriko asked hotly raising
her eyebrows in disbelief.
Kintas took a long sip of his own drink. ‘I want you to conduct yourself in a
manner becoming of my representative. Otherwise I will post you to Paulis’ personal
protection team!’
Muriko glared at Kintas, allowing her contempt of the potential in taking a
bullet to save Paulis’ life to fill the gap between them. He returned a level gaze of his
own, until he finally burst into laughter.
‘How long have we known each other?’
‘Too long.’ She smiled.
‘I think you’re losing your touch. Since when did you have to resort to words to
convey your threats?’
‘Sometimes these dullards are a little slow on the uptake. Still, Skellisum
confirmed your suspicions.’
Kintas tapped his mug with his fingernails allowing tinny clinks sound to escape
into the still of the garden. ‘Power always changes hands. It’s inevitable. The manner
in which it will be done has me more concerned.’
‘What do you know?’ she asked.
A grin spread on Kintas’ face. ‘More than you could possibly imagine!’
‘Yeah, well just remember you were once an agent in the field and I saved your
arse in the Gravalaar campaign.’
‘Geez. That took a lot of preparation work as I recall. How many Gargants did
we fell before their unit could arrive on the battlefield? Three?’
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Muriko’s face was filled with reminiscent thoughts. ‘Should have been Four.
Except you got caught by the Warboss on two and it took you a long time dispatching
him and his entire crew.’
‘Come now, a person of my eminence has to hone their skills! One cannot rush
these things.’ Kintas protested.
‘True and you did such an excellent job that one of the remaining Gargants fired
on your position and I had to drag your sorry unconscious backside out of the
wreckage and then miles across the desert to the extraction zone. And if I recall, it
also meant the Ork became wise of our infiltration tactic so that the Adeptus could
never use it again.’
Kintas brushed the back of his head. ‘You know, I still think I got some sand
engrained back there!’
‘Good times.’
‘Well I hope don’t feel so old that you cannot return to the theatre.’ His face
rich with possibilities.
‘What have you in mind?’
‘There is a high ranking troupe of Harlequin arriving in the system. A meeting
has been called with the High Lords using the old customs.’
Muriko blew a whistle through her teeth. ‘How long has it been since they last
set foot on Terra?’
‘Not since the chaos incursion at Charon. What they want is still guesswork, but
they would not undertake such a risk without just cause. I checked with the Sigillite
who confirms that our nexus defence is strong and the Astronomican reports no
unusual interference. Yet, nothing other than a potentially devastating event could
bring them here and it’s got us all spooked.’
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‘Somehow I doubt that.’ Muriko said, eyeing him with suspicion.
‘Nonetheless, they have never trusted outsiders when it comes down to matters
of the webway. I know of only five humans they have allowed in.’
‘What do you want from me?’
‘Escort them in and out.’
‘You know I’m getting to old for babysitting duties.’
Kintas rubbed his arm, easing out the tension with his finger tips. ‘Just how
many other Grandmasters would have kept you on after what you did?’
Muriko shrugged indifferently.
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◄8►
The Grabban was a pockmarked flying wedge. It was designed as an
intrasystem runabout for ship to ship transfers, but also had two colossal hypersonic
engines tucked away under stubby wings at the rear of the craft, which rendered it
capable of escaping the gravitational pull of planets. Two wings could be deployed
along the midriff to enable gliding down to a planet’s surface, though were tucked
away till it had punched through the relatively dense upper atmosphere at Mach 15.
Currently it was tethered with a short umbilical docking tube to the Yeta, which had
carried Tyet through the warp to the middle of the Isser system. The Grabban paled in
contrast to its companion, the Yeta was vast. A behemoth in space capable of
transporting many tens of thousands of officials, troops and support vehicles for
deployment anywhere within the galaxy, one of the many craft housing the fighting
fury of the Emperor. Its sheer size also made it a prime target for planetary battle
cannons and its lack of manoeuvrability would keep a battle carrier to the rear of any
advance as support and supply, allowing its warp shuttles to deploy its contents. They
were also a principal link to the inhabited planets dotted across the spiral arms,
providing communication and resources for the Adeptus, though often thinly spread to
provide effective continuous support over vast sectors of space.
Over thirty spacecraft had docked with the Yeta, the majority having come from
the four hundred story, above surface that was, megatropolis that spread across for
several kilometers and held over a twenty million populous. A few runabouts had
come from other dwellings, fortified outcrops dotted along the boundaries of the
northern continent. Mining factories.
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Isser City was a horrific weather beaten blot on one of the smaller continents in
the southern hemisphere. The northern continents were swallowed up in volcanic
display where vast areas were given over to magnificent magma ejections. Across the
more stable areas of land minerals had deposited and crystallised, providing the fourth
world of the Isser system with valuable resources that were regularly harvested and
shipped back to, among other worlds, Mars. The extreme weather patterns and
voluminous poisonous gas constantly discharged into the atmosphere wreaked havoc
on the biospheres erected in the expansion initiatives. This forced the families of the
workers within the extensive rockcrete protection, which had naturally included
commerce and their bureaucrats for their support. Even the Ecclesiarchy had
established a temple to provide spiritual sustenance to the masses.
Hundreds of years had expanded the original population basis and the
megatropolis grew out of the dirt to accommodate. The wealth of the world had to be
guarded from without and within and naturally where taxes had been collected to
support the Isserian governmental officials, occasionally appointed by the Imperium,
who in turn had to maintain the Imperial Guard garrison and the Ecclesiarchy temple,
wealth was siphoned from the citizens. Extensive internal remodelling by the richer
elements had transformed a number of areas into palatial dwellings. This was
extensively counterbalanced with slums for those who would not work and those who
no longer could. The separation of classes was inevitable, conflict between them at
times also. Usually a detachment of Adeptus Arbites would be kept within the city to
maintain order and help ensure compliance of the residents to the Imperial approved
government, but Isser’s, albeit fairly distant, proximity to Ork raiding regions of space
had heightened Isser’s value not just for protection purposes but also as a staging post
to launch counterattacks if required. Therefore, a garrison of Imperial Guard had been
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stationed to supplement the existing City’s security and had in the last three hundred
years launched five forays towards Ork aggressors close to the Isser system. The
responsibility had fallen to the 91st Harstan regiment who were also known as the
Stormriders.
Six men were transported, four from Harstan’s boot-camp and two, including
Tyet, were reassignments. Their orders were to assemble on arrival in the Isser system,
but till that time they had their liberties available. This afforded Tyet time to review
the mission from his mnemonics and rehearse his cover story within the confines of
his single berth cabin. He was to assume the identity of a private from the 188th
Valhallan Ice Warriors, one of only three Guard found after the Chaos hordes overran
their regiment and their orbiting fighter had been blown through the warp carrying
them away from the devastation. Two failed to survive the tumbling of the punctured
craft over four weeks of drifting and the third had lost all cognitive processes whilst
his body yet breathed albeit with aid of machinery. Tyet was to take on one of the
dead marines’ identity whilst the only survivor was tended to by medics, affording a
little protection from the truth to reinforce a stronger façade. The Assassinorum often
procured identities in such a fashion and, in a universe enduring continuous conflict,
there was a plentiful supply.
A particular problem that prayed on Tyet’s mind was one of size. His natural
physique was slender, despite the level of augmentation, which was common for those
serving in the Callidus Temple as expansion was far easier than reduction of one’s
frame when using Polymorphine. However, his identity required an increase in height
and bulking out of the upper torso, which would slow down his normal level of
response.
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A message had been replayed through to his cabin early that morning, ship time,
for the 91st Harstan regiment to convene at docking port twenty two at the tenth hour.
There was only a three hour time difference when landing in Isser megatropolis
compared to shipboard time. With regular supply runs, the behemoth ships would be
programmed to arrive within a convenient time frame, perhaps taking a little detour in
their mapped flight path to allow the ship’s crew and personnel body clocks to remain
in synch with local time. Even on a war footing, journeys through the warp could take
many months, which could obviate time lag, but for all else there were stimulants.
Tyet gathered his spartan belongings from their once temporary home, stuffing
them into a crowded duffel bag. Surveying the room for one last time, he hitched his
bag over the shoulder and headed for the turbolifts at the end of the corridor.
The docking ports were linked together along several decks via a huge service
corridor that ran the inner edge of the Yeta. Hundreds of personnel were milling about
dancing a choreography of service to the ships littering the docking tubes, aided by a
lower than normal gravity. It was designed to ease exchange of materials, plus many
smaller ships did not possess sufficient space or power to run a gravity field and the
occupants were therefore offered a period of transition from a low to high gravity well,
or vice versa, by passing their time along the docking port.
Stepping off the turbolift into the vicinity of port 22 immediately threw Tyet
into a world of noise. The background thrum of the combined multitudes peaked
around the larger booster trucks that would chug under the strain of mega-tonne cargo
loads. Swollen crates of all dimensions and geometries were stacked in discrete piles
bearing the twin-headed eagle of Imperial endorsement.
The corridor had large portals punched through the reinforced carbonium hull,
filled with nanocrystalline diamond windows capable of dissipating intense energy
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discharges or high impact velocities. External plates were dropped over each portal
when the Yeta was in transit or deploying for war. What little light permeated through
the void bounced off the awkward shape of the Grabban as it stretched over one
hundred meters. Several shafts serviced one port and Tyet could pick out a gathering
of Guard having their ears chewed off by a red-faced irate official, presumably the
squad commander sent up from the surface who felt it beneath him to babysit their
drop back to the planet; rules dictated a senior official had to extract them from the
Yeta and he had obviously decided it better to outlet his anger on the gathering. Tyet
swallowed his rising apprehension as he made his way through the operators and
service droids to present himself.
Five towering Stormriders fresh from boot-camp stood shoulder to shoulder in
matching Imperial force issued fatigues, the closely cropped black tops and beige
trousers hanging to the frame slightly varying at the different bulks. The commanding
officer strode up and down the line, barking at the assembled troop, immaculately
presented in an off-white uniform with bright colour banding on his right upper arm
and upper leg. It was different from the traditional black and tan, the new livery
applied specifically for this outpost assignment. He was exposed at the neck, the black
tunic worn under the formal dress was rolled up under his chin to present a square jaw
closely shave with a pockmarked face that cried of too much drink over an extended
period of time; hopefully not recently. A shallow nose offset the deeply positioned
eyes held stoically beneath a crew cut hair line. Tyet made his way up to the line,
standing to one side of the evocative inferno.
‘Sir, is this the rendezvous for Stormrider replacements?’ He asked. It was
verging on the rhetorical given this was the only Imperial Guard Sergeant around.
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The Sergeant spun round at high speed, peering into Tyet face, his own having
gained a few more shades of red. ‘What the hell are you supposed to be?’ He
screamed spraying a little spittle into the vicinity.
‘Private Michael Athskel reporting for duty, Sir!’ Tyet stood bolt upright,
snapping to attention with a salute.
‘Well runt,’ The Sergeant was half a head shorter than Tyet, but ‘you’re late and
I work for a pocking living.’ Tyet checked the ship’s chronometer and had arrived
with time to spare and it seemed that the others had arrived moments ago judging
from the heat given off the Sergeant. He judged it best to bite his tongue than argue
the issue. Whilst many Imperial Guard regiments fostered a sense of unity, discipline
usually came about through enforced authority and new recruits would often bear the
brunt through the first few weeks.
The Sergeant moved his head within a few inches of Tyet’s face and found an
even louder volume to project to the rest of the marines, just in case they missed it.
‘My name is Sergeant Halls and if you want to survive your first footsteps on this
rock, then you had better make sure that you address me in the correct bloody manner.
Do you get me?’
‘Yes, Sergeant!’ Tyet and the replacements chorused together.
Sergeant Halls straightened, turning to survey the line of replacements and
managing to find a volume that did not carry along the rest of the docking port.
‘You’re a sorry damn bunch of lard heads. Why the heck the recruitment officers
allow you to grow idle I’ll never know,’ Tyet had surveyed the other marines lined up
when he made his way across the corridor and they did not look anything other than
extremely capable, but no-one had changed from their rigid posture, ‘but I won’t
brook any laziness or subordination in my squad. This is your first and last warning.
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Cross me and I’ll ship you back to boot-camp in tiny pieces that a goblin would not
even have to chew to swallow. Do you get me?’
‘Yes, Sergeant!’ They chimed once again.
Sergeant Halls looked back at Tyet, his eyes alight, but face held stern. He
nodded in the direction of the rest of the troop. ‘Fall in.’ He growled as he snapped off
a salute to Tyet who had maintained his since the Sergeant started his rant.
‘We’ve got a thirty minute drop to the surface. Hope you brought your knitting
patterns.’ There was a trace of a smile, though Tyet could not swear to it. ‘Right face.’
All six Guard spun on their right foot, slamming down their left in unison.
‘Pile in!’
One by one they marched passed a servitor, which had stopped to take in the
entire exchange, down the umbilical connection into the Grabban. The first cabin was
spacious. It was designed to hold two full squads of space marines in battle armour,
plus heavy weapons, should this runabout be required for rapid deployment into
hostile areas. Sergeant Halls pointed to a bank of seats, as they stashed their bags into
overhead storage bins and pulled themselves into the adjustable harnesses. An adjunct
in plain robes came through from the forward areas, conversed with the Sergeant who
then departed to the forward cabin. As soon as the door slid shut the marines broke
out into conversation.
‘Nice attitude.’ Said one at the Sergeant’s back.
‘Wonder what crawled up his arse this morning.’ Another said rhetorically.
‘I take it you know Sergeant Halls then?’ Tyet chipped in.
This drew the attention of the gathering.
‘You weren’t from boot-camp were you?’ one proffered.
‘No. I’m the only living survivor of the Death Sparks.’ He responded.
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A dark skinned warrior surveyed Tyet. ‘Never heard of it.’ He spat.
‘And now you never will.’ Tyet spoke defiantly. ‘My transfer to you means the
High Council has decided not to resurrect the 188th Ice Warriors of Valhalla. The
manner of my survival means I cannot return to Valhalla, yet. So I’m alone. A
wandering minstrel cast among stars looking for a place to rest my head.’
‘And you’ve come to pollute ours, little one?’ The dark warrior rejoined
hostilely.
Tyet took the measure of the man and decided to play to his strengths, fixing his
gaze upon the man, ‘You’ll find I’m full of surprises.’
A moment passed. ‘I look forward to it, runt.’ His opponent snorted, baring his
teeth.
‘Knock it off Bollim.’ One of his fellow troops butted in. ‘Pay no attention to
him Michael. Bollim here isn’t happy unless he’s outnumbered and having his arse
munched on by gretchins. Gives him a chance to vent his boosted ego through his
heavy bolter.’
‘Yeah, rapid fire and heavy calibre weaponry is the only way he can be sure of
hitting something.’
Bollim shrugged off the insult with a single finger. His companion continued.
‘I’m Joshua Shawkes by the way. Bollim Wheack, you’ve met.’ Tyet smirked. ‘Yes,
you heard that right. The unholy mother that spawned him pretty well had the same
reaction when Bollim popped out.’ This was met with further gesticulation. ‘The
lanky one is Sergei Untor and the brother over there is Thruaughbur. Parents put far
too many letters into his first name that there was none left for a second.’ Sergei and
Thruaughbur flicked off casual salutes.
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‘You see Michael, when Sergeant Halls was an everyday grunt like the rest of
us, he almost got expelled from our squad for screwing up orders. Turns out that he
didn’t know more than his superiors after all. Apparently, it left him embittered and in
the Moctarra campaign, when we vanquished the rebel guards from their homelands,
Halls went on to what could only be described as a suicidal run against a series of
fortified enemy turrets and rammed home several melta bombs to open up the lines
for the advance.’
‘He’s half a whack job, but instead of incarceration he got a promotion. The
Emperor turned his back on us for this transfer.’ The dark skinned marine proffered.
‘The sergeant showed great resolve in the line of fire, which is more than can be
said for us all, and you should not speak of a brother superior with such condemnatory
tones.’ Sergei countered, which silenced the others. The one identified at Bollim
shrugged as best as he could against the restraints.
‘So Michael, what’s your story?’
Tyet took a moment to compose himself before launching into a well rehearsed
story as nonchalantly as possible, but remembering to emote at the correct moments.
It was a poor student whose body could not react to the desired feeling. This was a
simple situation of asking what would the real Asthkel do.
‘My regiment was assigned to En’hom, a world racked with ferocious lightning
storms mixed with near endless snow and ice. We were to protect the mammoth trade,
a giant creature full of fur, good eating. But the dark powers objected; it took a long
while to realise that cultists had landed on the other side of En’hom, infiltrating the
inhabitants and starting conversion. At first the chaos minions that piled through were
easily dispatched, once we found them. We purged the lands, but no sooner had we
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completed one mission, reports of chaos activity came from another city carved into
the ice, then another.’ Tyet paused to take in a deep trembling breath.
‘The attacks became organised, better coordinated. We started to take serious
losses on the smaller squads and so began to mobilise larger forces. Even the total
destruction of a city with atomics could not penetrate the catacombs buried deep into
the crust and there we found newly opened gateways to the warp. Daemons began to
march the surface. Can you imagine a single regiment against the hordes of the warp?
We made our stand, refusing to yield, but once we were forced back towards our
garrison we tried to request assistance. Yet, the entire system was flooded with static.
No communication could penetrate through to the Astonomican.
‘I was patrolling space around En’hom listening to the escalating battles on the
surface. My comrades lost ground each hour to the tide of daemons until they reached
Tonmasoor, our bastion. At that moment the chaos battle cruisers spotted us in high
orbit. It was a swift and decisive blow and with nowhere to consolidate we threw
everything we had at them. They lost a few, but we could not exploit the situation.
There I was ready to die, everyone I knew burning around me. I targeted one of their
ships emerging through the warp vortex. If I could detonate my ship whilst the vortex
was still open, then the blast would be amplified in the wormhole. My final sacrifice.
Something went wrong and my ship was blasted. About a solar cycle later and I woke
up in a medical bay with the news of being one of the last of my regiment and no
future of the 188th being restarted. Apparently I’ve got some skills they need here in
Isser city and then I’m to return to Valhalla.’
A couple swore. Bollim made no comment. Any rivalry dissipated at such a
devastating tale from a fellow marine.
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‘And what about you?’ Bollim queried the other transferee, who had remained
quiet throughout.
A sallow veneer on a bulky exosuit spoke in hushed tones. ‘I am Peter Llany
formerly of the Crimson Vipers.’
‘Crimson Vipers! But aren’t they...’ whatever Joshua was about to ask was cutoff as the sound of the hatch cycling closed screeched over the last word, as the door
to the forward compartments slid open allowing Sergeant Halls back into the squad
room.
‘A storm has rolled in over Isser city, looks like we’re in for a rough descent.’
Sergeant Halls said matter-of-factly. He rammed the restraint frame down over his
shoulders. ‘Llany. Athskel. You’re to report to Lieutenant Rynem after
disembarkation for orientation. The rest straight to the armoury. You’ll be on the
parade ground in full battle dress within the hour of touch down.’
The Sergeant sneered at the collective groans. Full battle dress required half an
hour preparation minimum with the aid of service bots, but they were unlikely to have
either. The equipment available from the armoury would not be as pristine as required
for inspection and then they had to find their billets. There would be strong words said
against the Sergeant, but not in front of his face.
‘Llany, you don’t look so well. You puke on my boots and I’ll have you licking
them clean.’ Only Bollim smiled.
Llany closed his eyes as the Grabban detached from the Yeta. It sliced through
the upper atmosphere and into the storm. The battering was unlike any that Tyet had
experienced in the simulators or on training drops, but he agreed with whoever came
up with the analogy. It was one hell of a ride.
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Isser city was similar to the Yeta in magnitude. It was possible the pilots were
cutting it close, as Tyet judged that they were still in freefall, belly down, as they
passed the top floors before the braking thrusters fired. The sudden change in velocity
jarred the occupants, forcing Halls to string together a lengthy exclamation of
expletives. It sprung to Tyet’s mind that the pilots may be having a little amusement
at the Sergeant’s expense. The buffeting woke Llany with a jump. He had paled in an
instant, sweat pouring off his forehead, but he managed to hold back any bilious
projection.
The Grabban extended her void shield into a narrow cross-section in order to
limit wind shear. The eddy currents breaking over the side of the city rockcrete
structure impacted the tiny ship, but a highly focussed magnetic grapple beam was
allowed to affix itself to the hull and tugged it down to the landing pad. Once inside
the sunken landing perimeter the descent smoothed out till it touched down with a
characteristic metallic clang reverberating throughout the ship. As the turbines
powered down and hatch opened, the mechanical resonance from the landing area
took over. The runabout was clamped into position, parked between three troop
transports that were solely designed for in-atmospheric operations. Tyet could make
out a couple of landspeeders with complete hoods in place over the cockpits and their
hulls battered by the local environment.
The Stormrider replacements disembarked single file with Halls leading the way,
passing a team of carriers waiting for the opening of the cargo bay. Guards were
placed at the massive door leading into the city and the operators of a missile phalanx
were observed leaving their post as the assembly retracted into the bay whilst the void
shield powered overhead. The entire segment was devoted to Imperial military
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personnel only, though its protection appeared more against the weather than potential
hostiles.
Tyet and Llany were marched through a maze of corridors before being
deposited into an anteroom. A side door bore the stencilling of Lieutenant Rynem,
who wore a short fringe that framed his forehead and a jet black pony tail swept
behind. On entering both Tyet and Llany jumped to attention where Rynem accepted
the salute. He wore out-of-armour fatigues, but a second marine in full combat gear,
helmet tucked under his arm followed the senior through.
‘At ease.’ It was softly spoken, but conveyed a reassuring power. ‘Pleasantries
will follow in due course, but let me welcome you to Isser city and to the 91st Harstan
regiment. Marine Askthel.’ He looked straight at Tyet, ‘It is a grievous loss to us all
what happened to your regiment and I hope you will find your home among us, even
if for a short while. Marine Llany, your specialism in plasma weaponry is vitally
important to us at this time.’
He turned his attention to the both of them. ‘The Stormriders have a long and
distinguished history, proud defenders of the Emperor’s domain. I trust you will wear
your new colours well.’ He shook hands with them, each grasping the other’s forearm
in traditional brotherhood welcome.
‘Private Askthel, I need to speak to Private Llany. Sergeant Curtaz here will
take you down to squad room beta for orientation. You have been assigned to Fourth
Company and you’re commanding officer is,’ he looked at Sergeant Curtaz for
confirmation, ‘Sergeant Halls. He will take care of the rest. Questions?’
‘Lieutenant. I have been given a scroll to hand directly to Governor Estnell.’
Tyet held up a short metal tube with a retinal scan crystal embedded at the top,
personally coded to the Governor’s office. The Oversight Committee had arranged for
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a senior official to send the communiqué, something innocuous, but would afford an
opportunity for Tyet to make contact.
‘You can deposit mail for internal transfer in the administration office.’
He pushed the issue gently, ‘With respect Lieutenant, my orders were to deliver
this directly.’
Rynem frowned as he held a seal in his fingers, examining the detail. ‘Curtaz,
please escort Private Askthel to the governor’s wing. Dismissed.’
There was nothing special, in itself, about the seal. It bore the markings of the
higher echelons of the Administratum, an independent division known as the Office
of the Inquisitor. A sure fire way of cutting through the red tape in any corner of the
Imperium and any Astartes would instantly assume its presence bore no good tidings
for the recipient. There was no poison or explosive charge within the small container
as they could be easily detected. There were ways of masking the signals, but usually
had tell tale signs in themselves as long as the scanning operator knew what to look
for and if screening could not reveal the inner contents as being benign, then they
would be opened remotely away from possible danger to the addressee. It was
possible to reproduce a retinal scan without the user being there, as long as they had a
complete eyeball scan of the recipient, an eye could be cultured from embryonic cells.
An expensive operation that only the truly rich could afford.
Tyet saw the Lieutenant returning to his office with Llany as he filed through to
the central corridor with Curtaz. They made small talk about Curtaz’s history at Isser,
who had transferred from the 16th regiment a few years ago. His darkened skin was
presumed to be a common feature on the inhabitants of his agrarian world that was
surrounded in a bathe or near constant sunlight from orbiting twin stars.
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Curtaz moved with purpose, but took time to point out the doors to different
offices and rooms as deemed necessary for Tyet’s knowledge. His long stride was
causing Tyet to almost jog in order to maintain the pace. They passed a few groups of
two and four, fully armed marines. Their footfalls were drowned by an increasing
clunking from one branching passageway, mixed with servos and actuators powering
a heavy machine. As they entered a Y-shaped junction, which opened out into a
hexagonal chamber, a technician ushered Curtaz and Tyet into an apex.
Moments later Tyet could see the corridor filled with a colossal mechanical
biped. The white frame of a sentinel tarnished with the wear of operation, its armoury
and its exhaust fully retracted allowing it to slowly bob along, barely fitting inside the
aperture. The fumes pumping out of its exhaust was quickly siphoned off by the
active environmental system incorporated into the ceiling. As it moved by, it made a
curious movement, as though it were about to topple, but continued lumbering
onwards. Tyet took the motion as a sign of gratitude from the driver unable to voice
over the dorne of the engines.
‘Isn’t it a bit strange,’ Tyet said once the noise had faded, ‘for a sentinel to be
stationed in a hive city?’
Curtaz actually stopped at looked back along the corridor towards its direction,
despite the branching direction now obscuring its view. ‘It is perhaps more for show,
but the recent escalation of violent abductions dictated the need and has bolstered our
morale.’ He said with his deep basso voice.
They resumed their walk.
‘Violent abductions?’ Tyet enquired.
‘It started about a year ago. Isser city always had certain conflicts between the
classes, mainly between the poorer elements. Those that had nothing and those that
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had a little something, but everyone objected to the hike in taxes year after year. It
was nothing that the local security forces couldn’t handle, until Imperial tax collectors
were targeted and then went missing. Four men disappeared and none of the bodies
were recovered, no-one saw anything of them. There was some crap conflict over
jurisdiction and whose responsibility their protection fell to. Isser security made a real
botch job and our Captain Zaes and their Commander Krige had a showdown. The
Governor sided with Krige and blamed us. The old fart has wanted us off Isser
claiming that our garrison upkeep is part of the tax hikes and with the bastion
established at Salastra there’s no need for us to be here.
‘Anyway, Zaes ordered a lock down and cut the water and air recirculation to
the slums trying to smoke out the perpetrators. Protests escalated and weren’t put
down by the Isser’s own security forces. Some formed mobs and targeted patrols. One
was cornered. Dispersion requests were ignored by the mob and as soon as incendiary
devices were thrown, the guards rushed the lines. Tragically, three civilians were
caught in the exchange and died. Even worse was that one of the bodies was a twelve
year old girl. Her father had dragged her along to protest and couldn’t get her out of
the corral. She paid the price and he and many others blamed us.’
The corridor opened out again, but only had one exit other than the way they
came, which opened up to a well lit area with civilians or administration officials
milling about. On the near side were two guards carrying las guns stared impassively
at two Isserian security guards, armed with stun guns. The security guards wore clear
visors, each wired up to a microphone, their eyes slid off the Imperial Guard on the
opposite of the cavern as if unable to maintain contact for long periods of time.
Tyet looked down at the flooring, which had diverted his attention. It had
changed from a ship grey to a metallic bronze. Curtaz obviously caught on.
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‘An electrocution mesh. Isser’s security should protect our regiment. Well, they
maintain that they have done their best in keeping the civilian side under order. If
there is a revolt and in the unlikely event that we’re pushed into the garrison, we drop
the blast doors and switch on the grid. Should prove a sufficient deterrent.
‘In appealing to the masses, the Governor ordered that our patrols within the
civilian areas would be reduced in size. Only one or two man patrols to avoid
intimidation of the citizens, but the Captain refused. A month later we lost our first
Marine off duty. Our investigations drew a blank, not even forensics could pick up the
trail. We received a communication a few days later stating demands, but we were
unable to penetrate the net and locate the source. We refused to kowtow to the
abductors and a day later we found an eviscerated body dumped on the civilian
promenade. No traces on the body, apart from the gruesome attack. Nothing available
through surveillance.’
Tyet swore. ‘What did they want?’ He asked with disgust.
‘Our regiment removed from Isser. It was a retaliatory strike for that dead girl.
We traced her father but could corroborate that he was not part of the strike. Captain
Zaes ordered the patrols a zero tolerance policy. Any act against the Stormrider
patrols would be met with deadly force. The sneaky git of a Governor started putting
his security patrols in the way, running non-aggressive interference. We’re pretty sure
he ordered random power outages and periodically cut the water supply to the
garrison. A month later two more of us were taken. Same scenario.’
Understanding of the situation was never required by any assassin as to the
reasons the High Lords of Terra would order any execution. It was their job, their role,
to carry out orders. Morality never came into question; that was a decision for other
men.
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Tyet rolled the word around in his mind. Men. Assassin’s were trained to be
virtually soulless, although the Callidus would feign the proper emotional responses
to get close to their targets. They were men in flesh only. Yet, duty and honour were
not to be erased. Camaraderie was still an estimable concept and the words Tyet heard
struck a deep chord, one that pulled at the primal emotions demanding retribution.
The governor. Tyet recalled a lesson taught right back at the beginning of his entry
into the Temple, one that said to be wary of your own emotions less they betray you.
He detached the emotion from the governor and reassigned the mission. He
would derive no satisfaction in the possible righteousness of the kill. It was a job. A
task to be completed. Another tick on a scribe’s scroll.
They had passed through to the administration area, which was a vast ziggurat
of optical density controlled glass on plascrete floors, which regulated warm tones of
light flooding the facility. An atrium had grown alongside it. Greenery interspersed
with a vast array of colourful flowers. It was a complete contrast to the cold, clinical
tones of the marine’s area, but the architects had engaged with the project long before
their arrival. It was simply a haven from the bleak landscape outside the city walls.
Curtaz palmed for an elevator and waited for a few workers to pass before
resuming.
‘As far as we can determine, the Governor has been trying to pressurise some
politicos back on Terra. It must be working too. We should have received three times
the number of reinforcements in your dispatch.’
The glass fronted elevator started to rapidly climb. Tyet took in the wonder of
the display and tried to not to focus on women wearing short skirts and tightly
clinging tops, a contradiction to the harsh weather outside. It should not have been
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such a surprise that planets radiating further out from Terra would have very subtle,
but poignant differences in culture, style, sexual attitudes.
Terra had grown priggish with respect to fashion and he had not seen anything
so skimpy except Araya in her underwear, but that had only been for his pleasure. No
sooner had the thought materialised than another reminded him that she had also
given herself to a number of others as might have been required for training and
missions. It was a stifling emotion, caught in the back of his throat. For a split
moment he was thrown to the power of adrenalin coursing through his body. The
Inquisitor would no doubt enjoy ripping that memory apart.
He tried to maintain a casual tone ‘That must have soured their relationship
further.’
‘Yes. I don’t think Governor Estnell has since had audience with Captain Zaes.’
Curtaz continued as the elevator began to slow. ‘It’s unlikely that you’ll get to see him
either, but it’s more of a deterrent in my presence. At least whilst wearing the uniform.
I’ll wait here and escort you to the barracks afterwards. It’s just down the hall. The
secretaries will intercept you long before you reach the door.’ They arrived at the
uppermost floors in this sector.
The importance of the officials residing on this level was evident from the
obviously expensive decor that lined the vast reception area. A monatomic sheath was
suspended along one wall. Only a few atoms in depth, but stretched for five meters in
length and just over two high. Electromagnetic fields applied at random helped
constrain local, on the atomistic scale, areas that kept the material’s electronic bandgap at a preferred separation so that a full variance of colour swept across. A lot of
effort for an artistic wonder, which had mesmerised Tyet. He saw the sheath pulsate
blue at the centre as fiery reds and yellows swept in from the sides. It took a moment
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to realise that it was not purely random, but was in time with his breathing and the
rolling motion...
A cough resonated from behind causing Tyet to turn back to the elevator to see
Curtaz with raised eyebrows nodding towards the receptionist desk further along. Tyet
flushed red as he realised he had stopped and became captivated.
He quickly passed an assortment of art, arriving at a light coloured wooden desk
that swept around a seated figure fingering a glass tablet. Her golden hair matched her
surroundings beautifully, though her low cut assemble provided ample visual delights.
Tyet noticed that the smile she flashed that did not match her eyes. It was barely
perceptible, but assessing psycho-physiological states was part of his schooling. The
secretary was a true professional not to let her inner feelings overtly flow into her
outward posturing.
‘Can I help you?’ she spoke softly, her pitch and timbre so heart warming.
Tyet had to cough before finding words ‘I have a communiqué for Governor
Estnell.’
‘I can take that for you.’
‘Actually, my orders are to deliver it in person.’
The secretary was not perturbed, ‘The Governor is indisposed, but I will see to
it that your message reaches its destination.’
‘It is from Terra, the Inquisitor’s Office...’ He let sentence hang to see how
significant she would respond to its importance, but she looked indifferently at the
sealed scroll.
‘I can assure you that I will guard it with my life and it will reach the hands of
the Governor.’ She promised.
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Training to become one of the elite of the elite naturally created an environment
of competition, which the masters were keen to keep under control rather than
eradicate. It was said that competition provides additional psychological incentives
that no drug could duplicate. During the previous year, he became aware that
competition transformed amongst the full status assassins. There were records,
unofficial and unendorsed, for various aspects of a mission and because each mission
was very different, it was difficult and more often foolhardy to compare between any
two given operations. Yet they had circulated through the different houses to become
in themselves inspirational. For example, the highest body count taken in armed or
unarmed combat. The most number of different guises used. The fastest completed
mission.
Tyet recalled that the quickest mission recorded by an individual agent was
twenty two minutes from landing, though this time was predominantly hastened
through use of a teleporter and a lot of blood was shed in between the arrival and the
ultimate kill. Still the Callidus agent had managed a compete morph and so the record
stood.
As the secretary made her assurance, Tyet’s internal chronometer ticked pass
the twenty minute mark. He was not going to make any record. Although he had tried,
it was not a serious attempt at reaching Governor Estnell.
He offered the sealed tube to the secretary, extending the base towards her reach.
Instinct told him he should apply a little pressure as she pulled it away from between
his thumb and forefinger. It was conducted in a seamless manner, but Tyet gauged the
strength of this woman from the force she exerted in extracting the message container
from him without her realisation. She had received boosted muscle implants and her
feminine appearance was nothing more than dressing of a powerful guardian.
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Tyet reflected that Governor Estnell would not need teams of security with a
couple of these secretaries at hand. Perhaps it was vanity of the rich and powerful, to
render such beauty into a potential killer; quite the opposite for an agent of the
Calldius Temple. Tyet suspected that she also exuded pheromones, combined with her
natural allure, designed to distract the most determined of men.
‘And your name please?’
‘Asthkel. Michael Asthkel.’
She made notes by tapping the glass computer terminal then looked into his
eyes with a lilting head, ‘Good day to you Asthkel Michael Asthkel.’
Tyet could not see that almost perceptible trace of reservation he detected
previously. He smiled, nodded and left. The delivery of a message to the Governor’s
office provided Tyet with invaluable insight. He recorded the layout and had obtained
a 3-dimensional scan of the secretary along with her vocal patterns. The disposal of
the secretary, if required, would prove an interesting challenge.
He set his mind to the other scenarios he had planned. He gave himself three
days to get access to the Governor by subterfuge. After that, he would resort to more
direct action.
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◄9►
Tyet finally reported to squad room Beta, where he sat for an hour and a half
listening to the automated droning of a visi-projector describing the mundane and
minutiae of being an Imperial Guard on assignment. It was a standard format that all
new recruits endured, but this had a few additional elements on the history and proud
lineage of the Harstans and it was therefore deemed suitable material for Tyet to
digest. It would have been at best an annoyance, but given he had conducted a review
of the mission prior to departure from the Temple, he simply tuned out the overtures
of battle song and the enigmatic voice over to focus on his next steps.
The immediate task to accomplish was to simply find the governor or at least
get access to his schedule. Intelligence was largely derived from the guile of exerting
a little pressure through the Administratum to keep the Stormriders on Isser pending a
detailed investigation by the Inquisitor. Tyet made the connection of the investigation
to Isserian government dealings over the loss of marines. Whilst the Inquisitors were a
part of the Imperial network, they were wholly independent and capable of using
brutal measures to weed out corruption or subversion. Tyet could testify as to how
they applied their trade.
Towards the end of the recording an office clerk slipped back into the
auditorium to find out if Tyet had any questions. He had not. Then the clerk went into
a long tick list of items that were also deemed necessary. He was taken into a separate
room to have his palm prints, retinal scans recorded and his biochip ident codes
uploaded so that he could move freely in and out of, as well as around, the garrison.
The palm prints were already modified and his biochip was tuned to that of Michael
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Asthkel, a feat which should not have been possible according to the original design
specifications. The retinal scan was loaded into his mnemonics, which would filter
through to microscopic projector arrays implanted discretely into the retinal layer that
would activate any time a scanner tried to take an image.
The next step was to go through a medical assessment, which had caused Tyet a
little vexation. No medical file had been transferred with him, so the apothecary was
required to perform a detailed examination. The external appearance could fool most
people in the galaxy, but the mind and the inner organs were an easy giveaway. There
was no way to negate the test, which heightened the anticipation of discovery. Tyet
began to question what the apothecary might do when finding internal augmentations
were not Imperial Guard, but pointed directly at the Temple.
The apothecary had him strapped onto a flexible bed and began to position an
array of sensor pads over his body. No sooner had he switched on the recording
machine had the computer crashed. The medic ran the diagnostic, which appeared fine,
but as soon as the recording programme was accessed it crashed again. It was decided
that maintenance would have to deal with the problems, though once Tyet had
departed, the electromagnetic pulsing would also and the medical scanner would
come back online and operate smoothly again. Tyet had not dreamed that the little
gadget would have worked so well.
Supplies kitted him out with several uniforms for both off and on duty and had
to have a set of boots specially made. Tyet carried through the bundle to his
bunkroom. It was sparse, presumably his other bunkmates would be out on parade. He
stashed as much as he could and headed out after them.
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‘Private Michael Athskel reporting for duty Sergeant.’ Tyet stood to attention
awaiting instructions. The other members of his squad were stood to attention,
evidently having go through a series of marching exercises.
‘Dismissed.’ He hollered to the rest, then turned his attention to Tyet. ‘Private
Athskel. Why have you entered my presence for formal acceptance of duties without
full dress?’
‘I have just this moment come from supplies and they have requisitioned a
parade boots to be machine. Sergeant!’
‘Marine, did you send a copy of this requisition to me?’
‘No Sergeant.’
‘Did you ask supplies to send a copy to me?’
‘No Sergeant.’
Halls’ voice suddenly found new heights. ‘Then how the heck am I to operate
efficiently as your superior officer if I only find out through word of mouth? You’re
no bloody good in my squad if I cannot deploy you to the parade ground.’
Tyet was at a loss. The reason for not having the last piece of equipment was a
simple question of lack of provisions in Isser City and yet Halls was blaming him for
it. Tyet had only just come from supplies. It was not as if he had waited till the most
inconvenient moment to announce this problem, which in itself seemed such a petty
issue to be venting over.
‘Is that what you are trying to do? Deliberately subvert my position in front of
my CO? Making me look negligent to the senior command staff.’
‘You don’t need me for that Sergeant.’ Tyet quipped. In the microsecond that it
took Halls to react, Tyet knew he should not have responded in such a fashion.
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‘What the heck did you say, you pocking runt!’ Halls had reddened deeply, the
veins on his head and neck began to protrude as the spittle began to fly.
Tyet was still stood to attention, but had loosened his stance a fraction, readying
for possible action. An irate officer could carry significant momentum.
‘Corporal Niathald.’ Halls screamed. A broad shouldered Guard clambered
from the edge of the drill area with an unreadable face. ‘Him. Incarceration. Twelve
hours and then he is on restricted rations for two weeks. Penal duties to follow night
patrols. The rest of his squad will join him on the graveyard shift for the remainder of
the week. Now get him out of my sight until he learns some respect.’ Halls spat.
Tyet saluted, turned and was marched away from Halls. In an auxiliary room the
details of the infraction and punishment were entered on a computer against Asthkel’s
name. As he stared at the Corporal he sensed a mournful aura that dampened his spirit.
He expected a dressing down of treating a superior officer without respect.
‘A word of friendly advice.’ Almost a joke, Tyet thought; Niathald’s face was
deadpan. ‘It is not wise to antagonise the Sergeant.’
Tyet was about to say ‘Halls has a big mouth and he was about to be fed his
own boots’, but now thought better of it, thankful that his own ire was declining. It
would not have been honourable to strike a senior officer, but Halls had come close to
facing an incensed assassin without evening knowing it. The Sergeant definitely
needed his psychological profile checking.
‘Permission to speak freely?’ Tyet enquired as they marched from the office.
‘Yes.’
‘The guy has a loose wire and is unfit for command. What in the Emperor’s
name is doing serving in the Emperor’s name?’ He deliberately kept his voice low.
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‘He maybe unfit for purpose, but I am not your agony aunt.’ He then added a
clarification in case Tyet had not heard of the reference before. ‘I’m not interested in
sorting your personality clashes. If you are unable to keep your mouth shut and take
his outbursts in your stride, you’ll be spending a lot of time on report.’
‘What is the incarceration box, Corporal?’
‘Solitary isolation with sensory deprivation.’
‘But in the penitentiary wing?’
Niathald nodded.
‘I gotta drop off this uniform. I doubt Sergeant Halls would appreciate me
looking my best in there.’
They took a lift up two floors to the sleeping quarters. Tyet was to drop off the
parade uniform in his locker before being escorted to the detention area. As he walked
in, he saw the rest of the squad that accompanied him down from the Grabban were
strewn across the bunks, polishing kit. As they realised who had entered, being
accompanied by Corporal Niathald, Bollim jumped down from his bed and strode in
front of Tyet. All talking stopped.
‘We’ve just seen an update to our duties, are you the reason we’re on doubleshifts for the next two weeks?’
Tyet’s eyebrows raised. ‘Yes.’
‘What in the Emperor’s name is your malfunction Asthkel? Were you not
warned about Sergeant Halls?’ Bollim squared his shoulders towering down over Tyet.
If it came to a physical contest Tyet was confident of tackling most Astartes
Marines out of their power armour, let alone Imperial Guard, but if ever suited up, the
symbiotic power enhancements and that near impenetrable ceramite could wear down
most assassins including the Eversors. The trick was to exploit the assassin’s greater
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speed and agility against those few “weaker” points, plus stealth and guile were often
the greatest assets to invoke. Besides, an augmented assassin contained weapons as
part of their biofunctioning, so a purely physical contest would never be entirely fair.
Corporal Niathald interjected. ‘Back off Wheack.’
‘Are you seriously telling me you’re sticking up for him? No sooner has this
infant joined us and we’ve already got a black mark against our squad. If Halls felt it
necessary to punish us then Halls must want us to teach Asthkel a lesson.’
‘And you’re the man to do it?’ Tyet said blatantly.
Bollim grabbed Tyet by the cuff of his jacket, ready to land a strike with his
other hand. As Niathald made to intercept Wheacks, Tyet reacted in an instant. He
held onto Bollim’s hand pulling his own upper body back causing Bollim’s arm to
straighten, then punched into his elbow. There was a sickening crack as Tyet let go of
the other arm. Bollim screamed.
Niathald pulled Tyet back, but Bollim made to reverse swipe Tyet with his other
fist. Tyet parried with his closest arm allowing the impact energy to divert harmlessly
overhead and launched a counter upper cut into Bollim’s belly, stopping short of
perforating his abdomen. Bollim collapsed to floor trying to regain breath.
‘Enough. Both of you.’ Niathald shouted. ‘Wheacks, if you continue I’ll have
you on report.’
‘Well, well. Looks like our new recruit has a few surprises after all, hey
Bollim.’ Joshua smirked. He and Sergei Untor had moved towards Bollim as soon as
he had grabbed Tyet, but held back after the first strike went against him. Bollim had
not regained his feet, still staring at Tyet from the floor. Tyet had maintained his
composure throughout. He held no grudge against his would be attacker, dismissing
Bollim’s rant as purely immature invectiveness. Tyet’s reactions were instinctive, but
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he wondered whether he carried a little vexation from his previous encounter with
Halls. He extended his hand towards the stricken marine, offering assistance, but
Bollim swatted him away like a pesky fly with his one mobile hand.
Tyet recalled the only time he had served undercover as part of a training
exercise with the Mordian Iron Guards. Loyal, honourable and disciplined with the
strongest obligation of servitude to mankind that was unparalleled in the other
Imperial Guards. Even one of his martial calisthenics trainers since his first phase at
the Temple had once been a Captain in the Imperial Guard. A complete contrast to his
first moments with the Harstan’s Stormriders.
‘You two,’ Corporal Niathald said looking at Joshua and Sergei, ‘get Wheacks
off the floor and get him to a medic. Best to avoid Halls.’
Tyet had expected Bollim to be reprimanded, instead the Corporal had glossed
over the incident as though it were no more than irritable scratch.
Bollim was hoisted to his feet, as Sergei surveyed the damage. ‘Probably just
snapped tendons’, but Bollim was not listening. He continued to stare at Tyet,
shocked at the speed with which this little one moved. Outmatched by his fury getting
the better of him. It would serve as a painful reminder.
Tyet busied himself cramming his gear inside, as Sergei ushered his ward from
the bunk room. Joshua was in discussion with the Corporal, so Tyet took the
opportunity to slip a flesh coloured pack from his holdall and tuck it inside his shirt.
The design was to be passed off as abdominal muscles if padded down manually and
had the materials chosen for the utensils it contained within had similar density to
pass under active scanners. The only downside, Tyet reflected, was that the tools were
low grade, but as a teacher of old had often reminded him, ‘it is not the technology of
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a instrument that maketh its usefulness, but the resourcefulness of its user. Consider
the Callidus assassin Verr’.
The recited tale spoke of Verr as having been en route to depose a dictator, but
was excessively delayed in a temporal flux and arrived several decades behind
schedule to find the dictator’s family had taken over control. They had continued the
legacy of anti-Imperial activities and Verr spent a full day disposing of the entire
family using every available item from a napkin holder to a butter knife. Legend!
‘Alright Asthkel, let’s go.’ Niathald barked.
They made their way back towards the service lifts, through the busy corridors
of the sleeping quarters. Guards in full regalia were heading out and those with
helmets slung under their arms heading back. Projectile weapons inside the barracks
were returned to the armoury at the end of each shift, but close combat weapons of
choice, personal effects, were often secreted through to their bunk rooms.
‘Corporal, why didn’t you reprimand Bollim as soon as he spoke so
disrespectfully?’
‘If you cannot take a few beatings then what good are you to us? Besides, I’ve
been in the Marines longer than you’ve been alive, I’ll warrant, and I’d like to think I
can assess the measure of any man, especially a trooper. And you carry yourself with
a certain air of confidence and yet at other times with elements of naivety. In itself it
doesn’t make sense why you would provoke Halls and then Wheack. There must have
been purpose.’
Tyet kept straight faced, refusing to rise to the bait. It was disconcerting having
a lower order member of the Imperial Guard read you like an open book, which spoke
volumes about his training. No matter how much one learnt and applied, there could
still be tell tale signs. Perhaps he should not beat himself up, he thought.
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Niathald chuckled, ‘Besides Bollim’s actions shows him to be an undisciplined
loud mouth and I wanted to see if I was right.’
He looked directly at Tyet; his age was proudly worn on his face with wrinkled
skin framing an assortment of battle scars. A warrior proven time again through a
long series of campaigns, yet never driven in desire to the higher echelons of
command. He could lead a small number of troops into the fire and cared enough to
ensure everyone was pulled through to the other side, but commanding larger
numbers became too impersonal.
‘And I was right, right?’ It was almost rhetorical.
Though Tyet could respect him, he could never reveal himself. He damned
himself for a lack of consistency. He decided for a stab at poetic evasiveness with a
little truth mixed in.
‘It’s been a long road with many wonders littering the way, though I dare not
stare lest I trip and stumble.’
Niathald brushed off the evasiveness. ‘Well, where you’ll be for the next twelve
hours will provide ample opportunity for similar reflections.’
They left the lift and turned into a long corridor barricaded by a brace of
armoured guards who retreated into alcoves after Niathald palmed entry into the brig.
Once through the internal doors the corridor opened into a wide room, too clinically
white with a faint antiseptic aroma. Three meter wide and three meter tall apertures
were cut in a hexagonal affair into the walls, regularly spaced along each side. A
number had a blue haze over the gap, another fully sealed, but the remainder were
empty allowing Tyet clear view of the holding cells. Minute spaces with a urinal
receptacle hewn from the wall, a number had beds that looked more like slabs of
anodised metal, provided all the comforts an incarcerated marine was to enjoy.
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Tyet never made it as far as the cells screened with a blue hue before Niathald
directed him into a vacant unit. A uniformed guard checked Tyet before activating the
force field and then lowering the screen. The unit was plunged into darkness; the
screen sufficient to block any sound vibrations making Tyet very aware of the lack of
the everyday ambience and background noise he took for granted.
An ocular implant near the lachrymator duct started to emit infrared pulses to be
picked up by his modified eye giving him clarity of the room. He had reviewed the
schematics of the garrison on the Yeta and though residing in the brig was a low
priority plan, he had accounted for the ventilation system providing an exit route
through to the civilian sector. Though the vented facia covering the ducting could
only be removed by a magnetic screwdriver, which he had secreted among other items
in his flesh-coloured pouch. He stood on top of the slab-cum-bed, activating the
appropriate tool to pull down the ventilation cover to reveal a laser mesh protecting
his would be exit. The modified cornea adjusted to the power output of the security
system avoiding burn through and scarring.
It was a fairly straightforward single pass beam through a series of reflective
crystals lining the periphery. Tyet couldn’t get to the emitter without passing the
through the beam, so slipped out a single crystal with a tiny mounting arm and placed
it into the path of the laser. Nothing happened until a red light blinked green and the
laser was successfully rediverted. A fully automated prism capable of dealing with the
majority of security systems in the Imperium. Grabbing hold of the lip Tyet pulled
himself up, bracing himself against the sides until the shaft met a T-junction and
diverted along the horizontal. He scrabbled his way through a series of turns and
sharp descents, guided by his internal map and recording the length of time the
reverse journey would take. It would be catastrophic to be absent when the cell was
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opened up. The ventilation system was a marine installation to the Imperial Guard
occupying Isser city. It was constructed from prefab metal sheeting coated with a
toughened transparent polymer impregnated with nanoscopic titania, thus an
ultraviolet pulse could be emitted at certain points throughout the system, which
would propagate from the metal plates striking titanium dioxide crystals in the surface
and subsurface polymer coating, providing an intense energy focus into the local
surface structure killing bacteria, lichen and moss. It was standard low maintenance
technology used throughout the galaxy by Imperial forces. To Tyet, the surface
glistened in the low lighting levels; his implants constantly adjusting to the charge
build up on the surface of the nanoscopic particles in direct response to his ocular
emission.
As he moved further away from the brig, he picked up a faint chemical tinge
carried along the ventilation currents. It was only as the equally faint sounds
reassembled into coherent patterns associated with the armoury that the Tyet recalled
the smell attached to a highly flammable liquid-gas, promethium. Plasma technology
and promethium. It was one of several indicators about Isser that did not sit right.
There was no need for these capabilities in this megatropolis.
It took an hour for Tyet to crawl through the labyrinth to the point where it
interfaced with the City’s own air supply. He had to manoeuvre through a return
conduit by pulling back a thin membrane separating two venting channels so that he
could by-pass the garrison’s gas purification system. He dropped out into a
maintenance complex, filled with a grimy array of rusting pipe work snaking across
the vast space, in complete contrast with the clean cut mechanics of the pipework he
just left. The thrum of the generators turning cogs and chain vying with acrid aromas
from overworked oil carried on plumes of steam to fill the air.
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Tyet ran to one of several exits available to the atmospheric processing complex.
Barring major revisions in the structural layout within the last two years, the route
back toward the administration block would prove no problem. Obtaining suitable
clothing to move around Isser city freely was a pressing concern, but an array of
lockers in the corridor just outside yielded appropriate attire to get to the destination.
A further change of clothing would be required to get into the governor’s office,
which provided further delays.
His emergence in the atmospheric processing levels deposited Tyet several
stories away from his target. It would take an hour and a half to work his way up
through the dozens of levels on foot, having to dodge the occasional marine patrols
wending their way through the lower levels, but the hooded robes and rustic tunics
were easily pilfered providing suitable coverage to the casual observer. Clusters of
workers and vagrants ebbed and flowed around Tyet as he paced through the dingy
enclaves. Moths attracted to a new light source. Picking up the nuances of the local
dialect enabled swifter passage from the engineering sector.
He finally slipped into a plain tunic as he made his way into the administration
facility, grabbing hold of a sheath of papers from a youthful underling about to drop
them into an incinerator. It was easily done when enough confidence was applied. The
intern simply shrugged and handed them over for, apparently, a “re-inspection”.
It was late in the afternoon and the offices had thinned out noticeably. Tyet
walked straight on to the elevator without hindrance and punched the button for the
top floor. The windows had been dimmed; a simple application of a current to cause
the liquid crystals to realign, stemming the passage of sunlight still streaming in from
the atmosphere.
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The elevator doors opened onto a quiet corridor. The gigantic mood display, as
Tyet thought it to be, ignited at his presence. He quickly tempered his own thoughts to
soften the colourful tones that were emblazoned across the display. Slowly they faded
to shades of grey. The desks were missing their secretaries. The doors leading off the
main corridor were closed.
Tyet kept himself on the customer’s side of the desk, recalling the secretary’s
fingerprints from his mnemonics. He recorded the image when she had earlier tapped
onto her transparent keypad. The image was loaded into the actuation centre that
controlled and manipulated his external features. A little injection of polymorphine
from his internal reservoir was all that was required to reproduce an exact replica of
her fingerprint instead of his adopted one.
He double-checked for movement in the office space and in its absence he could
feel the sudden involuntary surge of adrenalin into his blood, the sound of his heart
pounding in his ears. He desperately loaded a suppressor routine into his cortex to try
and maintain a facade of natural innocence; the nervous response was a dead
giveaway for the actual guilty. He reached over the desk to press his finger onto the
display.
‘Can I help you Private Askthel?’ the gentle but firm tones of the secretary’s
voice made him almost jump, leaving him wondering how she had managed to move
behind him without making her presence known. Tyet knew exactly what stealth took
to perfect. His mind had been preoccupied that he hadn’t used his limited psyker
ability.
‘I, er, just wanted to see if the message had got through to the Governor.’ He
said with a subtle emphasis on the stutter. His cheeks had visibly reddened despite the
adrenal filters working overtime to re-establish the balance of chemicals in his blood.
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‘Hmm.’ She eyed him suspiciously.
Tyet took in her luscious curves, remembering the bionics beneath her silky
smooth skin. Despite himself his attention was drawn in wonder over her body, how it
could perform on the battlefield, and none too subtly.
Tracing the motion of his eyes, she looked very serious. ‘I did hand over the
cylinder to the Governor this afternoon. As I promised.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Is that the only reason you had come up?’
Tyet was puzzled. ‘I am just a messenger boy.’
‘Well.’ She moved round the desk to resume her seat, running her hand over the
screen. ‘I thought, perhaps, that you would have another reason for coming back.’
He scrambled through his mind trying to process her words. Was this a ploy to
revealing his purpose or whether she was simply stringing him on before launching an
all out attack. He stretched out his mind as much as he was willing to dare, but could
not glean her mental state. His frantic thoughts recalled simple advice; if in doubt
plead ignorance and give yourself time to recuperate. However, this advice was only
to be used on humans. It did not work for other xenocs.
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
She brushed her hair behind her ear, allowing her finger tips to follow on and
stroke her neck and then down her side. A smile broke forth. ‘I just thought the way
you were lingering you might have been waiting for something more.’
Realisation flooded through like an arctic flow over lava. He should have been
used to confident women having grown up in Temple predominantly filled with his
opposite sex.
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Did women really act this covertly in sexual predation, initially appearing cold
as space then in a blink of an eye adopt a sensually emotive aura?
If he got this wrong his cover would probably be blown and he would then have
to go underground in order to fulfil his mission. This would be a grave error that
Teacher Smyth would love to exploit. He ploughed on. ‘Perhaps!’ He allowed an
adolescent grin to manifest. ‘Hi I’m Michael and I’m new in town.’
‘Hi Michael. I’m Eelil.’ She flashed a beatific smile.
‘Hello Eelil. If I wanted to meet interesting and single ladies, where might I
go?’ The words flowed from memory, his neurons firing rapidly to recall everything
he had learnt and practised and then to deliver it as naturally as possible.
How the hell can I be thinking of all the training whilst trying not to blow my
cover, this should really be more automatic and not responsive you idiot. He
reprimanded himself.
‘I don’t know about other ladies, but this one is free tonight.’
‘I cannot think of anyone finer to show me the sights of Isser city, but alas
tonight I have other duties to attend to.’
‘They put you to work fast. No settling in period. So how about tomorrow?’
‘My sergeant is a slave driver and has me working nights, but early evening?’
‘Done. Play your cards right and I might just have you working hard at night
too.’ She said without the slightest embarrassment.
Gliding between morality extremes and every refinement that society had to
offer in between was part of the galaxy in which the Assassinorum had to operate and
had to train its Callidus students how to adapt to make their guise more credible.
‘There’s a lot I need to learn about this world and this society, but I’m sure
you’ll find I am up to the challenge, Eelil. I will find you here tomorrow then.’
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Tyet was not sure which was harder. Not staring at her assets or trying not to
run as he left Eelil. The mood wall flashed bright red and purple as he passed and he
hoped to the Emperor that the Governor’s secretary had not seen it.
What happened to being callous, cruel and clinical Callidus? Ever the bloody
student.
As he made his way back to the brig, Tyet reflected that whilst one avenue
closed occasionally another opened, but he had never considered that whilst sneaking
out from his incarceration to hack into the Governor’s schedule he would pick up a
date with the target’s secretary. He may not have the record of quickest kill and was
still suffering from controlling his emotional responses, but this tale would help build
a legend.
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◄ 10 ►
The journey back to incarceration seemed diminished by comparison. Not that
Tyet was drawing a direct evaluation, but inevitably his mental logic could not help
but compute the exact details. It was more straightforward to retrace steps when all
obstacles have been anticipated. It also afforded Tyet to contemplate a variety of ways
in which he could possibly use Eelil as an intermediary for the kill. His orders were
not explicit as to how the kill should be undertaken and using a third person was
considered a good use of materials if it saved time and gained access to sensitive areas.
Although a number of teachers had argued that an assassin worth their active status
would easily overcome such obstacles and would desire to undertake the kills
personally if their presence on mission was considered worthy by the Emperor
himself. Unsurprisingly, there were other teachers who had countered that a kill is a
kill no matter how it is undertaken and an assassin’s worth should be measured by the
length of service for the Emperor and by accumulating a large number of successful
missions during that time. The Callidus Temple had championed the latter approach
for its agents, although were chemically gifted to perfect the former.
This mission was a simple matter of the governor being dead at its conclusion.
Tyet ran through the possibilities of applying a subcutaneous dart into Eelil’s hands,
so that when she came into contact with the governor an injection could take place. It
was not so much as to when it would happen, but if. Plus not possessing the
Governor’s biomedical data, the dart could not be target selective and she could end
up killing a host of others she could come into contact with him. That was sloppy
work, though forgivable. Should others die through the administering of kill then it
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was simply considered as the Emperor’s divine justice. Strangely this was advocated
chiefly by the Teachers of the Ecclesiarchy.
He mulled over the loss of Eelil, but felt no guilt or emotional tug at his
thoughts. There was an element of excitement over her augmentation and training that
he would have enjoyed exploring in the sparring rooms back at the Temple, but
ultimately she was a wisp along with many others that formed a tune in Isser city that
he would play in order to get to the governor.
As he shuffled up a vertical climb, sounds drifted into the ducting as metallic
reverberations of their former utterance. Tens of individuals in conversation required
to make this garrison of the Stormriders operate as an efficient arm of the Imperium.
Tyet thought he heard the dulcet tones of sergeant Halls chewing off another marine
for some minor infraction. His internal mnemonics showed he was close to the offices
section and Hall’s grating voice was audible over his superiors; how anyone got work
done on this level was a mystery. Tyet mused that Halls was the Mechanicum’s
alternative to a sound weapon and could probably cut through plasteel.
It struck Tyet that the 91st Harstan regiment was better off without Halls and
wondered if there was a loop hole in the Assassin’s Charter that would allow an agent
to remove ineffectual officers. The closest the wording came to removing an enlisted
soldier permanently was dereliction of duty in a wartime setting, which practically
covered 95% of current engagements for the Imperial Guard. The only way to become
a viable target was any number of options that meant the individual was no longer a
serving officer, although translation from a non-Imperial soldier to wind up in the
crosshairs of an assassin was almost invariably one of politics, so Halls was fairly safe.
Perhaps having to suffer in the ranks of mundane service was the significant
element of this exercise; the governor was nothing more than a corpse still walking
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until Tyet removed the final strands of animation. Tyet once had to lie stationary
within a fetid bog for four days without food and sleep until the correct mark, a preindustrially developed hominid that had evolved with incredible size and strength
compared to humans, had trudged through the area pulling a small cart of tradable
wares. The trader had walked a firmer path through the marsh as dusk descended, the
long shadows from the surrounding vegetation covering his movement. Fatigue and
hunger had set in. Even cramp had taken root within his boosted muscle structure. Yet
Tyet still had to move silently and swiftly to bring down the tall trader with a garrotte
before he could react. A live kill, but purely for practise in that that assignment
carried no political pressure; the trader was a specific target selected at random. Even
for an assassin there were limitations to endurance. He wondered if there were
Teachers who derived no greater pleasure than to administer vindictive training
exercises to students under the guise of improving future agent endurance.
Halls’ voice gave way to an increasingly louder buzzing. Initially it sounded
like the Sentinel’s movements had carried through to the shafts. As the buzzing
increased in tone did Tyet realise that he had to move quicker. The buzzing was
coming from something moving in the ducting and headed his way. It was unlikely he
was compromised. No-one knew he would be there. Unless they had opened his cell
door. Was that related to Halls berating an underling?
He was in a long horizontal section and the sounds coming from straight ahead.
He palmed backwards, twenty yards short of an interchange that could afford greater
movement to deal with the incoming threat. It dropped into his section covered in a
blue haze, moving quickly on anti-gravity suspenders. Tyet couldn’t resolve the shape
accurately due to the optics being filtered to reduce the surface charging of the
nanomaterial lining of the ventilation shafts. The machine covered the half the
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distance in a few seconds. It wasn’t that Tyet felt claustrophobic in the confined space,
but that this machine posed a real threat of death. As light crackled around the haze,
the bulk of the machine was highlighted. A compressed array of sensors covered the
surface with a familiar forward aperture designed for high intensity plasma discharge
into the local area and headed straight towards Tyet at a fast pace.
Tyet shimmied as quickly as his hands could allow. He could possibly try and
punch through the walls of the ventilation shaft, but would wind up in one of the
senior officer’s office. Perhaps a small price to pay for avoiding a plasma shot to the
head, though the mission would be a utter failure.
Irrelevant.
He faltered for a microsecond.
Did I say that aloud or just think it? He knew that duty to the Emperor meant
the concept of death held little value by comparison.
The mechanical bloodhound charged down the final hundred meters with its
fang ready to discharge a stream of super accelerated gaseous ions hotter than the sun
as soon as it came across blockages or rodents. The humming filled Tyet’s soon to be
metal coffin, the deathly cacophony reaching its crescendo.
Tyet’s legs suddenly dropped, causing his body to rotate backwards and
smashing his head of the lip of the vertical drop shaft. His legs and arms shot out to
provide resistance against the sidewalls, his finger tips managing to find purchase on
the front edge.
The bot passed directly overhead and Tyet punched straight into the belly of the
beast and ripped off the anti-gravity suspender field emitters. The mechanical bot
crashed wildly against the surface of the horizontal shaft extending behind Tyet. The
thing couldn’t turn and in its damaged state would have to be recovered. Perhaps there
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was enough damaged caused to it that its sensor logs could not identify the blockage
as a human intruder and perhaps the maintenance controller would put it down to a
xenoc wondering into the shafts. That was a lot of ifs.
But why the hell was that thing in here? These systems are designed to be
maintenance free. A maintenance bot would only be sent in if part of the system had
failed and required an overhaul. But, how would the maintenance controller or
anyone know if it had failed...
It suddenly clicked. In all his preparation, exiting the cell, getting into the
civilian administrative block, hacking into the governor’s schedule, he completely
overlooked to disguise his own odour.
Idiot. I better had not have said that out loud!
Tyet had just arrived in Isser city and whilst the different habitable sections
would have slightly different chemical and biochemical environments depending on
waste and refuge recycling or collection, overall the air processing was operated
centrally and would give a general background smell completely unique to Isser.
Tyet’s nasal filters had simply adjusted to any changes between his time on the Yeta,
his orbital drop in the Grabban and entry into the Isser city megatropolis. However,
the remainder of the inhabitants of Isser city would not have adjusted to Tyet’s odour.
He had not showered since arriving and would give him an equally unique smell
compared to the rest of Isser city, even after donning the new clothes. The crawl
through the pipework out of the garrison could not have helped.
He could see how it played out. As he crawled through the ventilation system,
his odour would have been picked up by several individuals along the habitat and
office sectors. The increasing number of complaints would have trigged a hasty
response by the maintenance controller and his mechanical minion of death.
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Tyet must have been truly pungent. He would remedy that as soon as he arrived
back in his cell, make his ablutions within the cramped sink and apply a concoction
soon after being released from incarceration. Should the maintenance controller track
the smell it shouldn’t trace directly to him, although his occupation of the cell at the
same time as the smell would lead to difficult questions he would rather not answer.
He worked his way back towards the detention area, dropping through the
ceiling after checking the absence of visitors. Not that he was expecting guests, being
in solitary confinement, but then supposition was the essence of all foul ups as he was
reminded of tonight; although his military instructor at the Temple had used slightly
more profane language. He removed the diverter crystal and secreted on his person.
All there was to do now was rest and wait. He set his mind to a more agreeable target.
There was no warning as the door retracted. At the first sign of motion, Tyet
rolled off the bed to stand at attention pulling his upper tunic back into position as he
landed on his feet. The blue haze of the force field was still in place framing the tall,
bulky frame of his jailer.
‘I underestimated you runt.’ Wheacks growled. ‘I won’t make that mistake
again’.
If Tyet was looking for an apology, he guessed this was as close as he was
going to get. Wheacks pulled his face into a grin. Or was it a snarl? He palmed for the
force field to be switched off and gestured with his head that Tyet should depart. The
disappearance of the blue haze threw Wheacks’ features into sharp contrast. The left
side of his cheek was black with a purple tinge extending around his left eye socket.
The swelling was going through its final stages and had nearly subsided. Either that or
Wheack’s cranium had been forged from adamantium. The wound gave him an air of
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distinction, probably not fully appreciated by the wearer. A colourful top to the
predominantly off-white flak armour adorning the rest of Wheacks’ body, not entirely
different from the rainbow striping on the helmet, which Wheack’s was missing, and
leg and shoulder patches too.
‘Just come off a night patrol?’ Tyet enquired, almost harmlessly.
This time the snarl was evident.
Tyet walked on ahead. A man without fear of reprisal. Wheacks had tried, had
been bested and his honour would prevent him from further action. His new squad
made no mention of the previous night’s incident with Halls or the fracas in their
bunkroom. In fact no-one talked to Tyet on his return, only offering a grumble as he
entered the room.
Eight soldiers were climbing out of their flak armour. Wheacks moved off
towards his own bunk and began to disrobe. Only Joshua Shawkes offered an insight
to the sombre mood that Tyet met with on entering the dormitory.
‘Don’t pay any attention to my fellow whinge bags, Michael. They’re still
brooding over extended duties levied on us because of Halls.’ He said after placing a
sanctity ribbon over the breast plate that was now fixed on his mount at the foot of the
bunk bed. In the Astartes Chapters it was ritualistic, but in the Guard it was bordering
superstition.
Tyet was thankful that Shawkes had not labelled him the culprit of Halls’
reactions and felt an avenue of friendship was still available. He felt as though he
should offer a little defence of his actions, but without being able to disclose anything
close to the truth, the rest of the words didn’t seem to fit. Until he finally said ‘It was
not my intention to land the rest of you in trouble.’
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‘Don’t sweat it. We’re big enough and some of us ugly enough for the rest of us
to cope with a little extra shift. How was your stay in the lock up?’
Thruaughbur and Sergei Untor both looked over in Tyet’s direction.
‘A lone cell, semi-deprived of sound and no interruptions. Excellent place for
meditation.’
‘Well, whilst you are seeking transcendence, you are also heaping dishonour on
our squad.’ Sergei sniped laced with bitterness.
‘If you are only concerned about what Halls thinks then you two deserve each
other.’ Shawkes interjected. The rest of the squad laughed and the mood lightened
perceptibly.
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◄ 11 ►
Eelil was scandalously dressed. It was an understatement by any textbook Tyet
had opened on the subject of female attire, but it was very evident that Eelil fulfilled
every requirement that he could estimate of what a male would want during and postadolescent development. To see any such flesh displayed so brazenly in the open on
Terra would probably have invoked an instant flailing of the individual. Crowds
would have clawed at her to remove all excessive skin that was deemed inappropriate.
Terra and over ninety percent of affiliated worlds had entered, although a few
historians had heretically stated that it was a reversion to, a chaste period in order to
focus mankind’s survival from the Warp. It was a message the Ecclesiarchy had
preached and pounded, all too literally where the Knights Templar were concerned,
into the hearts of all Imperial citizens. The soul was more important than satisfying
the desires of the flesh and only walking the virtuous path could one be sure not to
stray into the demonic afterlife. A million worlds ascribed to the Emperor’s name was
too vast for “His” religious arm to maintain total control and in the outer reaches, new
cultures and lifestyles spawned giving themselves over to decadent treats. Isser was
no less subverted and Eelil was testament to that. It was a severe contrast to the
population on the lower levels where Tyet had wondered from the central ventilation
the previous night.
They had met briefly at her office and headed down into the more relaxed and
occupied area of the retail sector, small talk occupied the lift journey. The other
women within the restaurant wore similar styled dresses to reveal as much of the arms,
chest, back and legs as possible. Eelil blew them all away. Black string interlaced
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with a shimmering gossamer weave was the closest Tyet could describe her
adornments and he made sure that his reactions were appropriate.
Her attitude was pleasant from the outset, with frivolity bubbling to the surface.
None of the seriousness of her office was maintained. She enquired about various
aspects of Michael Asthkel on his current assignment on Isser. He fumbled over the
drinks order, not having spent much training sampling intoxicating liquor, save for a
substance that proved quite damaging to his fellow students. Eelil ordered for both of
them and then set about to listen attentively.
‘So what about you?’ Tyet enquired as the meal arrived, an eclectic arrangement
of meat slightly steaming.
‘What do you want to know?’
He sampled the dish and was pleasantly surprised. ‘How long have you been in
Isser city?’
‘Five years.’
‘And do you enjoy living here?’
‘Well, I live alone if that’s what you’re pushing for. My job and position affords
a comfortable lifestyle here, so yes.’
‘What brought you to Isser?’
‘I moved in with the Estnel’s administration team when he was appointed
Governor. I’m originally from Iidiso, where he was Vice Chancellor of the Estate
Imperium for the Pegasus sector and joined his staff as a clerk. He found I had talent
and I’ve been promoted three times.’
‘Talent?’
‘An eidetic memory and a penchant for politics.’
He remembered to grin a little. ‘What was I wearing when we first met?’
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‘Ah. A challenge.’ She eyed him longingly. ‘Let’s see. A close fitting grey
upper tunic and black trousers. Quite dashing. You had about two days of stubble.
And the shading on your forehead was slightly lighter indicating you possibly
suffered an allergic reaction to an applied cosmetic or impact damage since I last saw
you.’
‘Impressive.’ Tyet’s hand automatically crossed the area where he had collided
with Wheacks. ‘So, the Governor requires young and pretty women with
photographic memories on his staff then?’
‘Let’s just say it has its uses.’ She took a long drink from a tall glass, fingering
the rim as she placed it down on the table.
‘The governor, what kind of man is he?’
She took a delicate bite out of her dish and masticulated in thought. ‘Don’t
worry Michael. My job is strictly professional. My nocturnal habits... well. You’ll
see.’ There was a sparkle in her eyes, but not before seeing a fleeting spasm across her
lips.
Tyet took a moment to survey Eelil’s face. He reached out with his limited
psyker talent and found only a base strand of eagerness. Usually there was a vibrant
display of emotion that he could read in people. Either she was telepathically mute or
she could shield it well. ‘I’m not sure whether to take that as a threat or a promise.’
‘I’m just a good little girl with an oversized libido.’ She turned her head down a
little and flicked up her eyes. Her persona changing instantly from aggressive sexual
predator to a shy and submissive female. ‘I’ll treat you nicely Private Asthkel, I
promise.’
He laughed aloud, entirely naturally. Others looked on in good humour, then
turned back to their own conversations. She resumed her previous posture and smiled.
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‘Would you believe me if I said I never knew women could act like you do?’
‘I see your education is lacking and I have already told you I will remedy that.
So why not relax and let us talk a while.’
‘But seriously for a moment.’
‘Okay. I’m off duty, but I can play it straight. Life is short. You of all people
should know that. So why trudge through life constantly looking over your shoulder
for the bearer of your final day. Why not enjoy each day to its fullest? I see what I
want and I go for it. There’s no need to hide your desires. Isser has an amazing crosssection of tastes and styles. Look around the room and we’re all after one thing.’
‘Which is?’
‘Pleasure!’
‘And you are all comfortable with that?’ He swept his arm to encompass the
room. ‘Hopping into a different bed each night.’ He felt the irony jack knife his
system as the words left his lips.
‘Michael. You’re not going cold on me are you?’ She crossed her eyebrows.
‘No. Just curious.’
She looked round the room, taking in the different people that sat engrossed in
their own corner of the galaxy. Then peered at Tyet quizzically. ‘If you are looking
for more than just me in a bed, then I can accommodate you. But not tonight. I want
to try you out all to myself first.’
The dishes were cleared and a dessert laid before them. She placed her hand
over his and began to stroke it with her forefinger.
‘It’s strange that in all my efforts to bed marines in Isser city, you are the first to
be so... standoffish.’ Her hand suddenly grasped his with a bionic enhancement that
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pinned his arm to the table. She flexed her grip and his implants responded to the
massive increase in pressure. He fought the impulse to smash her arm and attack.
‘No pain! Ordinarily I can crush a man’s bones. You are an oddity.’
Without hesitation he smiled, reaching out slowly with his spare hand to stroke
the back of her hand that held his. He pulled her hand off with ease against her
strength, but held her fingers in a tighter grip and drew them to his lips, placing a kiss
on the back of her hand.
She fully relaxed, grinning. ‘I like an oddity. It’s going to be a lot of fun getting
to know you.’ She tongued her spoon lavishly and then placed it next to her dessert.
‘Why did you join the Marines, Michael?’
‘Easy. I told you I grew up on Kalouk't a few parsecs from En’holm. It’s a rock
with little vegetation and even less technology. Scratching a living is learnt from birth
and survival from the few predators soon after, though it’s more competition with the
sparse edible plant life and larger animals that can sustain their own existence.’
‘Any battle scars?’
‘A few.’ Some truth at last.
‘Do you want to share them?’
‘Maybe later.’
‘I was being serious.’
‘Oh. I’ve seen my fair share of action; been through the grind and pulled
through. No, not like that.’ Eelil had raised her eyebrows impressed, but Tyet and his
character Michael were not ones for being egotistical. ‘Being a trooper is my sworn
duty. To serve the Emperor is my life and any permanent wounds picked up on the
way are simply a reminder of that honour. We serve until we are dead.’
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‘Sounds awfully bleak. Does a trooper usually have other desires beyond
service to the Imperium?’
‘Of course, but I suppose our priests would have our thoughts not to stray. If we
go down that path then nothing else waits for us except death. They say,’
‘You mean you cannot stray without your brain exploding?’
Tyet chuckled until she looked at him reprovingly. ‘No. I mean they see the
problems of the Astartes Chapters of old could also affect us. If we succumb, we are
labelled heretics and pursued to the ends of the galaxy until every convert to Chaos is
expunged.’
Eelil almost looked horrified. ‘How can it be so black and white? One moment
you’re a loyal soldier and then next impure thought later you’re a hunted outcast?’
The waiter refilled their glasses and Tyet took a long deep drink.
‘I’m sure there are many steps between the two, but when it comes to loyalty
and duty it has to be all or nothing otherwise subversion breeds. That’s why the
Imperial Guard are kept under tight control through micromanagement and endless
drills. It’s why the Marines’s routine is highly structured each and every day.
Disloyalty is infectious and highly dangerous. Do you remember the heresy war?’ He
said at last.
‘Yes. Well, bits of it.’
‘A Primarch. The Primarch. Favoured above all, but he felt the Emperor was
withholding something from him. Something he felt was important, but the Emperor
refused to indulge him and then overlooked him for a certain glory. I can only
imagine that Horus felt slighted. That small splinter grew between them that widened
with time. Ultimately, it led to a revolt of many Chapters’ of space marines led by
Horus to launch an assault on their birthright.’ he continued. ‘The Imperium was
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brought to the edge of its utter destruction, all for an emotion as seemingly innocuous
as rejection.’
‘Unbelievable. If you were not sitting here in front of me telling that story, I
would have said it was utter fantasy. I cannot believe there isn’t some flaw in the
Emperor’s, what did you call them? Primarchs. This is a basic human reaction
everyone else deals with on a near daily basis.’ She saw his visage suddenly turn to
anger and quickly added, ‘With the greatest of respect but it doesn’t seem that the
Primarchs were emotionally mature.’
Tyet’s temper had flared uncontrollably. He felt the anger swell the instant those
words were uttered like an enforced reaction that was hardwired into his body and
mind. He dropped the knife he was holding in a death grip.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘Not upset, just a strange result of you saying flaw and Emperor together in the
same sentence. Wars have been fought over similar words. I didn’t realise how tightly
wound we are.’
Eelil let him be for the moment to gather his thoughts, but Tyet did not seem to
offer any recourse. ‘Let me make it up to you.’ She said brightly.
She called for the bill and the waiter placed the docket clearly on his side of the
table. He stared at the figures as if trying to discern whether it would leap off the table
and bite him.
Eelil laughed. ‘Don’t tell me troopers don’t carry money?’
He composed himself as much as the time would allow. ‘I haven’t yet picked up
my allowance.’
She produced a credit disk that the waiter scanned and returned.
‘Come on Michael.’
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They stood and threaded their way towards the exit through the murmuring
gathering. It was young couples that mainly occupied the tables that were densely
packed in the restaurant, happily chatting, eating, care free.
In an instant, the smiling faces disintegrated into a thousand shards as an
explosion ripped through the throng. Tables, chairs and glass shattered, flying
outward from the detonation site, blowing up volumes of dust as bodies crashed into
each other, coming to rest against pillar or wall. Screams were thrown into the mix as
a piece of heavy masonry ricocheted from Eelil and smashed into Tyet. He lost grip of
her arm as his internals hardened against the impact and poured stimulants into his
jugular as he crashed to the floor. His mnemonics made rapid assessment of his body.
A glancing hit across his shoulder with no breakage.
Tyet instantly scrabbled to his feet, checking the exits and demolished glass
frontage. Passersby caught in the explosion were desperately pulling themselves away
from the carnage, hoping they were not the main feature. Workers and visitors alike
were drawn closer trying to separate the live from the dead and help the injured. It
appeared to be a remote detonation with no signs of follow up. Dust settled slowly as
if the ventilation system was unable to match the rapid expansion of particulate matter.
It settled as a thin carpet of grey, yielding a moment of rest from the detonation.
Eelil was motionless at his feet, sprawled awkwardly with blood flowing from a
head wound. Dust and blood mingled over her body, coating her exposed flesh like a
mottled body glove.
He checked for vital signs, but none were discernible. Her heart had stopped at
the impact damage. He looked at the cut to her head, which on closer examination
was more show than a problem. Her spine also appeared intact. He pushed her body
as flat as possible and loaded epinephrine into his finger injector and pulsed it straight
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into the carotid artery. If he could get her blood to flow, the drug would give her the
best chance of surviving to a hospital. He built up a low level electrical discharged
from his implants through his hands and applied it over her rib cage. Breathing into
her mouth between massages and increasing the voltage level, Eelil laid still. He
punched her sternum is desperation. Finally, she sucked in air.
Weakly opening her eyes, she tried to scan Tyet’s face. It took a while before
recognition set in.
She opened her mouth and whispered, ‘My place or yours?’ before slipping
from consciousness.
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◄ 12 ►
‘What in the Emperor’s name were you doing in the civilian sector Private
Asthkel?’
Halls was in full flow, his face contorted and red with the effort of blaring down
at Tyet who, having just been released from a five hour visit to the brig on Hall’s
orders, stood to attention fixing his own gaze beyond his Sergeant. He stretched out
his psyker talent to find a wrathful conflagration spiking out from Halls. He knew he
could not attempt to handle Halls without risking exposing himself, so he closed down
the connection and turned his thoughts to the previous evening, allowing Halls’ rant to
continue unabated.
Tyet had waited for the medics to arrive at the scene of the explosion. They
worked through the rubble, taking over from the helpers trying to keep their charges
calm. There were still people screaming hysterically, but they could wait for attention;
they obviously had the strength to shriek. He called for a medic who ran an auspex
over Eelil’s body, muttering to himself about the results. He toyed with the idea of not
telling the medic about the epinephrine he injected into her body in case of raising
suspicion, but simply stated the she had the drug in her system so that she wouldn’t
receive an overdose of a vasoconstrictor.
An evac team arrived for Eelil and took her to the infirmary for surgery. There
were no reassurances given. Tyet looked at the despair on the weeping faces
surrounding him. Whether an assassin or acting as an Imperial Guard, his underlying
training was to defend the Imperium and the Emperor’s subjects. He started to pull
bodies out of the wreckage so that the medics could better treat the fallen.
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Local security forces started to seal off the area, moving the gathering crowd
away from the smoking remains of the restaurant. A quadruplet of Stormrider troopers
arrived fully armed and were interchanging information. It seemed as though the
security forces had little choice but to admit two of them onto the site, one of which
held an over complicated auspex. The others stood guard at the perimeter chatting into
his vox.
A trooper approached him, recognising Tyet due to the Guard-issued informal
attire and demanded more information than he could glean from the Captain of the
security force.
The arrival of the troopers had not gone unnoticed and the crowd had moved
back closer to the restaurant, overpowering the security detail attempting to cordon
off the site. Threats and recriminations were hollered, soon followed by rubble and
glass strewn across the promenade by a few souls. Their hostility forced the troopers
to depart as the security forces broke out electro-whips to try again to disperse the
gathering.
The reports arrived back at the Stormrider garrison before Tyet and Halls was
waiting to take him into custody until he could process the story and gather more
intelligence from the explosion site.
Once Halls had vented sufficiently to leave a gap for which to inset a response,
Tyet simply said. ‘Maintaining public relations, Sergeant.’
‘Utter crap. First you disrespect me and land yourself in incarceration and
second you lose your privileges. Third you leave the base, get caught in an explosion
are turn up late for duty. So how did you get off the base without a pass?’ Spittle was
flying into Tyet’s face and he composed himself sufficiently not to break ranks and
wipe it off. Halls was a lost cause. Tyet firmly believed that any senior officer who
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had to resort to shouting to command his troops did not deserve respect and definitely
didn’t deserve to occupy that position.
‘Through the main service entrance, Sergeant.’
‘Don’t get clever with me. You’re already in enough trouble to keep you locked
up till doomsday.’
Tyet refused to rise to the bait. He knew getting off base without a pass was
going to cause further problems when it came to Halls, but Tyet checked the wording
of the edict and sure enough there was enough leeway. Indeed, they were sufficiently
verbose that despite not being able to leave Imperial enforced areas, it left him the
option of staying within certain zones of Isser City. Not that Tyet was going to voice
that distinction just yet, otherwise Halls would ensure that his next edict was
watertight. Tyet felt more concern in facing the rest of his squad should Halls have
extended punishment duties to them as well.
Whilst Halls ranted, Tyet reviewed his progress. This mission was not going
well. His various plans and strategies had failed. Even his date with Eelil had turned
from an opportunity to a disaster. For them both, he added in afterthought. He
wondered idly whether the design of this mission was specifically engineered to
constraint Tyet to breaking point, but had to reprimand himself. It was never good to
guess the reasons of a mission, it would only backfire even if he felt certainty over
what his Masters had ordained. They knew him and every student in their charge very
well.
‘Have you got anything else to say in your defence?’
Tyet maintained silence. He pondered knocking some sense into the Sergeant
and then carrying his body to the infirmary to see if the apothecary could run several
diagnoses.
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‘Then you will be...’
Halls cut himself off as the door opened and Captain Zaes, the senior
commanding officer the Stormriders on Isser, walked through. Halls immediately
stood to attention.
Tyet almost relaxed that a commanding officer who knew how to be
professional had finally walked in. Zaes was bedecked in a formal uniform that clung
to his hulking frame.
‘At ease.’ His muscular square jaw flexed as he spoke.
‘Captain, this man has disobeyed a direct command.’
‘Halls.’ Zaes said quietly.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Silence.’
To give him some credit, Tyet saw Halls immediately stifle down the tirade he
knew was about to spew from Halls’ lips.
‘Private Asthkel. I have reviewed the early reports of the explosion and have
just been contacted by the office of Governor Estnell.’ It was delivered matter-offactly.
Tyet wondered if the Captain had to fight his distain at speaking with a
Governor that did not want you on the same planet.
Zaes continued. ‘It appears that a separatist group has claimed responsibility for
the bombing of the restaurant. Apparently they felt disgruntled that the current
Governor has not done enough to remove our presence. So they targeted certain
members of his administration team they had tracked to the promenade. My hope is
that it might have given Governor Estnell the motivation for keeping us here. We
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managed to get a chemical trace on the explosives used and we may be able to track
down the nest of cowards that used them.
‘There were five deaths, but the Governor’s secretary was not one of them. A
Miss Eelil is in a stable condition and from what information has been circulated, it
appears that you are chiefly responsible for saving her and a number of others.’ There
was no emotion conveyed by either Captain Zaes for the praise or Tyet at receiving it.
‘To that end the Governor sends his personal thanks and a commendation. And it may
have brought us some time.’
Tyet simply nodded.
‘You are to meet Governor Estnell later today. He has requested a personal
audience to deliver the commendation. You’ll be on patrol in a few hours and then
you are to meet me in my office. We’ll head up to the Governor’s suite. A public
relations exercise I could do without, but even this ageing warhorse has to learn new
tricks away from the battlefield.’
‘Captain.’ Halls objected. ‘Trooper Asthkel will be on report. He should be
incarcerated for failing to...’
Captain Zaes fixed steely eyes on Sergeant Halls. ‘Sergeant. You are
dismissed.’
Tyet jumped for joy. Internally. Halls’ got his backside kicked by a senior
officer and Tyet got another stab at his target. In person.
Private Michael Asthkel marched in line with three of his squad. Their footfalls
clanged on the metal flooring. It was an unsettled feeling to be this loud after years of
learning to move with silence. They moved in a two-by-two formation through the
worker levels. The air was a little thicker, cloying due to the raised temperature and
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higher humidity levels being located on top of the massive heat exchange complex of
the power reactor. Hulking steam generators were the primary source of energy,
which was realised generations ago when Isser was accommodated into the Imperial
fold. Its tectonic activity forcing magma closer to the upper crust allowed for a
surprisingly efficient thermal exchange reservoir. The heat down in the base of Isser
city was fifteen degrees higher than the upper towers. Steam vents created localised
areas of thermal plumes among the lower corridors. Disused service rooms became a
haven for the less reputable elements of Isser’s society. It was the Stormriders’ duty to
cut out any infestation that dwelled, despite it being an out of bounds area.
The corridor narrowed and prohibited a standard two-by-two formation, so the
lead and rear point men of the linear march each carried an auspex to scan movement
in front and behind. A low power green light lit the chin and nose piece of each
auspex carrier, the background hum would peak if definable movement was
ascertained. The occasional steam venting projected over the line causing the plume
to swirl and each trooper to blend against their projector lights illuminating the
darkened hallways.
The extensive pipework wormed its way along the corridors and ceilings. Tyet
could see through the metal grating that even the floor was not spared such a burden.
The corridor sporadically fanned outwards to accommodate a door as the piping
disappeared through the wall or ran up and over the framework. As had become
second nature, two troopers would rush the room leaving the other two on guard just
outside the field of fire from within and protected the entrance. The troopers had an
open communication capability through the vox installed inside the neck piece and
would provide a continuous commentary. Should the need arise the other two
guarding the exterior could lend their firepower to any arising situation. They had the
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latest schedule of maintenance workers in the lower sectors and the workers knew to
expect Imperial Guard moving through their domains. The escalating violence against
the Stormriders afforded them the opportunity to operate with more assertion than
before, though the workers could not tell the difference between that and apparent
reprisal aggression. No matter how much training the grunts received, they were very
much human and prone to the emotional baggage that accompanied them. With their
brethren having gone missing during similar operations, the troopers were not taking
chances. Apologies could be offered afterwards.
‘Clear.’ The vox buzzed. In this labyrinth of plascrete, metal and rock, the vox
was only good for close communications.
Tyet craned his neck left to right checking both aspects of the corridor, his face
was covered with a battle helmet giving him limited gas filtration. Yet his own
internal augmentation outperformed the standard Imperial Guard issue anyway.
He looked passed Joshua Shawkes standing on the other side of the doorway,
looking at the eddy currents filling the path of their approach.
‘Michaels maintain your watch down the left side.’ A reprimand came through
the door as Untor emerged followed by Wheacks. Sergei Untor held the same rank as
the others, but due to his longer service record held a respectful authority in this
dispatch.
Tyet snapped his head back to the left. His bolter had not wavered from pointing
in that direction and his senses were attuned to the environment.
‘Move out.’ Untor said as Shawkes took point and Wheacks rear guard.
They moved through the corridor opening up service rooms as they passed.
Arriving at a cross-section, the quartet took their pre-designated path to the left. The
passageway twisted away from the junction and was found to be blocked. Part of the
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ceiling had collapsed and piping was venting steam and water. Blue flashing
accompanied the crackling of electrical discharge where the overhead automatic
lighting system had been severed and mixed poorly with water.
They consulted the schematics finding a route to loop around to the reverse side
of the blockage; they would file a report for the maintenance team to deal with the
collapsed hallway. The circuitous course would extend their patrol time. They would
have to repeat a number of inspections to ensure there was no movement as they
retraced their steps, but a complete lock down was impossible.
A shaftway opened directly above them. Two troopers maintained horizontal
coverage, their lasguns pointing to the heavens, as the other two held their trained
their bolters vertically. They moved under the aperture as droplets as water splashed
against their plastrons. The shaftway disappeared into the darkness, but Tyet’s retinal
scan penetrated the gloomy interior, cutting through the shadows. Nothing moved.
The Guards trudged round to the rear of the collapsed site. Pipework and
masonry lay exposed. They stopped allowing Untor to inspect the debris filling the
hallway.
‘Looks like we go no further down this route. We’ll double-back to the
intersection and make our way northwards.’ He turned to retake point in the other
direction.
‘Wait.’ Tyet said quietly. ‘I hear something.’
In the momentary silence before Untor made to depart the squad, Tyet had
filtered out the low level background hum leaving a discernible although feint tapping
noise.
‘Are you sure Michaels. I can’t hear a damn thing.’
‘I’m sure. There is someone in there.’
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Wheacks assumed a rear guard position as the others leaned in close.
‘Nothing on the scanner,’ Untor said, adjusting the settings for alternative
triangulation point, ‘but it could just be scattering off the broken infrastructure.’
There was a pregnant pause. ‘Is there anyone in there?’ Shawkes hollered.
A feeble metallic thunk was heard in the near silence.
‘By the Emperor how did you hear that above the resonance in these pipes?’
Untor turned to Tyet.
‘The kid just wants more medals.’ Wheacks jibed.
‘Right. Let us see if we can clear a path through, but try not to move the larger
beams, lest the ceiling collapses further. Wheacks, shore up that plinth with your
shoulder until we can get something sturdy into place.’
‘He’s better off using his oversized mouth.’ Shawkes sounded.
‘Knock it off Joshua and start shifting. Wheacks, can you get command on the
vox?’
They propped their lasguns against the wall and began to move the debris.
Where water had not pooled the dust into a muddy paste, new plumes wafted into the
air.
‘Can’t raise a damn thing. The vox cannot be offline. Interference? I will need
to move to the upper levels.’
Untor agreed and took over support himself. With each boulder and pipe
removed the tapping became louder until a fist covered in dried blood and bearing a
rock was revealed, pounding on an exposed pipe.
The trio cleared as much of the loose rubble exposing a maintenance worker
lying prostrate, a metal reinforcing latticework piercing his arm in two places and his
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shoulder. As the weight was lifted off his legs he dropped the rock. His lips moved
feverishly, his eyes not focussing on his rescuers.
‘Asthkel. Can you squeeze into the gap and check the back of his head.’
Tyet unclasped the fasteners of his plastrons and shook off his chest piece, then
wriggled into the gap. The prone figure reminded him of the blast damaged restaurant.
There was something wrong with Isser city, but Tyet could not define exactly what it
was. Like seeing a cloud assuming a definitive shape in one instant then disappearing
the next.
Unsheathing his glove he felt for a pulse, it was weak and slow. It was evident
from a casual inspection that the worker was in a dire situation, having lost a lot of
blood. Tyet estimated that this individual had been trapped for about two days
maximum. There were no bio-enhancements and the flesh looked parched.
‘What’s your name?’ Tyet spoke softly as he checked the neck for damage.
‘It came.’ The man hissed.
‘No. Your name?’
Tyet examined as much of worker as possible. The acrid stench of urine and
faeces mixed with a metallic tinge of blood. There were scorch marks covering the
left side of his body. Even though the blackened skinned had been overlaid with
whiter dust, Tyet could see a more uniform pattern of cuts than should be present for a
random collapse or explosion.
‘How come no-one is looking for him?’
Operating in the labyrinth of the lower levels of the megatropolis was highly
dangerous. Usually maintenance engineers were sent in groups and their site was
logged.
‘It came. I ran.’ The worker hissed again.
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‘He’s delirious. There’s no spinal damage to the midpoint of his back. I can’t
assess more without shifting him. Has anyone got a plasma torch?’
Each marine checked their gear, but reported back in the negative. The fission
blades they did possess were too low power for this densely formed metal.
Tyet tried to placate the worker as he gripped the metal lattice above his
shoulder and applied pressure, allowing his bionic enhancements woven into the
muscle strand and sinew throughout his arms to generate a force beyond that of mere
humans. The rods flexed, but would not break. The worker became agitated, but too
weak to scream. Tyet could see that blood began to pool in the broken scabbing of the
wound, his life’s water ebbing to the surface. Sensing the pain inflicted Tyet stopped,
but the injured worker started to shake spasmodically. He needed a proper medical
auspex to assess the extent of internal injuries before he would be willing to apply an
appropriate drug. If he had time, he might even laughed that his training was geared
towards the taking of life rather than the saving of it. A single death at his hands could
change the course of a battle or direct the politics of a planet and yet here he was
doing his utmost to save an unknown, an insignificant. Besides, it would not be too
long before he had to extinguish another life. There was balance in the universe.
‘We have to get him out and stabilise him. How long before a medic?’ It was a
rhetorical question. Tyet knew even if Wheacks could have contacted command from
their present position it would take at least twenty minutes before assistance arrived.
‘Too long. I wont be able to hold this much longer.’
‘Damn it.’ Tyet knew death. He was its instrument. Frustration bubbled through.
He could inject a drug, but the maintenance worker was too far gone to risk putting
anything into what was left of his system.
The man calmed, his lips till moving.
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‘The others.’ The murmur bubbled.
Tyet looked directly at Untor. ‘If we get these spikes out of him we can try and
stem the flow from the shoulder wound. Might be his only chance to survive until
help arrives.’
‘And how do you propose to do that without cutting equipment?’
‘Rather than cut the metal to free his arm, we can move him from the spike.’
‘How?’ A reflex scowl on Untor’s face morphed into horror. ‘You can’t be
serious.’ He grunted against the weight bearing down on his shoulders.
‘What?’ Shawkes piped in at a complete loss.
‘He has no other choice. If he stays like this, he’ll be dead before help arrives. If
you have another option, now would be a really good time to share it.’ Tyet almost
sounded too clinical at what had to be done.
Untor looked into the man’s face and back to Tyet. He gave a short nod.
‘Get me anything for a ligature.’
Shawkes ripped apart flex cabling from the debris and passed it back to Tyet
who tied it into a tourniquet at the uppermost part of the worker’s arm. He slipped out
the fission blade and engaged the mechanism. It was useless against thick metal, but
could glide through flesh and sinew with little resistance.
‘Forgive me.’ Tyet whispered, pressing the device against skin and began
slicing around the man’s arm just below the tourniquet.
Blood ran freely from the cut, sizzling where it poured onto the blade. He pulled
finger-full of muscle down towards the elbow exposing bone inside. The fission blade
had not cut completely through. Tyet grabbed hold of the humerus and snapped. The
bone was a lot more brittle than the pinning metal. Tyet severed the man from his arm
who began to convulse again. Shawkes grabbed his waist trying to keep the body
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steady, his useless kicks bounced harmlessly against Shawkes flak armour. The
worker’s upper body became pliable and Tyet could shift the shoulder away from the
metal rod. Supporting the neck, they part lifted and part dragged the worker out of his
erstwhile tomb. Untor let go of the support beams and the top load crashed down.
Tyet ripped his shirt and applied the material to the shoulder wound. The
worker’s breathing became more laboured. Tyet could see that several of his ribs had
cracked or shattered through the ordeal. Both legs had open fractures and in an early
stage of infestation. Despite the extensive injuries, Tyet could have sworn the man
looked scared.
Twice the worker slipped from consciousness. Tyet had to carefully revive him
and the risk of giving an injection was still too great. The worker’s heart rate dropped
again and didn’t recover. Tyet assumed the worker had collapsed into a coma.
‘There’s nothing more we can do.’
‘Shit.’ Shawkes chimed.
‘Can we move him?’
‘No. I fear that having moved him out of the collapsed site has pushed him
closer to death.’ Untor then shouted into the vox unit, which had maintained a steady
static. It suddenly flared into life.
‘Two minutes.’ It crackled with a voice of Wheacks.
‘Hang on. I got movement.’ Shawkes reported. ‘Weak trace, but multiple
contacts.’
Untor moved over to examine the auspex. ‘Probably Brother Wheacks and a
medical team.’
Shawkes shook his head. ‘No. I finally got a trace on that fat head. This is in the
other direction.’
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‘There isn’t any other maintenance team down here. Even this man was not
scheduled to be here.’
‘Perhaps it’s the remnants of his team?’ Tyet offered.
‘This is strange. It’s coming from beyond this felled corridor.’
Untor looked puzzled. ‘How can that be? The corridor is on a loop section.’
‘No, I mean beyond the confines of the schematic. Through the wall.’
Tyet looked up from the stricken man to scan the wreckage, but still keeping his
hands firmly compressed on the shoulder wound. There was no evidence of
movement. ‘Try resetting the triangulation points.’
Shawkes twiddled a rune on the auspex. ‘Still diffuse. I cannot resolve it. No.
Dammit. It’s gone.’
Wheacks emerged into the corridor followed by two Marine medics. They
immediately took over from Tyet, running several in depth scans.
‘Geez. What did you do to him?’ Wheacks exclaimed, looking at the remnants
of the worker covered by the machinations of the medics and then at Tyet who was
slowly donning his armour. Tyet shrugged his shoulders. ‘Anyway. Out illustrious
Sergeant Halls sends a polite reminder, Marine Asthkel, to get your arse top side
immediately and not to embarrass our Captain.’ Wheacks continued.
Tyet looked at Sergei.
‘Go.’ Untor commanded. Tyet nodded.
‘And don’t forget to bring back a souvenir.’ Shawkes added as Tyet began to
move with purpose.
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◄ 13 ►
Tyet dropped off his lasgun with the armourer before heading into his squad’s
bunkroom. It is a strange contrast that on the battlefield, each solider would eat, sleep
and die with the gun in hand. The venerated Astartes kept their bolters in their same
room even within at the Chapter bastions, placing on sanctity ribbons and reciting
litanies. The Imperial Guards, however, preferred to stow and catalogue every weapon
and munitions. Perhaps they couldn’t be trusted, not having the same level of selfcontrol as a Marine.
Tyet had only a single frontline army experience as part of his training, but had
studied the intricacies of supply. A campaign required significant logistics to maintain
the troops with necessary tools. The span of the galaxy hosted numerous worlds on
which the Imperium clashed with enemies, which meant supply mistakes happened all
too often in some eyes, though public statements would bring swift retribution to any
such loose-mouthed traitor. And so the factories on Mars pumped out immense
quantities to spend their sub-minute active lifetime leaving Imperial control to inject a
quantity of the Emperor’s wrath in the target. Yet, Tyet still balked that away from the
frontline every round, energy pack and weapon was counted out and then counted in.
The remainder of his squad were on patrol duties throughout Isser city, leaving
the room quiet and capacious in their absence. He ordered a surf to place an
information request in the city’s central computer to obtain an update on Eelil’s
condition, then set about removing his flax armour for a quick clean. His forward leg
armour panels were covered in the worker’s blood and the plastron and torso armour
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were covered in the surrounding grime. Tyet stripped off his tunic, jumped into a
sonic shower and then donned cleaner and more presentable threads.
He rummaged through his locker and found a formal cape. It was a thick black
velvet-like garb with gold braiding that fastened at the shoulders looping down the
back. After double-checking the inventory for new recruits, he remembered the
ceremonial sword and scabbard.
The terminal then flashed a response from the main medical facilities. Eelil was
listed as infirmed, but stable. A trooper-level clearance was insufficient for providing
further details. Tyet took a few moments to survey the formal attire to ensure that it
would meet with Captain Zaes’ approval.
Captain Zaes, like most Guards of that rank, was a seasoned veteran. Tyet
approximated that Zaes had around fifty years of campaigns under his belt and was
probably ruing the day the orders arrived to take over command of the Imperium’s
military assets on Isser. It was perhaps inevitable that the higher one rose through the
ranks, the more immersed one became in politics. At least Tyet could understand the
quiet surliness his Captain exuded on the way up to the Governor’s office. It wasn’t
problematic; he favoured not having to be constantly vigilant of his tongue when
being careful only to disseminate the character he was assigned.
They crossed the imitation atrium into the Governor’s wing. The mood wall was
intense black and pasted with white whorls, which changed to blue flecks as Tyet and
the Captain approached. Zaes paid no attention to the monolith keeping his eyes fixed
ahead, but Tyet wondered whose mood it was representing.
A new secretary occupied Eelil’s seat, a swarthy and well groomed male with a
silky complexion that appeared artificial in the overhead lights. His voice was as
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disinterested as his manner towards the Guard, despite that the new arrivals towered
over the desk and the puny figure that occupied the chair.
‘Captain Zaes. Private Asthkel. You are late. The Governor has been waiting
fully five minutes for you.’
Tyet stood just behind the Captain waiting to see how he would respond, but
Zaes made no sound, did not change his facial complexion. Just fixed his stare on the
secretary as though he was boring him with a lasgun.
‘Yes, well.’ The secretary stammered, despite his previous bravado. ‘The
Governor will see you now.’
The paling figure allowed his fingers to dance over the key pad, which opened a
set of double doors. Over-eagerly he waved them through.
The flooring changed to a luxurious deep pile carpet, though the woodwork
followed them in lining the walls. Floater lights bobbed gently against the ceiling,
though daylight flooded in from a vast expanse of glass that formed various parts of
the outer wall of the Governor’s office. A broad desk interrupted their walk and a
spindly figure rose to greet them. As the governor moved round the table four guards
appeared quickly, quietly, which was impressive considering their bulk.
Tyet was reminded of the Astartes. Space Marines in full battle armour struck
fear across the galaxy and the designer of these guards’ suits had obviously picked up
a few additional ideas along the way. Their entire bodies were encapsulated in angular
black armour layered into an impenetrable carapace, finished with reptilian-like insets
that would serrate flesh should it ever be brushed against it. Weapons had been built
into each appendage, assuming the loss of one would not significantly diminish
fighting efficiency of the others. The dull black and grey silver edging of the armour
were broken with permanently red lit eyes. They appeared new, too new. No wear and
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tear. It was widely recorded that most marines favoured old armour over new. If it had
not been bloodied on the field and bore no benediction papers, then the armour had no
soul. Such armour was for neophytes.
Two guards stepped in front of the table and two behind the invited pair. Tyet
sized them quickly, running several attack strategies in his mind. Not that they would
be accurate enough to last beyond the first few moves, yet having these scenarios
scooting around his mnemonics gave him comfort.
His mental scan revealed them to be buzzing with vigilance. Not quite trigger
happy, a phrase he found quite apt since discovering it in the Imperial Guard archives,
but nonetheless the scans did not reveal a warming tone. Visually, all were boosted
with speed and strength enhancements. He suddenly found his formal uniform to be
constrictive, having always felt at his most dynamic in an assassin’s tunic with a pair
of short blades and his own arsenal impregnated throughout his body.
The guards kept a respectful distance as the Governor walked slowly round the
table. For all the information that Tyet had tried to obtain of the Governor he had not
expected this sleight of a man, bedecked in a regal ensemble that served to crown an
aged face screwed up in constant procrastination. The Governor’s leathery skin
looked worn and furled. But the eyes, Tyet saw, his eyes were alight, burning with
fierce intelligence.
‘Private Asthkel, welcome.’ A croaky voice sounded. His mind suddenly
jumped to Agent Laran’s assignment. Governor Estnell’s bodyguards suddenly
appeared more like nursemaids to this frail old man. They were not there to stop
attacks, but to prevent a sudden wind from knocking this man over.
Estnell extended a hand to Tyet, who looked at it for a fraction of a second too
long. The invitation for death filled his senses. A quick hand shake and the toxin
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would be delivered. Yet, protocols had to be followed. There should have been an
interchange with his senior officer first, who would have then formally presented Tyet.
Captain Zaes had been completely ignored.
Tyet looked at the Captain trying to gauge whether he felt slighted. The
towering man chose to face the guards flanking the Governor’s desk, but had seen on
the periphery of his vision Tyet turning towards him and gave a perceptible nod.
Tyet grabbed Estnell by the forearm allowing him to reciprocate. There was no
audible hiss, but Tyet knew from his internal wiring the toxin had been delivered. The
clothing adorning the Governor was thin enough for penetration and the injection
device was surgical in nature so that no anaesthetic was required and no pain felt by
the recipient. The toxin would reach potency in about an hour, though with the
Governor’s feeble body mass it could be much sooner, infiltrating the nerve synapses
rendering them inoperative. Organs would fail an instantly later and death inevitable.
The toxin would decompose if exposed to oxygen content higher than that of the
blood coursing the Governor’s veins. An autoposy would leave unanswerable
questions. House Venenum knew their trade and their knowledge was adsorbed by
House Callidus many centuries ago so that their legacy might not die. There was still
hope that the Emperor saw fit to resurrect them.
Tyet just had to await news and would then depart. Mission accomplished.
Private Asthkel would also disappear, with “missing” entered on his file. Another lost
soul in a sea of sacrifice.
Estnell continued ‘Thanks to you, I still have a most cherished personal assistant.
Though your very presence may have instigated the environment from which she
received her injuries, your swift actions are to be commended. My physicians have
assured me that Eelil will make a full recovery in time, though the continued presence
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of the 91st Harstan regiment will mar the healing process between the ruling officials
and the disaffected parties. I have often said to your Captain,’ Governor Estnell
briefly flicked his eyes towards Captain Zaes, ‘we must do what is right for Isser,
which will be right for the Emperor. The tithes the Ecclesiarchy impose get higher
each cycle and the easiest way to balance the books is to cease our support of the
upkeep of the Imperial garrison and allow Isser’s own security to continue operations.
Nonetheless, I wish to bestow on you this medal of valour and perhaps such a gesture
will serve to heal the breach between the Imperial Guards and Isser.’
The political language used did not escape Tyet. The manner in which the
Governor portrayed all Isser as being united against the Stormriders was evocative,
yet that was only part of the revelation. It was involuntary action, but as Estnell
looked at the Captain, Tyet had scanned the Zaes and could have sworn that
something had passed between him and the Governor. A mental communication that
Tyet could not discern the emotional intention, but it was definitely there. Then as
Estnell was finishing his speech, he felt a mental wash over him. His mind instantly
reacted, like throwing his arms up in front a sudden bright flash. The Governor had
psyker abilities, which was a fact not present in the file Tyet had studied, and now the
Governor knew Marine Asthkel was not all he seemed to be either. Perhaps this was
the part of the reason behind the kill order. Ultimately, it did not matter. Estnell would
not live long enough to investigate.
Many questions crammed into his thoughts, especially about his Captain, but
whilst his mind scrabbled at tendrils, a servitor had marched into the room from a
service door as the Governor spoke and handed a quilted pillow on top of which a
silver clustered medal bourn by a ribbon in Isserite colours.
‘This is well deserved, Private Asthkel.’
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Tyet nodded, but gave no emotion. Governor Estnell dropped the medal over
Tyet’s head. Another more powerful mental wash crashed over Tyet. He offered no
resistance, letting the icy contact wash through him. At such violation, Tyet felt
compelled to kill the Governor hand-to-hand and then taken on the guards, but Estnell
was already dead. It was just a matter of time till he stopped breathing. There was also
the issue of Zaes. Subdued. Would he join with Tyet?
The wash passed as quickly as the tacky trinket descended onto his shoulders.
‘Governor.’ One of the silent vigils chimed in with a deep, grating synthetic
tone. ‘A priority situation has developed.’
Estnell did not look at the guard, but simply nodded.
‘My apologies. I shall have to draw this to a close. My express gratitude to you
once again.’
Taking their cue, both Stormriders turned and marched from the office. Even at
an elementary level, the whole meeting was wrong. Governor Estnell could not have
insulted the Captain more gravely and Zaes had simply taken it. Politics was playing
far higher than Tyet ever wanted to appreciate or partake. It would be impolitic to
raise his concerns with the Captain, unless he chose to speak about it first and Zaes
did not appear interested in such a discussion. He appeared introspective, his steely
gaze finding focus on his reflection in the elevator window.
‘Time is running out.’ Zaes said as the doors closed.
And so it is for the Governor, Tyet thought. One planetary revolution remained
before he was due to arrive at the extraction point. He could follow through with the
charade a little longer before slipping out of the role and head back to the Temple.
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As the Captain and Tyet exited the lift, the vox screeched excitedly. The
Isserian government had silenced all communications traffic inside its complex and
the lift shaft, which meant they had only just picked up the urgent messages, which
the Governor had received a few moments ago. The grand foyer leading to the
barracks was buzzing with an angry gathering that immediately turned their attention
on the new arrivals.
Isserian security surrounded the Captain and Tyet as the attention of the crowd
switched to two Stormriders squeezing through the melee. Threats were hurled,
makeshift banners screamed abuse. It was the troopers fault that so many lay dead in
the restaurant attack and by remaining, more atrocity would be heaped on them.
Weaponless, Tyet felt naked against this surging tide of anger. Captain Zaes
towered over the crowd, making an obvious target as projectiles were heaved in his
direction. They pushed through, finding a squad of troopers brandishing shock sticks
to clear a path.
Zaes ordered Tyet to take no retaliatory action. The entrance to the barracks had
been reinforced with a sentinel and a full combat squad behind a force field protecting
the main entrance. A secondary entrance doubled as a confinement chamber allowing
individuals to pass through, controlling access. Tyet yielded priority to his Captain as
a projectile struck him on the plastron. He turned towards the crowd to see the hatred
imprinted on their faces and their minds with equal ferocity. He felt that the utter
disrespect for the Stromriders exhibited here should be met with force. They were
defiant against the Imperial orders.
Tyet wanted to spend time taking in the scene, torn between the curiosity of
study and the instinct of attack. Yet, even a highly trained assassin against this many
would be a tall order. The odds slightly favoured the crowd. A challenge nonetheless.
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A hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed him towards the security entrance. He did
not retaliate to the mishandling by a desperate trooper.
The first field dropped, Tyet marched in, and was quickly re-established. He
could sense the scans move across his body. The second field dropped and Tyet
walked through to the Marine sector. Captain Zaes was talking animatedly with
Lieutenant Rynem and Second Lieutenant Delacku as Tyet came to attention awaiting
further orders. Sergeant Halls was also part of the entourage, his face stricken with
frustration, probably at being unable to scream at someone with this many senior
officers close by.
He could hear the fizzing of the force field as thrown objects bounced
harmlessly off the surface. Tyet mused that a little more energy injected into the field
and the objects would rebound as projectiles, which no doubt the crowd would blame
the Imperial Guard for.
Tyet quickly digested the priority alerts. Several coordinated strikes against
Imperial patrols had occurred throughout Isser along with the protest against the
barracks, effectively cutting possible retreat. Ambushed Stormriders were hit hard.
The patrols had used dummy rounds in order to create a buffer zone, still being
unwilling to take lives. The aggressors had immediately retreated behind traps and
angry protestors had moved in to blockade.
‘Patrols were ambushed, triggering explosive charges, heavy machinery falling
on them or falling through tampered gangways. Numerous superficial damage reports,
but two troopers have been confirmed lost in the initial attacks. I have not yet issued
the use of live rounds, but they have been told to hunker down until relieved. Isserite
security is incommunicado. Still no orders received from the Administratum. Most
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concerning though Captain is that as far as we can tell the Ecclesiarchy are wiped out.
Linked explosions ripped through their temple.’ Rynem reported.
The Captain was slow to consider the events, as if lost in his own reverie. The
situation demanded an immediate response. Right or wrong, action had to be taken.
Frustratedly, Tyet concentrated on the haze he found circulating in Zaes’ mind and
slowly built a pocket of energy. He drew on his available resources to maintain his
physical balance then exploded the pocket. It was not a powerful blast, but sufficient
to shake loose the fuzzy aura. In an instant, the Captain looked round, looking for
what he experience as a tap on the shoulder.
‘It seems that the Governor is forcing my hand and leaves me with very little
choice. The security forces have not dissipated the masses in accordance with our
operating charter. Troopers have been targeted, attacked and killed. I declare the
ruling government corruptus in extremis and in accordance with the articles of the
Harstan Regiment and the Imperial Guard mandate I will depose the Governor, place
him and his delegation under arrest and assume control of Isser city.’
‘Aye, Captain.’ Once the order had been given there was no room for discussion.
‘Lieutentant Rynem, assemble the squads, fully armed. Lieutenant Delacku take
Alpha squad and the sentinels. You are to storm the Security garrison and overpower
the control centre. Have a techmarine take command of the network system. I want
the system stripped of its current security protocols, all pass-codes erased and
reprogrammed. Have the levels throughout Isser city shut down, we will establish
limited movement tomorrow. Surrounded patrols are authorized to use aggressive
force and then join Beta squad in isolating the pumping station, heat exchange plant,
communications and the landing areas. Gamma squad will be under my command.
We will proceed to the Governor’s wing and I will formally issue the abolition of his
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reign. Lieutenant Rynem, contact the mining authorities. We will provide security to
ensure their operations continue as normal as possible.
‘Issue warnings for the gantry to be cleared immediately. Give the protestors
five minutes to disperse then electrify the grid. Scribe. Let it be written that as of now,
I have direct control of Isser city in the Emperor’s name. If any Stormrider meets with
resistance, live fire is to be used. Any sedition will be severely punished.’ Captain
Zaes was resolute. If the orders gave him grievance or pleasure it did not show, but
his strategic thinking came to the forefront. Isser would continue its operations for the
Imperium, but the ruling party would be ripped out.
It would be an easy transition, Tyet rued. By the time Captain arrived in the
Governor’s office, Estnell should be feeling the onset of effects of the delivered toxin.
This was the reason Tyet had been sent. Individuals occupying ruling positions of
cities or planets often required hastening of their removal. An assassin would ensure
swift action and a minimal amount of work to spare greater bloodshed by the
following Imperial Armies. The delivery had gone smoothly, though Tyet could
imagine that the build up to the execution would be vociferously decried by the
debriefing members at the Temple and also by Lyetan and his fellow Eversor students
should they find out. Certain mission details had a habit of leaking out. Probably to
hone the professionalism of an agent. Ever the student.
‘Captain. Three members of Beta squad and two medics have failed to report
in.’ Second Lieutenant Delacku informed the group.
Tyet’s pulse quickened. It was his squad, but time did not present itself a luxury
for going through the chain of command. ‘Captain. I know where they were at the
moment I was relieved. I volunteer for search and rescue.’
All eyes turned on Tyet. Sergeant Halls visibly reddened.
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‘Very well. Sergeant Hall. You will lead Private Asthkel and two others to
locate the rest of Beta squad. Constant reports through Lieutenant Rynem.’
They saluted. Captain Zaes walked towards the marine offices and Lieutenants
Rynem and Delacu to a preparation room located close to the main entrance. Tyet
stood to attention until Sergeant Halls broke rank. He called for two marines to bolster
their numbers and indicated to Tyet to arm himself. Tyet ran to his bunkroom to
remove the trinket and the formal dress braids, but kept the ceremonial blade. His
toxin injector was still half full after pumping the Governor with a poison, but still
slipped in refill capsules under his arm, which would be stored in his digit injectors. If
he was going into hostile territory, even against civilians, then he wanted to be
prepared.
He shook his head. No, not civilians. Rebels. How easy these labels switch in a
volatile universe.
Tyet knew there was an issue faced by most Astartes Chapters regarding
inventiveness. Records were replete with examples of Ultramarines being stripped of
rank and colours and sent into the Eye, either that of face death, for demonstrating
independent thinking by using unapproved battle tactics. This simply did not apply to
the Assassin’s Temple.
In fact, quite the reverse was promoted. Tyet remembered that Nysen had once
taken polymorphine and a cellular sample to transform into a teacher in his first cycle
of training at the Temple in order to retract the homework that the actual teacher had
set. The scribe had been fooled and recorded the change in assignment as coming
from the real teacher. The charade worked right up until Nysen then tried to acquire a
C’Tan Phase Sword from the armoury only to find have the real teacher wonder past
at the same time. It was impressive enough to earn Nysen a commendation and both
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Nysen and Tyet, who had acquired the genetic sample required to perfect the
transformation, penal duties for obviating a Teacher’s order and not ensuring the
original was out of the way when the doppelganger was at work. Their sense of
humour could only extend so far with the youth.
Isser’s marine armoury was compact. The waiting area was designed to
accommodate whole squads of Imperial Guard, but for facile deployment of weapons
the counter stretched for thirty meters allowing a fleet of servitors and an adept
munitions master to arm a full company inside five minutes. Tyet met the others from
Beta squad activated for search and rescue duty, grabbing their lasguns in the
organised melee of Alpha and Gamma squad arming themselves. Halls had logged in
weapon appropriation, so very little choice was given to Tyet, but to his surprise a
servitor handed him a plasma pistol and power packs. Maybe the imbecile Sergeant
was not such an idiot after all.
The trio arrived in the assembly area, the force field still erect, but the crowds
had departed leaving placards and projectile objects strewn across the gantry. Three
squads, a quartet of sentinels and the Captain and his retinue, save Lieutenant Rynem
who would assume command of the barracks, crowded into the staging area.
‘Those we were here to serve have turned on us and have also forsaken the
Emperor. This cannot go unchallenged. They will be expecting us, but we will make
them feel the full might of the Stormriders. Be vigilant and return alive. Serve with
honour.’ These words were expected, the situation and mission brief having been
chimed down through the vox from their commanding officers. Yet, Captain Zaes had
injected passion into those few words to galvanise the men. The Captain made the
sign of the Aquila and the others followed suit.
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The force field dropped onto the now quiet intersection and the detail moved out
into the labyrinth of Isser city.
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◄ 14 ►
A quartet of Beta squad filed down to steam generators unchallenged. The
protestors had given the Stormriders a wide berth since the patrols had fired upon any
violent individuals. Reports crackled through the vox on the long trek down to the
lower levels of Isser city. The city’s security headquarters had been quickly captured,
leaving all remaining guards to defend their smaller offices dotted throughout the
many levels of the hive city. Had a more productive officer been in command, the
guards would have teamed together to form a retaliatory strike force. Perhaps it would
happen, but the coded transmissions then revealed the computer network was
successfully broken and now under the prevue of the Imperial Guard. Each level and
sector would be shut down to civilians, keeping trouble makers confined.
Unsurprisingly, Governor Estnell was not present in his office, having fled at the first
counter-strike of the Stormriders. Gamma squad were pursuing the network of tunnels
in the administration offices to locate Estnell’s bolt hole, though Captain Zaes would
return to the barracks.
Tyet found his way back quickly to the collapsed section, guided by his
mnemonics. As they approached the intersections where he had been a few hours
earlier, Sergeant Halls kept trying to raise the other members of Beta squad on the
Vox. Steam still clung to the air in thick drabs. Each rebreather hummed at maximum
capacity trying to keep its occupant within tolerable limits.
‘Asthkel. How far?’ Halls’ grating tone was injected with a harsh edge.
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‘Two minutes.’ Despite Tyet’s view of Halls’ incompetence, the Sergeant
maintained an almost professional attitude on active duty, which Tyet took as a
positive step in not having to punch him.
They neared the rubble and still no sign of the remainder of Beta squad.
‘So where the heck did you leave them before you ran off for your pretty
adornation?’ It was rhetorical jibe from Halls.
Okay, so it didn’t last long. Tyet thought. Adornation? Must have word-of-theday ironed on to his pillow cover. At least he felt comfortable at loathing him again.
‘Kinraw, anything?’
‘No signs. Could be too much thermal radiation.’ He slapped the side of the
auspex. ‘It does open up into a larger cavern.’
‘Okay. Head back as far as you need to and report our status to HQ. Get back
here double-time.’
Tyet could see the fleshy gore surrounding an arm pinned by fallen masonry,
but no trace of its owner. Nor the medics. Nor the Marines. With terrible
predictability of clichéd recantations circulating the student halls, Tyet could discern
blood splatter patterns leading off the fissure in the wall. They had either moved or
been removed into an underground tunnels. He voiced his thoughts.
‘We will play this by the numbers troopers. This is not the time for heroics. Get
a message to HQ to log our whereabouts and situation.’ Once the acknowledgement
was received, ‘Let’s head in, single file. Asthkel, you take point.’
Four marines marched into the chasm opening; darkness enveloped the tall
figures. The flax armour’s light flicked on, flooding the passage with rods of
incandescent light lancing through the blanket of shadows. Tyet used his in built
visual enhancement to provide additional scanning on active radar yielding complete
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imaging of interior. The entrance had been roughly formed by whatever damage had
resulted in the passageway, but the granite surface had transformed from a jagged
corrugation into a smooth surface.
‘Sergeant. The shaping of the walls. The profiling suggest they are machined.’
‘So? It’s probably a service tunnel from previous geophysical survey of the
foundations.’
‘Unlikely. Even geological survey shafts were entered on the city’s schematics.’
‘Could they have been cut after the surveys?’ Thruaughbur cut in.
‘How do you know what Isser’s schematics contain, Asthkel?’
Tyet could sense the utter contempt on Sergeant Hall’s face. ‘I studied. I
memorised.’ He wanted to add you idiot. Tyet had a sudden sinking feeling. He was
actually experiencing moments of juvenility. His attitude was built on hard choices
and resolute professionalism, yet spending time outside the Temple with the hrstan
regiment had brought out curious reactions, almost uncontrollable. Each mission was
a chance to learn, his teachers had said, but learn quickly. He hoped to Emperor that
he was not too far gone to find himself infested by their churlishness. The Inquisitors
would flay him, as they always had, but it was unlikely that he would survive the
debriefing session if the changes were permanent. Few students taken into the Temple
survived the training, the missions and the Inquisitors. He knew the assignments were
designed to be brutal and the designers could use any situation available across a
thousand worlds, forged to test the mettle of would be assassins. He would not put it
past a few teachers in Callidus Temple to assume characters within the assignment.
Just like Halls.
Only the strongest would survive.
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He buried the reactionary jibe and focussed on the winding passage. Still
following the waning blood splatter, the walls changed from simple cutting to slab
reinforcement, lending strength to the archway. Each slab bore a rune becoming more
intricate in design as they moved further along.
Tyet stopped. ‘Has anyone seen these types of markings before?’
‘It’s not Gothic or Landic.’ Kinraw offered.
‘Enough chit chat Asthkel. Move on.’
‘Sergeant. I could be wrong, but these look similar to Cultic. Look at these
patterns here and here.’ Tyet indicated a couple of sections of more elaborate
hieroglyphs.
‘Doesn’t change a thing. No matter what created this tunnel, our troopers are
down here. Move on.’ Halls hissed over the vox.
Tyet gripped his bolter, channelling his frustration just below the point of
fracturing the ceramite boosted grip and stock. The heat was rising as the path moved
further downward, twisting in all directions till it levelled out into a long, narrow hall.
Tyet took in the scene immediately, but cast his helmet light to wide dispersion.
The tiling gave way to a vast frieze stretching at a conservative estimate, one
hundred meters along the corridor, filling the wall floor to ceiling. The detail depicted
the rise of Bloodthirster Warang'in, an unholy creature bound to the throne of Khorne.
Legend said that Khorne’s fury at the downcast of Bloodthirster An'ggrath had
coalesced into a malevolent manifestation and reeked personal and bloody retribution
on the Grey Knights responsible for An’ggrath’s banishment. Three gory deaths were
recorded in a manner that could only be glorification of the events. The fine detail of
agony had been perfectly etched on the Inquisitor’s faces, though Tyet could not
assign names. The frieze was only shallow relief, but the incomplete illumination cast
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deep shadows across the surface giving the imagery a more sinister appearance,
marred by fracture lines that collected over years of standing. Assassins would not
allow themselves given over to fear, even if this had been the real Bloodthirster.
Shocked perhaps, but resolved against the darkness to purge all evil, even at the
expense of their own lives. Still, the cutting was awe inspiring.
Kinraw spoke out ‘What if this network was built before Isser city, but
discovered after? The mineralogy above the structure renders scans negative, so it
could have gone unnoticed.’
‘How old is this thing?’ Thruaughbur enquired.
Halls cut them off with a simple bark ‘Cut the chatter and move on.’
Tyet took a step then suddenly caught a low level flash across the whole floor
on a high frequency, but ultra-short wavelength. It would have gone totally unnoticed
by civilians, service technicians and Imperial Guard. ‘Jump!’
The floor pulsed intensely as Tyet leapt into the air dropping his grip on the
lasgun, his hands punching out horizontally, smashing into the walls, his legs
scrambling for purchase. His legs became deadweight, unable to properly move.
Glancing down, Kinraw had instantly reacted and grabbed hold trying to keep his
body elevated. Tyet brought his right leg to pincer Kinraw’s gauntlet and heaved him
upwards as much as his strength could allow.
Cries of agony resounded immediately behind him, but he couldn’t turn his head
far enough whilst maintaining his grip between the opposing walls. A faint tinge of
seated flesh filled his nostrils that his helmet’s air filtration system could not remove.
Worryingly, this meant the stench filling the corridor must be intense and could only
be coming from his squad.
‘Sergeant?’ Tyet practically shouted.
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‘Medic. Need. medic.’ The breathing was extensively laboured, interjected with
agony.
Without warning the pulsing ceased and Tyet dropped to the floor, spinning
quickly to face carnage. Thruaughbur had evidently not reacted. The laser net sliced
through his boots at the ankles, causing him to fall forward onto his hands, which
were subsequently severed. Unable to support himself, his entire body had slipped
through the laser net effectively dissolving his body, leaving two boots neatly cut with
a reddened crown. Kinraw had only managed to grab hold of Tyet to keep his body
upright, but his legs ended just above the knees. Halls had partly jumped and tried to
hold onto a projection in the relief, which had slowly crumbled under his weight. His
body and right hand had slipped into the laser net, which had relived him of his waist
and elbow down respectively. Blood had bubbled through ineffective quarterisation
where Halls had thrashed against the slipping then vaporized. After the field had
stopped, blood pooled across the floor away from his torso.
Carefully retreating from the area of the motion trigger, Tyet lay Kinraw on the
floor and unhinged his helmet. Agony wracked his face, but remained focussed. ‘In
the name of the Emperor, what happened?’
‘Someone is just trying to bring you down to size, you giant oaf.’ Tyet jibbed.
The injection of humour worked, as Kinraw’s face gave way to a blood-splattered
smile.
Tyet tended to Halls. Blood dribbled from the Sergeant’s lips and down his chin.
Probably had bitten his tongue in the effort of keeping himself alive. There was little
Tyet could do except drag Halls to help. With the right kind of assistance the sergeant
could be reconstructed. His major organs were largely unaffected.
‘Well Sir, you wont be dancing the waltz anytime soon.’
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‘Why. Didn’t. Auspex. Pick up. Trap.’
‘It was a motion sensor against the thermal radiation buried this deep into the
Isser’s crust. A more active scanning auspex could have picked it up.’
‘Incompetent. You. On. Report.’
Amazing. The Sergeant was using all his strength trying to keep from slipping
into unconsciousness, heck even trying to keep his insides for slipping out of his
ruptured pelvis, yet deemed it important enough to assign blame. Definitely not an
undercover agent. In this dire situation they would break character and knuckle down
to organise a plan to save the rest of the squad even whilst their innards are venting.
The ruin of the Sergeant’s body was a pitiable sight. Tyet almost felt sorrow,
though there were pressing concerns. Two marines still alive and no facility to carry
either of them to safety. The trap was effective against the strongest in the Imperium.
It was sheer luck that Tyet had reacted so quickly. The other members of Beta squad
must have moved along this way, without triggering the device. The trap must have
been sprung manually.
He grabbed his lasgun which had fallen to the floor just before the laser grid had
reached maximum intensity and aimed it down the corridor. A hollow metallic sound
bounced along the floor, scuttling off the walls at high speed. His implants could only
track a feint outline of a small silver blur. The concussion grenade exploded in the
narrow corridor ripping apart the shadows, heaving Tyet off the floor and into his own
personal darkness.
Tyet awoke with a jolt. His neuronics could not determine how much time had
passed. Minutes, hours or days could have gone by. Only the latter would have
serious repercussions. If he missed his extraction deadline, it would cascade a series
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of warnings that would be directed back to the Temple. Analysts would process
available information and determine whether the situation warranted investigation and
attempted recovery or simply allow the asset to expire. It was rare event to leave such
valuable resources out in the cold permanently, but it did happen. It was likely he
would have to make his own way back with no assistance and a mark on his file, but
at least capable of serving again. Though the resulting inquisition would make all
previous ones a minor discomforting itch under his tunic.
Processing his physical status revealed little damage to his body. The grenade
was not designed to be lethal, but to keep the victim intact and alive. A strange
contrast to the laser net that had sprung across the floor. Whoever set the trap must
have figured whatever was capable of surviving the laser system was worthy of
capturing whole. It left him with a ringing in his ears.
A masked and cloaked figure threw water over his body, their hands revealing
human contours, but no words were uttered. He had been strapped onto a polished
masonry or marble plinth, his hands and legs spread wide, his body stripped of armour
and his under tunic ripped open. His skin had been adorned with chaos symbols with
bright red paint and from the metallic smell it was probably blood. It was not his ears
ringing from the concussion grenade but a ring of cloaked figures humming.
They had not strapped his head, which afforded a little movement to see his
locale. The room was circular, with two passages leading outwards that Tyet could
see. In the centre of the room, the floor dropped into a circular well, from which
steam arose through a fiery light emanating from deep within and scattering against
the tendrils of water vapour yielding an orange hue. Similar slabs were arranged
around the well, each with a shallow ducting inclined down towards the rim of the
well and connected to large slabs with large grooves forming Chaos symbols. Four
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other tables were occupied, placed head towards the centre of the room, but only two
of the bound figures were breathing. From the still tables, blood had flowed down the
trench onto the symbols filling the pattern causing an ethereal glow of six runes, with
one remaining. Tyet was to be seven. Excess blood had dripped through
machicolations and into the fiery pit. It appeared that the flow of blood was key to the
functionality of this room. This hellhole was a sacrificial chamber of Khorne, replete
with low level chanting from numerous cloaked figures surrounding the walls
maintaining a vigil over the occupants tied to the slabs. The problems with Isser had
materialised in Chaos and Tyet was immobile.
There was an element of familiarity as his mind jumped to his reoccurring
nightmares. But the wisp of recognition dispersed in an instant. As if responding to an
unseen cue, one of its members detached from the throng carrying a short handled axe
within a hand bearing overgrown fingernails sharpened into talons. It crossed quickly
to Tyet and swung the axe down without hesitation. The blade split apart his first and
middle fingers, which the figure collected and then returned to chorusing. The pain
was instant, yielding a little involuntary yelp, but shortened by his cortex instantly
pumped adrenalin into his system, overriding the sensitivity of broken nerves. The
wound was almost instantly sealed to prevent any loss of blood or the unregulated
flow of toxin.
He focussed on his missing digits. Gone. He was going to be sacrificed. The
words stuck in his mind. Tyet’s thoughts crystallised as if rapidly pulled awake from a
drug induced state. He must be suffering from concussion, his mind and ears
continued to buzz from the damage within and the chanting without.
‘Not long now.’ The voice was croaky, but confident. Tyet instantly knew the
owner. ‘You can feel it too, can you not Private Asthkel? Or not quite Asthkel. The
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anticipation is building and they are eager. Always searching for a way into the
materium. They need flesh, willing or preferably unwilling, but as long as their
subject is strong. Pain sustains them, blood excites them. And you will serve
admirably.’ There was a long chuckle that echoed around the chamber. The chanting
increased an octave.
Tyet strained his head upwards as Governor Estnell glided in to the chamber
flanked by his retinue bedecked in reptilian looking carapace armour. Dark lines
spread across every bit of his exposed flesh, dark crimson to black lines criss-crossed
his face. The poison had begun to halt the Governor’s neuronal system and had also
caused his veins to rupture, but had not killed him. The Governor caught the location
of where Tyet’s attention was placed as he moved through the sea of cloaked figures.
‘Yes. Nasty business this. But who am I to point the finger?’ Governor Estnell
had taken Tyet’s severed digit from the axe-wielder and wiggled it at him. Tyet
missed the double entendre. ‘I was a bit slow on the uptake, but when this body
started to disintegrate it was not difficult to figure out the how or the who. This is a
remarkable piece of technology.’ Estnell exclaimed whilst wafting the finger in front
of Tyet’s face. ‘Not usually associated with the regular Imperial Guard I imagine. So
who exactly are you Asthkel?’
The question met with stony silence.
‘I knew you were different. You see, my God does not believe in using psychic
capabilities. It is a practical being, deeming that strength in flesh will outweigh a
potent mind. But warp creatures always try to claw their way back to the immaterium
if they cannot gain sustenance in the materium. Each warp being seeks out such
sources, it’s in our nature. Psychic energy is powerful to us, so I could sense yours.
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‘Anyway, I’m not interested in your mind, but your body. We intended to
wrench that pathetic little soul out of its shell and move something less hospitable in,
but you’ve precipitated events quicker than I desired,’ he gesticulated to his own face,
‘and now I need a new host. So good of you to have provided yourself among the
candidates. Pity you were the only one of your late squad to have survived whole, but
we had to take drastic measures to protect our lair. The other two were discarded
being less than worthy for me, but their blood was useful nonetheless. A population
this large meant we could easily raise daemonic creatures, but a daemon prince needs
a greater sacrifice. The Emperor’s seed runs in your veins, I’ll warrant. A suitable
offering, no?’
If Halls and Kinraw had been killed, Tyet spared a quick thought as to who was
left on the other slabs.
‘Take comfort that your comrades squealed with their last breaths. Even the
mighty Imperial Guard crumble before us. As will you. The transfer will be
excruciating and we will do what we can to exacerbate the pain of course. But first we
need to raise our champion. Khorne has promised me deliverance of the population
and the last of the opposition will be decimated.’
Tyet’s pulse quickened. He had never personally encountered agents of Chaos,
though their history and diversification of their manifestations was required learning
at the Temple. Assassins were occasionally chosen to deal with specific individuals
that were not themselves warp creatures, which was the domain of the powerful
Daemon Hunter legions. Estnell, or whatever currently inhabited his body, was going
to attempt to resurrect a powerful daemon using his blood for the materialisation. He
had to kill Estnell and alert Captain Zaes before the champion was raised, otherwise
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the Chapter’s division and the City would be lost and it would cost more lives to
recapture and purge this evil.
‘We require a little of your blood to complete the rune set, then we will rip your
body apart. Once you have reached the point of utter despair, then I will transfer
myself into you. It’ll take a while to stitch your body back together.’ Tyet smelled
rancid edge to the Governor’s breath. His body was decaying internally as well as
externally. Time was running out.
Estnell withdrew a long curved blade, hewn from bone and bound at the grip in
woven sinew. Three figures moved in around Tyet and Estnell brandishing a variety
of devices designed to instil panic and fear. And rightfully so. Scourging was
practised on a number of worlds throughout the Imperium allowing searing pain from
torn flesh to loosen the tongue or surrender the will to the deliverer. The assassin’s
physique meant he could withstand significant punishment, but it would be drawn out
and painful nonetheless. Had he been selected for the Eversor Temple, his body
would have been rigged with a dead man’s trigger that would have activated on his
death, taking everyone there into oblivion. As it was, taking his own life would result
in the passing of only one. Himself.
Estnell stood over Tyet’s prostrate body, raising the blade over Tyet’s neck.
Tyet looked deep into his eyes and could see the fire behind the contortions of a
twisted face.
‘But that trick of yours with the instant cauterising after the loss of your fingers,
will require something a little deeper. Don’t forget to scream!’ Estnell began an
incantation then thrust the blade downwards.
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Tyet pulled the restraint with his boosted musculature. The bonds yielded with a
crack. His strength overriding the bindings and catching the flat blade between the
palms of his hands.
‘You first.’ A quick twist, the governor’s grip was broken. Tyet stabbed the
blade through Estnell’s arm, close to the hand so the blade locked against the solidity
of the wrist, and dragged the governor’s arm over his body. As Estnell’s upper torso
was hauled closer to Tyet, he struck out with the other arm colliding into the neck
with a sickening snap. Several vertebrae shattered. It happened in the blink of an eye.
Tyet moving at a lightening pace. None of Estnell’s coterie reacted until the governor
opened his mouth and screamed. The ear piercing noise was monstrous. Unearthly.
Lasting longer than any human could emit. His head hung loosely down on one
shoulder where muscle and bone could no longer support the weight. Yet, Estnell still
stood upright, staggering backwards until he lost his footing and collapsed to the floor
shaking. A guard ran to help the governor as the other turned to Tyet.
Tyet did not pause, smashing through his leg restraints, he flipped off the slab
and launched himself at the nearest acolyte. He grabbed the torture instrument and
punched into the ribcage just above the heart stopping it instantly. Grabbing the tunic,
he drew the body into a defensive shield as the governor’s retinue opened fire. The
other two acolytes standing ready to scourge Tyet were blasted apart as the heavy
calibre rounds ripped open skin and muscle. His barrier soaked up the initial
conflagration without yet falling down, but Tyet had already moved below the line of
fire. Before the nearest bodyguard could adjust his aim, Tyet had reached him,
grabbed the bolter arm and pointed at two other guards felling them in a hail of bolter
fire. He stabbed the guard at the base of the neck with the bladed instrument he tore
from the acolyte. It was the weakest point in the armour, yielding under the boosted
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thrust despite the overlapping protection. Blood sprayed out, covering the surrounding
area and Tyet. He must have been under pressure. He would not have ordinarily let
the blood cover him. It left too much potentially incriminating evidence. Still, Estnell,
or whatever had been occupying his flesh, had wanted blood to flow. Tyet was not
going to disappoint.
As the guard opened fired on his own retinue, the remaining acolytes rushed
Tyet armed with short knives. The guard fell, Tyet back-swiped the blade catching an
acolyte across the eyeline, but the hood only fell away from the point of slicing. He
jammed the blade into the eye socket of the next acolyte, but was too slow in pulling
the blade lodged firmly in the head as blades struck his shoulder. He did not slow, his
accelerated physiology would have to cope with the repairs on the move.
Tyet punched the eyeless acolyte in the nose, shattering the frontal lobe. The
blade damage at his shoulder had missed the nerve cluster and muscle fibres, so not
restricting his strength. He launched his body against the incoming tide gaining a
fraction of space. Tyet vaulted over a sacrificial slab bearing the Kinraw’s remains,
onto the body a felled acolyte. He grabbed a modified cat o’ nine tails and sprinted
into three acolytes that were summarily ripped apart. Material and gore were torn
from their bodies.
Tyet finally saw a face of the captors. Their eyes were puffy red, nose and ears
sliced off, their mouths had been stitched shut with thick wire, causing continually
bleeding from their lips. Tyet could only guess as to why. The cat o’ nine tails added
to the puncturing of their flesh. He lashed it round the neck of another, the allowing
the length of the whip thong to coil round and entwine over itself digging deep into
the flesh causing it to rupture blood. He yanked the chaos disciple into a tight circle,
back kicking a rushing figure in the midriff knocking him to the floor with a muted
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grunt, then released the whipped figure into two more acolytes throwing them against
the wall. He pounced onto the prone figure, stamping down on the neck, then jumped
onto another, his momentum crashing the figure to the floor. He didn’t release his
hold and pulled at the head with a twist. Even with two missing fingers, his boosted
muscles tore the neck apart.
A yelp escaped Tyet’s lips as his back was opened up with a deep blade strike.
He spun around, snapped the arm of the acolyte, relieving him of a blade, and pitched
him backwards into the chasm. The acolyte landed head first onto the lip and the
slithered into the fire. Tyet threw the blade at the last of the standing figures, the one
who had removed his digits, catching it in the chest. It was a lucky shot. Knife
throwing at a moving target with enough momentum to cause penetration had a small
chance of striking tip first. Even then, landing onto the heart to cause instant death
was improbable. It slowed the advance as Tyet ran in, parrying the wild blows the
acolyte threw with the axe. With each lash of the hand, Tyet punched into the man
three times. The axe dropped to the floor, the clang lost in the pounding of flesh. He
trapped his opponents foot and landed an upper cut, wrenching the man’s head
violently upwards and after pulling out the knife, Tyet plunged it deep into the neck
penetrating through to the spinal cord. The figure slumped to the floor, a puppet with
its strings snipped.
Tyet crouched low surveying the chamber. Three acolytes were sprawled on the
floor trying to stand. He grabbed the axe and terminated their muted agony.
‘Impressive skills.’ The chamber filled with a bitonal screeching, the governor’s
original voice was lost an octave below and several above normal. ‘Pity I wont get to
use them.’
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The governor stood between two tables a short distance from Tyet, his head still
dangling from his shoulders, soaked in blood. Estnell held a knife in one hand and a
lump of flesh in another. Squeezing it caused a fountain of blood. It fell from
loosened fingers, dropping onto the remains of a guard that had attended the Governor,
rolling off his armour to the floor with a dull splat.
‘I really wanted to use the body of an Adeptus, but needs must change when
deprived of the opportunity. Forced to use my guard instead. Slightly more willing
sacrifice will cost me, but it will serve the purpose.’
He sliced his own body with deep gouges of the blade and tore at the skin that
hung from his face and body as though trying to disrobe himself. The sight turned
Tyet’s stomach, he vomited briefly. He had never thrown up before, the taste of bitter
vile rolled around his throat and tongue. The Governor did not slow, ripping off the
skin around his forearms and hands revealing blood red talons. His shins and feet
gave way to animal like legs terminating in cloven hooves, as dark red as the arms.
The talons inserted into his stomach anchoring his ribcage and with a sickening noise
of wet cracking, Estnell ripped apart his own frame. Blood flew in all directions.
From within, the creature stretched upwards, its head finally revealed. Two long horns
rose out from the cranium, several more from its chin. Still covered in the remnants of
the Governor’s tissue, the angular projections of a bloodletter was finally revealed.
It gave a piercing howl that resonated through Tyet, which slapped him out of
the mesmerised reverie that had rooted him to the spot. He grabbed the axe as the
bloodletter charged, but it faltered, unable to balance on its new feet and crashing into
a slab. Tyet countered with a blistering set of strikes. The creature crouched behind
the protection of its arms as the axe and knife dug deep rents into its hide, howling in
pain it back-handed Tyet’s face and punched him squarely in the chest. Pain exploded
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in Tyet’s head as the air evacuated his lungs at the force of the blow. He flew
backwards over the remains of Kinraw, dropping to a heap on the other side of the
sacrificial table.
The bloodletter was feral, crawling on all fours it pounced onto Tyet with its
head down and horns extended forward. Tyet caught the sides of the horns and
twisted the head away from his own body, but being slick with blood, Tyet’s grip
slipped and the momentum of the creature’s body crashed into his own. The
bloodletter bit into Tyet’s side, agony flamed through his body, it wanted to feast on
him. He drove the knife deep into the creature’s neck and turned the blade over
hoping to sever vital connections. It screamed and jarred its head upwards sending
one of the horns into the Tyet’s jaw, puncturing through to his mouth.
Judging where the eyes should be, Tyet stabbed viscously. The bloodletter
flicked its head wildly, thrashing out its arms, Tyet was sent flying, landing on his
back, jarring his head. His implants screamed as loudly as the creature, desperate for
salvation and repair.
Exhausted, Tyet clambered back to his feet, just as the bloodletter struck again.
The full weight of the chaos creature smashed down. Tyet tried to roll, redirecting the
energy of attack. The creature only partly fell onto a slab, breaking off large chunks of
masonry, but had righted itself and launched again. It was going to rip him open with
his teeth. Tyet caught its head by the horns again, one above the brow line and the
other by the chin. He locked his arms in a brace position, but allowed his body to be
thrown backwards into the adjacent slab. He twisted its head, exposing the nap of the
neck also depriving it of sight of Tyet. Talons ripped at Tyet’s body, opening fresh
blood trails. The creature jumped, doubling over on to its back, trying to break free of
the grip. Tyet had transferred all available energy into his internal capacitors in his
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forearms and zapped the bloodletter. The electrical discharged crackled across his
palms. It had done no more than cause the creature to slightly spasm, but the
momentary lapse in struggle as the creature jumped to plunge the knife into the neck.
It was wrenched out of his hands. The creature wailed, clawing at the slippery handle.
Tyet swung the axe catching it in the neck. He blocked the counter blow and
struck again. The axe buried deep and the creature’s struggling slowly ceased. He
swung again, taking the head clean off. He paused, trying to regain his breath, but
sucking on boiling fumes brought on a coughing fit. His cortex ordered a release of
adrenalin to counter, foregoing a soporific in the heat.
The mnemonics was trying to filter out the replays of the fight, seeking to reestablish order of his thoughts. He reflected how close he had truly come to losing his
life; closer than ever before. But he triumphed in the name of the Emperor, he was
properly blooded and the mission was a success. The governor was dead and his
master also.
He cursed himself. Guardsmen had lost their lives and there was still another
alive in this chamber. He felt hollow and ashamed. This was his duty and he lived to
fight on and would remember the fallen, carrying their names on his lips when
carrying out the next kills. He owed them that much.
Tyet glanced around seeking remaining targets, but none stirred. Finding
resolution in his actions, he dragged the rapidly shrivelling body of the chaos creature
to the edge of the fiery well and launched it in. The head he cracked open ensuring the
thing could not rise again and pitched it in to follow its body. Unstrapping Shawkes
from the slab, he could see his fellow squad member had been stabbed to release
blood for the sacrifice. Blood had run down the chute onto the rune. Lit. They all were.
During the battle the last remaining icon had been coated in blood, possibly his.
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Possibly an assailant. But if the creature inhabiting Estnell was right, it would not
matter whose blood filled the engraved pictogram to raise another nightmare.
The light was thrumming, gaining in intensity. The presence of chaos had not
been fully expunged. Much worse was about to break through and he had very little
reserves to face the new threat. If chaos was about to be released on Isser city on a
larger scale than Tyet had just encountered in the chamber, it was lost. Its inhabitants
would be ripped to shreds unless the Imperial Guard could provide an effective
counter attack. Escaping to his rendezvous was his highest priority, but he had to warn
Imperial headquarters prior to departure.
Shawkes had lost a lot of blood so Tyet decided not to risk administering a
stimulant. There was a chance Shawkes would not survive until he reached the
medical facilities, but he could not leave him here. He slung his comrade over his
least damaged shoulder and chose a path hoping it would lead him to the correct
location near the heat exchangers. He would have to deal with the laser grid whilst
carrying the dead weight, but he had to move.
Eelil.
Why her name should cross his mind at that particular time, he could not
rationalise. A brief encounter with a sexually aggressive predator had a profound
impact. She was unlike anything in the Temple, but she was secretary to the host skin,
discarded on the floor that had been sacrificed to the entity within. Tyet wondered if
Eelil could have known about the Governor. Surely a deterioration in Estnell’s
attitude would have been noticeable when working so closely. That was the reason for
Tyet’s dispatch to Isser; concerns by the administration or the military presence would
have been logged with the Administratum.
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Tyet mused whether that made Eelil complicit or just incredibly dim-witted; all
looks and very little brain. He felt it easy to dismiss her as a utility no longer of use.
She would survive or fall with the rest of the city and Tyet had pressing matters to
attend to. And yet, he felt a modicum of sorrow if it came to that. She was a curiosity
of desire that brought out emotions he had kept under lock and key till Araya had
ripped those security measures apart, allowing a taste of actual human emotion to seep
into the forefront of his being. He knew it was dangerous for an agent to engross
oneself in such acts, which was why the Temple masters had forbidden all but the
cursory of liaisons. Tyet tried to rationalise the curiosity he felt with Eelil. Ultimately
she was broken and Isser city would fall. That would finalise the ordeal leaving him to
strengthen his resolve towards gaining full agent status.
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◄ 15 ►
Pain washed through him like a river, only where it touched the sides it ripped
beyond the threshold of human endurance. Tyet screamed. He had given up trying to
rationalise whether an Adeptus Astartes should express reaction to the pain. An
assassin was trained to endure far beyond the gene-seeded human warriors. Yet the
Inquistorial squad assigned to the Temple had centuries at practising their arts, ably
assisted by agents that had gone through the system and survived. If he could have
kept his thoughts straight he might have observed a certain psychological imbalance
with the Temple masters. Pain was recycled from the old generation to the new, only
those that had endured had deemed pain necessary. Perhaps it was payback on the
weaker elements. For a student to be subjected to the very concept of what they are
being trained to deliver across the Imperium, it was reckoned that valuable lessons
were seeded among the immature recruits. It was also felt that such debriefing
sessions would instil control against the development of an assassin’s burgeoning ego.
Those on the outside of the Temple would simply have been disgusted that a
purportedly enlightened civilisation would resort to primitive and distasteful conduct.
The metal-reinforced leather bonds began to cut deeply into his flesh as he
writhed with each jolt of energy. It was part physical and part psychic in nature, the
balance decided by the operator, so the victim could be subjected to purely physical
torment whilst being allowed to collect their thoughts, or not being able to cognitively
process whilst their bodies were allowed a brief respite. It was tailored to each person,
a full scan of the synaptic pathways and nerve relays were mapped out for the
operator to gain full control of the unfortunate soul strapped into the device.
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Tyet was experiencing the full effect of both together. The feeble attempts to
form Araya’s face were washed away. It was stupid of him to think that having beaten
Cireez’s torture methods once, he could easily do it again. Short bursts were randomly
interspersed with long periods. Drugs were injected into his system. He felt attacked
by multiple assailants and completely unable to defend himself from the onslaught.
Student assassins were placed in the device and timed to see how long they could
survive whilst holding on to vital information. There was no deadline. They were told
death awaited them, which was true of all life so no lies were actually told, though the
machine was never actually used for killing. It was to test how they performed under
duress that revealed the presence of the prerequisite character traits. Any would be
assassin volunteering information was dishonourably discharged. Any surviving
student was ingrained with the reminder of the price of service under the Emperor.
‘You dishonoured the Emperor. You disobeyed the mission directive.’ The
voice had repeated this phrase countless times in the past few hours, or was it weeks,
yet had remained calm and firm. Inquisitor Cireez was a practised and patient man.
It was true. Partly at least, but they were not interested in partial truths.
Obedience or death. The accusations still came, timed with the waves of pain applied
to Tyet’s body and mind.
‘There is no place for heroism in an assassin.’
‘You wanted glory, fame, a legacy, carving your name across the stars.’
‘You were tempted by the dark forces.’
The assailants kept slamming accusations into his mind, which cut as deeply as
the straps on his body.
Tyet tried to resist and shout down the accusations, but with each attempt the
pain intensified. He could not relent. Could not give into the inquisition, but knew that
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they had increased the machine to a setting higher than he had endured before. It beat
him down, mashed his mind, serrated his body. It felt worse than when he was
strapped to the table in the sacrificial chamber those short weeks passed.
It was impossible to argue objectively. Even maturing within the Temple, the
students had debated issues from the sublime to the ridiculous. Yet each time a
student thought himself philosophically adept, a teacher would produce one more
quote, one more idea, one more snippet of history that rendered the student’s position
foolish. Under duress, there was little scope for countering Cireez. And yet he was not
the object of hate, per say. The students knew that the Temple’s Inquisitors bore no
individual malice and that his sessions were necessary. It was a job that needed to be
done and the students only had to battle themselves to gain victory over each session.
Cireez saw himself as a helper rather than the administrator of the machine and so
students volunteered their bodies, sat down onto the table freely and the strapping was
merely a precaution. The pain was a necessary component. Not that the students had
imagined Cireez being strapped in his own machine, but if the rumours were true he
had subjected himself on his arrival at the Temple.
There was no point trying to hide any little facts. Each assassin had mnemonic
implants that recorded details of each assignment, albeit not in terms of the five
senses, but sufficient to allow an interrogator to piece together key events of an
assassin’s mission. Having described as accurately as possible all that had transpired
on Isser, the encounter with chaos cultists and the bloodletter had drawn the concern
of the Temple masters as to the sanctity of Tyet’s soul. They had to test Tyet. They
had to be sure he was not tainted. One marine given over to chaos was dishonourable
and had to be killed, but an assassin aligning themselves with chaos had to be utterly
destroyed mind, body and soul.
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Tyet had returned to the barracks with Shawkes barely alive. As soon as he
arrived, his implants had obtained the city’s time and date, which put him within an
hour of the extraction deadline. He reported to the senior duty officer and then to
Captain Zaes, who watched him hawkishly as he described all the details from
entering the chasm to his return. It seemed incredible that one Guardsman should
escape almost unharmed, as his squad had died so easily around him and the Captian
voiced his astonishment. Zaes appeared far more energetic and focussed than before.
A far cry from his sullen mood a few days ago. A veil had been lifted and Zaes was
released from the focus of the warp. Ultimately, there was only one path. Zaes had
been touched by chaos and his service record at Isser would reflect poorly and it was
unlikely he would be allowed to continue to command. The Adeptus simply would
not allow the risk. He knew it and it forced Zaes into resolute action, so before his
discharge he would restore Isser back to Imperial control.
Zaes immediately mobilised the Harstans to battle. He declared the city was in
peril and the Guardsmen would begin sterilisation to root out the cultists. Reserves
would be called in. Thankfully martial law had locked down each sector and
overcome the security forces led by the Governor had been commandeered. The 91 st
Regiment would meet the chaos elements head on and Tyet was to lead the taskforce
down to the catacombs.
Exhausted and beaten, Tyet felt the pain of the choice. He possessed standing
orders to alight Isser and return to the Temple with the mission accomplished, but was
now being given a direct command by a superior officer to remain. It was
straightforward. This was not his fight. An agent reported directly to his masters in the
Temple even though comradeship within the other Adeptus divisions was instilled
through training to ensure amenable integration during assignment. The 91st Harstans
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were tasked with defence of Isser and for as long as Tyet’s guise needed to be
maintained he was bound by the same oath. At the death of Estnell, Tyet was free of
his obligations to the regiment. Returning back to the fold would mean an agent
would be available for redeployment at another point more crucial in the Imperium.
These battles were fought on a daily basis, at insurmountable odds. Countless billions
were lost, so that trillions might live on.
Nevertheless, Tyet felt compelled not to desert Isser city as a rat would a
sinking ship. Being underhanded at this point, leading the troops and disappearing on
the journey down, could lead to annihilation of every Guardsman and in turn everyone
in the city. There was no guarantee though. At least if he remained, he could guide the
forces through the traps he negotiated on his journey back to the heat exchange plant.
Plus he would not feel the guilt of having run in the face of adversity. He recalled
having read the phrase actions maketh the man, though it was likely to have been
modified over the centuries from another inspired expression now lost in time.
Tyet mused as to what the Primarchs or even the Emperor would have done in
his position. It was an irrelevant thought and he chided himself at the anachronism.
The Primarchs were deceased and the Emperor existed only in spirit. This period of
time was post-Horus heresy and the political forces and distribution of enemies was
different now. The assassin’s mandate and operating charter had been changed since
that Imperial civil war. It was irrelevant to think what the Primarchs or the Emperor
would do.
The division within shook his core. It did not play well in his stressed state. It
was also needless. Tyet had decided to follow that ancient maxim. It was the
responsibility of every member of the Imperium to fight against the darkness. He
accepted the self-administered invocation of service. He rushed to imprint a data
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crystal that would be carried in his stead, made it through to the landing platforms
where an automated mining ship was due to depart the system towards Mars. The
crystal would activate a coded signal and he prayed to the Emperor that it would be
received into safe hands.
The battle for Isser city raged for sixteen days. A tenth of the city had given
themselves to chaos and although being outnumbered against the uncoverted, the
creature inside Estnell had spent a year in preparation. The cultists were very well
armed and organised. The munitions were not standard designs within the Imperium,
but then neither was there any such thing as “traditional chaos”. These were sleek by
design, not warped by the unnatural. It caused confusion over the battle tactics the
Guards used until Captain Zaes ordered any resistance was immediately destroyed. It
was like cutting out an infection. Healthy tissue was excised along with the infestation.
Yet, no sooner had sectors been cleared that a new route had opened behind them
within the labyrinth. Standard tactics gave over to guerrilla warfare. The marine
forces had been quartered. Even with the support of the newly forged militia, they lost
ground daily. A third of the city had fallen in battle at the hands of their former
friends and colleagues. Blood ran like torrential rivers.
Tyet’s initial incursion back to the sacrificial chamber was repelled. With each
squad trying to gain entry was rebuffed. On day fifteen, he won the approval for a
solo mission. He collected a package and left the barracks, dispensing his battle
armour soon after and changing into his skinsuit. He infiltrated the chaos nest with a
specialist plasma bomb designed by Llany. It appeared that Zaes had the forethought
to bring the guard to Isser. Even in his hazed state Zaes had the determination to break
through to obtain assistance.
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Zaes confronted him at the last moment before dispatch, alone, which caught
Tyet by surprise. The Captain must have looked at the arsenal, the package and the
adornments on Tyet’s combat uniform and jumped to the right conclusion. The
Captain had no compunction in ordering Tyet on a suicide mission, but said that this
was his fight and his responsibility. Despite Tyet’s protestations, Zaes would carry the
trigger into the heart of the enemy and he requested, not ordered, Tyet to create a
diversion. Tyet hadn’t revealed himself, but his weapons surely had.
The marines had steadily lost ground to the insurgents, despite the persistent
casualties inflicted upon the enemy. They had rallied time and again. Only when Tyet
had penetrated the sacrificial chamber did he understand why the tide had been so
strongly against them. The chaos puppet master hid himself deep in the bowels of
Isser.
It was a daemon prince that had risen from the sacrificial well of blood and
orchestrated the insurgents who brought him sacrifices in exchange for bestowed
ethereal gifts from the chaos gods. Some sacrifices were kept alive for the pleasure of
torture. The prince’s hatred of the Emperor’s chosen was manifest and these were the
ones kept alive in perpetual torment. Tyet had slipped in through the defensive cordon
and placed the package in an innocuous position, away from prying eyes. Close
proximity to chaos stirred revulsions and immediately closed down any mental
projections. There was no timer mechanism in order to avoid detection. The plan was
for the package to be manually triggered by an individual placed within the chamber.
Tyet had volunteered himself, but had at the last moment been overridden.
Tyet used an effectual disguise of an acolyte and brought the daemon a worthy
prize. Captain Zaes had chosen himself to be the trigger. The sacrifice would restore
Isser’s control into proper hands and also expunging any dishonour against his name
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that would have arisen if Zaes had survived this war. Tyet had provided the
distraction, allowing Zaes to slip through his restraints and trigger the device. It was a
risk. Tyet would be beyond line of sight to the Captain, but it was necessary.
Moments later, the chamber was filled with the energy of a heart of a sun,
bringing glorious light to purge the darkness. Only by the Emperor’s will did Tyet
manage to escape the blast zone. With the daemon dead, the marines began to counter
effectively. Their enemies remained smote. Imperial reinforcements arrived, but were
only useful for clean-up detail.
In the aftermath Corporal Niathald pulled him to one side, requesting more
information as to Captain’s Zaes’ demise. Tyet was reluctant to divulge explicit
details. Niathald had an uncanny sense of his purpose, which had always put him at
unease. Zaes knew him for what he was and that could be problematic if it came to
light. Whether or not his orders held, he could not divulge his status to a non-assassin.
It was an attaché to the relief forces that revealed herself as a fellow of the Callidus
Temple and gave him instructions for his extraction. It was a long jag heading back
home affording him plenty of time for introspection.
‘You were selfish and given over to lustful desires.’ The accusation hit again.
This was partly true. Whilst he could not fully form Eelil’s face in his mind
whilst searing agony filled his sense, he knew he had those primal thoughts of arousal
and intrigue about new sexual experiences that went beyond his mission task. He had
argued that it was developing alternative strategies that may have been required, but
the separatists on Isser, stoked by the Governor himself, had catalysed alternative
events that brought the Governor and Tyet together. There were alternatives that did
not involve sexual predation; although he argued that when it came to Eelil, he was
the prey.
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‘Do you think you can enter the chaos fold and not leave with a taint on your
soul? You are irrevocably lost.’
It was the new tactic and ultimately vacuous. Yet it was repeated over and over
again. It would be ingrained on his ear drums for life. With each denial came more
pain. Tyet tried to ride it, succumb to it, let it pass through. He wanted to reduce it to a
wisp, but it fell like an anvil.
Damn them all, it was not his fault. His ire rose and mixed with bile. He felt
ashamed at vomiting, but they did not care. Fists collided with flesh. Tears had start to
form, but he could not wipe them away.
‘You see. Even your own body betrays you. You are weakened. Useless. A
failure!’
Relentlessly they pounded his mind and ripped his flesh. Could he forgive them,
should he survive? What we he have done in their situation? Questions bubbled and
popped. They were vapour that he could not cling onto. No rest and no sustenance
was granted him. All time was lost in agony that strangled misery. Hours could have
past. Days or weeks even. Tyet could not care. He wanted out. A little voice in the
back of his mind taunted him to relent, to give in and accept the inevitable. The
thought soothed him for an instant, as a glacier dropped onto the lava flow and froze it
for a briefest second. He felt the soothing balm at the desire to admit their charges. He
opened his mouth, wanting the words to escape.
Let the small voice speak for me. I have no more strength.
Only strangled cries could wend their way outward. He clamped his mouth shut.
He screamed at the voice. Tried to attack it. Expunge it from within. All it could do
was laugh.
Am I given over to chaos? Has it possessed me?
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The voice chided him as did the Inquisitor. Both could laugh at the wreckage
they had created. Tyet despaired, no longer able to withstand the tide. He was utterly
spent and the voice had revealed itself. What it was he could not say. It spoke with his
voice, knew all his thoughts, shared his experience.
‘You are weak and corrupt. Why not give in and tell us the truth.’
I tried to tell you what you wanted to hear. Damn you! Damn me! I am lost.
The little voice spoke again. It told him how pathetic he was. He was not
damned. He was not possessed. The little voice showed Tyet that it was nothing more
than his own consciousness escaping the reality of pain. It was his rationale and his
creativity. Both collided and bound together on a daily basis, but rarely heard. His
inner thoughts and reasoning had finally vocalised. All the questions he had were
being fed straight through that little voice. It was his mirror. His own mechanism of
judging self-worth. Tyet told it to shut up. It did.
‘You have faced chaos and are given over to its corruption. Tell us now and we
can ease your passing.’
It was non sequitur in logic. The Emperor himself had battled chaos, but had not
succumbed, had not been infested. Exposure to chaos did not automatically invoke
corruption, but the Horus heresy had irrevocably changed attitudes. If there was a hint
of the sign of rust on one link in the chain of command then it had to be cut out and
replaced. Often more than one link had to go over fear of its direct connectivity to that
failed part. Tyet agreed with this reasoning, but was still a hapless victim. There was
no way out. They had to torture him to a level where they could be certain Tyet had
not been corrupted and even then would keep him under continuous surveillance.
Probably indefinitely. He wanted to argue. He wanted to scream at them the injustice
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they inflicted. He could not win. The small voice was not heard, but Tyet could sense
its prodding. Suddenly a ray of sunshine broke through the lightening storm.
‘Then why bother to torture me?’ then screamed, ‘Just kill me!’ He could not be
sure if he said it or had only thought it. Perhaps he no longer cared. There was no
point enduring any more anguish if they were going to terminate him. ‘If I am in
league with chaos, kill me now! Better to end my life than pollute my entire Temple.’
Words came out juddered and broken, but he knew he spoke them.
The Inquisitor stood motionless, a stoic look plastered over his face. He clicked
rune on the pad and the pain stopped in an instant. The bonds were released and serfs
attended him. Cireez left without saying a word.
Tyet was transferred to the medical bay, but this time not under guard. His
arrival back at the Temple required immediate medical assessment before being
placed in the interrogation chamber. A phalanx of agents escorted him from the drop
ship, just to ensure he had no illusions as to the seriousness of the outcome of the
mission. He had seen a member of the younger male quartet he had been casually
tutoring in the dojo, Rakneld, passing in the other direction. He slowed to chat with
Tyet, but on looking at the guards, he thought better of it. Catching Tyet’s eye as if to
communicate whether he required backup, but at a slight shake of the head Rakneld
had continued on his way. It was fluidic, yet Tyet saw the smallest moment in
Rakneld’s mind in drawing four full agents into combat. Tyet drew a smile inwardly.
Rakneld had the physique and the genetic predeposition for aggression. It was a
surprise that he was not recruited into the Eversor Temple, but then Rakneld could
maintain control over his mind and actions. Anyway, he lacked the advanced training
to even best Tyet during their sparring sessions. Let alone four full agents.
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The guards maintained constant contact through the examination and the
debriefing scans. Only when Inquisitor Cireez arrived had the guards departed. Once
the medics had re-examined Tyet after the debriefing session was he then to return to
life within the Temple. Returning agents were given a structured schedule that
comprised a series of debriefing meetings, where the Operation masters could go
through the missions in greater detail. They also provided an opportunity for further
examination of the agent. Psychological profiling, emotional evaluations, aptitude
tests, were all designed to answer the question as to whether the agent was still useful.
Returning students also went through the same programme, but with added bonus of
having to be reintegrated into the learning programme and the inevitable crossexamination from fellow students.
He was in no mood for a grilling. Temple time placed him around midday, so
the cafeteria would be busy. Besides he needed to off-load his thoughts first before
distilling his adventure for the masses and it would be good to organise his thoughts
to reflect the best possible anecdote. Being able to talk through various aspects of the
mission was a practised method of cleansing the mind of hidden ailments. As for
catching up on the curriculum, he would download his schedule later.
Tyet met few familiar faces on his walk to the dormitory. The kind of people
that were recognisable through repetitive glances in the corridor, but not sufficient to
know their names let alone stop and talk. Besides, a dour face, beaten and bruised
provided its own strong request to be left well alone.
A number of full status agents were busying themselves on their way to or from
assignments. Tyet now felt that kindred spirit, a small connection through the
common ground they alone shared, which separated them from the rest of the students.
He was yet to leave such status behind, but he deemed the recent experience on Isser
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placed him on an equal social level at least. He could have been killed there and felt
very little for it, only that it was good to continue to breathe a little longer. His actions
had helped the 91st Regiment and saved Isser city and her citizens. It was not so
strange a concept to be a critical part of the operation and to remain unknown. Tyet
simply did not care about the heroics. It was a label applied by others and not to be
sought by individuals. Zaes would, or should, achieve that honour. His final act had
wiped clean the chaos elements that had been brought forth into Isser. A marine
would have no compunction to surrender their life, but a Guardsman was human.
Reflecting over his early days in the Temple, Tyet had been surrounded by
active agents and was in awe by their adventures. Only now could he appreciate their
sacrifices. He could see how juvenile his brethren had been in trying to establish
records and in their own way, legacies of their accomplishments. The real legends
were those whose lives lasted longest in service.
The aftershock of the mission left him elated. Not that there was much to be
happy about. His right arm twitched in memory of the torture at the hands of the
Cireez. Distracted, he meandered along the Callidus sector and collided with a
familiar face.
‘Sorry. What? Your here?’ Liana had stumbled out of the library clutching
several scrolls, obviously in a hurry. Her brown hair danced a hectic pace around her
round face. ‘I would not have expected to see you so soon.’
Tyet’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. ‘I’ve only just been
discharged.’
He always felt Liana was an oddity. Not beautiful in an Araya or Eelil sort of
way, yet had a certain quality of self-assuredness and a refined cut of features that
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demanded respect as a female. Coupled with her wicked sense of humour it was easy
to see why Nysen had pursued her for coupling privileges.
‘Oh.’ Liana also looked puzzled as if his response did not quite fit the question.
‘Oh.’ She said again with eyes widening and a grin spreading across her face,
suddenly finding realisation. ‘Anyway, I’m running late. Would have been good to
catch-up, but they’re shipping me out tomorrow. Last minute preparation.’ She
nodded to the parchments as she began to run past him.
‘Er, good hunting.’ He called out.
Tyet stepped past other foot traffic emerging from the Callidus-only library and
decided not to enter. If Liana was heading out on a mission, it was unlikely that Nysen
would be close by, but on reflection there would likely be too many fellow students
that would not give him the solitude he craved.
He walked on past the arboretum, which caused him to smile. It now housed the
site of probably his greatest conquest since joining the Temple, though most of the
manoeuvres and positions had been cut from lessons and holovids, it was definitely
the partner that mattered. He swung round the corner and up the flights of stairs taking
him to the student dormitory wing. As there were no immediate transfer orders and
given the nature of the mission, it was unlikely for him to have attained full agent
status, he would still be bunking down with three others. With Liana due to depart
tomorrow, it would be a little quieter.
He palmed for the door, which ran a scan light over his palm. It was an old
system that Callidus students had to learn to bypass in their first phase. In the second
phase, students had learnt how to improve their own security measures. By the final
phase of learning, they relied on their own speed and strength as a defensive measure,
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but still the modified pad remained and an high voltage discharge awaited any first
phase student who thought they could easily crack into a senior’s bunk room.
The door slid back gushing forth animated noise. Tyet’s heart froze.
There were a pair of figures entangled on the bunk bed. His bed. Clothes and
sheets were discarded across the floor. Araya’s body was glistening with sweat, her
eyes closed and her upper teeth bit down on her bottom lip. She was grunting in
ecstasy as she moved with shear animal ferocity, rutting the male beneath her with
vigour. Her breasts bounced into her mount’s face, breaking the motion of sway; Tyet
thought it was the only moment that Araya’s perfect body looked inelegant in motion.
She was in full climax, the intense pleasure washed through his mental
projection. Blood drained from his face. His toes curled. Sick coalesced and burbled
in his stomach threatening to exit any moment. Araya had passed her partnering
classes, she was a full agent, and was not required to partake further. And on his bunk
too. This was spiteful.
‘Yes! Now!’ she cried. ‘Ty!’
Her lasts words cracked down the corridor as he turned and ran, his veins
burning with fire. Was that what Liana had seen and just assumed it was him
underneath Araya, enwrapped in her legs for a welcome home gift. Liana must have
left as quickly as he. That is why she looked flustered and so amazed to see him in the
corridor. Araya and whichever male she took to Tyet’s bed must have been going at it
for a while and Liana must have assumed they were in for the night.
Araya. Betrayal. Those words interchanged ferociously in his mind. He smashed
them together mentally. He attacked them in his mind, ripping them apart,
dethreading the tapestry, but they reformed in an instant. Araya in the midst of an
orgasm. Her nakedness taunting him. Her enjoyment with another.
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He stopped. Emotions collided. He punched the wall. Again. Blood dripped
from his knuckles. Again. The stonework punctured. Again. He felt a bone shatter. He
couldn’t feel it, yet emitted a feral roar.
Two younger students dropped their gaze and ran. So did Tyet. He tried to find
solitude, taking twists and pathways away from areas busy with assassins. Outside.
He needed space far from prying eyes.
A scream resounded in the corridor. He stopped abruptly, clutching at his ears.
It was only in his mind, but not of his own thoughts. An outside mentalic had reached
out. The effect similar to bouncing off a wall knocking the wind out of him. Tyet
gasped for air, which came in soothing gulps.
He was being stupid. Overreacting. Guilt refluxed his innards. He was supposed
to be a professional agent of the Emperor and instead acted as a love sick neophyte.
Thankfully not too many would have seen him lose control.
Betrayal still resounded clearly. Retribution had to follow. First, he had to pull
himself together. He check his surroundings and had arrived in an unfamiliar corridor.
His mnemonics replayed the route, which had taken him into the Eversor sector. It
was dangerous. Not that he would lose his life, but could be rendered inoperative for a
long time. And the Eversor took pleasure in inflicting torture that would challenge
Inquisitor Cireez.
What would be the chances that I would run into...
No sooner had the thought flashed in his mind, he felt a constriction round the
neck and then was heaved into the alabaster. Tyet landed heavily on the floor and was
immediately pummelled in the nerve centre in his lower back. His body toughened
against assault, yet the force of the blow arched his back. His hair was grabbed and
his face smacked into the wall. Blood seeped from the gouges along his forehead.
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Hot breath washed over his face.
‘I bet you wished your princesses were around to save you, hey Tyet.’ Lyetan’s
voice was thick with menace.
Tyet kicked backwards, hoping that once might connect with a face, but was
hauled into the air. Lyetan had grown stronger. The short corridor gave him no time to
adjust his trajectory. He placed out a hand and tucked his chin downwards, hoping to
break the impact energy along his back. Rolling off the wall he danced up into a
defensive posture, but the Eversor had charged after letting go and tackled him in the
midriff.
The force crashed Tyet back into the wall. He had no compunction of falling to
this animal. A blow landed in his abdomen, exploding the air out of his lungs. It was a
calculated punch pulled short of stopping either of his hearts. Killing a fellow student
would have serious repercussions that even a student Eversor’s chemical imbalance
could not absolve them. But it was not Lyetan who had murder raging in his mind.
Tyet slipped out a concealed short blade, parrying the next blow with one hand
and driving the tip into the flesh of Lyetan’s forearm. The Eversor yanked his arm
back in the shock of the counter-attack, allowing Tyet to swipe down to Lyetan’s face.
The Eversor threw an arm up in defence, but the surgical sharpened metal cleaved
bone, muscle and fibre. Lyetan pounced towards Tyet, letting all restraint drop away,
Tyet could see the rage dance on his eyes as the Eversor landed on the blade, which
slipped into his solar plexus up to the hilt. He staggered backwards, with Tyet still
holding the sword it slipped out leaving a dark red smear along the metallic surface.
Tyet adjusted the blade position for the coup-de-grace.
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‘Tyet, stop!’ The words drilled into him like a hammer and he found no desire
to disobey. Muriko was one teacher he truly respected. She was walking to the pair of
students, her face not betraying any emotion.
Even as he dropped the point towards the floor, Lyetan grabbed his sword hand
and turned the blade inwards. Quicker than Tyet could believe was possible, Muriko
had covered the distance in a flash and collided with the Eversor student. It was not
graceless, as Lyetan flew down the hall, leaving Muriko in a low defensive posture.
There was little chance of Lyetan attacking a Teacher. Both students were
surprised at the speed, agility and strength of Muriko. Lyetan was still a student, but
bore a hefty, compact frame with the same characteristics boosted from a cocktail of
drugs. He carried a look of surprise as he tried to right himself, but it disappeared as a
booster pumped into his bloodstream and took hold.
‘You bitch.’
Muriko grabbed Tyet’s shoulder, spinning him round. He had to look down into
her piercing eyes, yet still felt smaller in her presence. Tyet wondered why she was no
longer an active agent for the Temple, but the social etiquette forbade him from
asking.
‘You need to leave immediately. Go straight to the common area and get some
food, drink, whatever. I need to have a quiet word with this one.’
Lyetan got back to his feet and started to run at them. Tyet made to intercept. It
was his fight and there was no backing down to an Eversor. He no longer cared that
he would be stripped of any entitlement to full agent status, that killing a fellow agent
carried the death penalty and set Temple Eversor against Temple Callidus. Fury
boiled his blood, but Muriko’s hold was unbreakable. She shoved him in the opposite
direction.
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‘Go. Now. Best not to watch.’
Reluctantly he walked away keeping his vision firmed affixed on the path ahead.
There was a grunt and a shriek accompanying dull thuds and wet cracking noises. To
his amazement he didn’t turn once.
‘You need to talk to her.’ Lunal and Tyet were huddled on a table in the far
corner of the canteen.
Lunal had detached herself from a group of Callidus students as Tyet moved
towards the other side of the room, tray in hand. The platitudes quickly dissolved as
Lunal sensed hurt in Tyet. Having been members in the same brick for their third
phase of training, it was easy to pick up on each other’s moods. Tyet decided to
confide the recent events. Lunal had kept quiet until his story concluded with the
appearance of Muriko.
‘I saw her.’ Lunal said.
‘Who? Teacher Muriko?’
‘No. Well yes her, but Araya.’
‘You weren’t even there Lunal. You didn’t see what she was up to.’
‘No, but I saw her in the corridor on my way here. She was distraught.’ She
nodded over her shoulder in the direction of the hallway, but as Tyet glanced over he
saw the group Lunal had just left was looking at him best with whispering. News
travelled fast inside the confines of these walls. It made him feel hollow.
‘Small wonder.’
‘No Tyet. I don’t think she was upset at having been caught. There was
something deeper.’
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‘Probably a facade. We’re getting to be very good at acting. Should be after this
many years training.’ He recognised a lot of venom poured into his words as he spat
them. Damn his childish reactions.
‘I think you are wrong. Please talk to her before she does anything stupid.’
‘No way. I’m the idiot made to look like an emotional weakling. Do you not
think the timing was a little suspicious? She could have bedded anyone whilst I was
away and at any time. But why then, why my dormitory, my bed? Why now?’ He
drove the question at Lunal, daring her to answer.
He could see she was trying to redeem Araya. Possibly a fraction of sisterly
unity within the Callidus ranks. But he continued. ‘It does not matter. After what
happened with Lyetan I’m going to get kicked out of the Temple. It was only the
saving graces of Teacher Muriko that stopped me from killing him.’
He took a sip of the hot beverage. ‘You remember our first phase? That is the
cardinal sin here. No matter what the provocation, there is no justification.’ He recited
the words with mimicry, perfectly reproducing Teacher Ad’Or’s words those many
moons ago.
Lunal paused for words. ‘It’s not an immediate ejection. You will get a chance
to defend your actions at the hearing of the masters.’
‘You know what is going to happen. Even if Aisa,’ the Callidus Temple Master,
‘was to speak favourably on my behalf, Teacher Nal’Ban carries more authority. I
truly think the others are afraid of him and will vote along with his wishes.’
‘Then trust that the Emperor will deliver justice.’
‘I’m a damn fool. I should have known. Should not have let myself get drawn
in.’
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‘Well, you’re male after all. At least you’ve demonstrated being able to let that
thing between your legs think for itself once in a while.’
Tyet smiled.
‘Better.’ Lunal said acknowledging a softened moment. ‘You’re only human.
Now it just remains to be seen whether you are too far gone to be useful to the Temple.
Heck we could always do with a target for live rounds.’
Tyet’s face dropped. There was a rumour, but then there always were. If one
believed them all, then there were worse things done within the Temple that made
using failed students as live targets pale to almost insignificance.
‘I’ll catch you later.’ Tyet rose and left the canteen, dragging a few eyes with
him.
He returned to his dormitory, being prepared for what might be waiting, but was
relieved that the room was empty. His bed made, so the sheets could no longer scream
at him of Araya’s exploits and only the bitter thoughts cried out. He punched in logon
details to the terminal in the room to download his schedule, fully expecting to see a
suspension writ and a summons to Master Aisa. Only a routine integration programme
featured. Fallout from his altercation would arrive in the morning. He turned out the
lights and tried to fall asleep. It took a long while and when eventually succumbing
his nightmares were overlaid with guilt and betrayal. Kassandera was waiting.
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◄ 16 ►
A summons did not arrive the next day. The fretful night was wasted. Each time
he neared an awakened state his mind played the merry game of “what went wrong”
and devised strategies for his defence. In the cold light of the morning breaking into
the Temple courtyards far below, Tyet felt the impact of his fight with Lyetan,
wishing he had not overreacted with Araya that precipitated the remaining sequence
of events.
Araya. The name played havoc in his mind. He had demonstrated emotional
weakness and he would be torn to pieces at the hands of Inquisitor Cireez. He doubted
that being diminished by his debriefing session would be a sufficient defence. The
teachers might act indifferently, but a number of fellow students he felt closest to
would undoubtedly shun him. He tried to find council from Nysen, but the Temple
Net had listed him as occupied, which probably meant that he was on assignment.
Until the summons came, he could only bury himself in his work and seek salvation
through training.
Avoiding Araya should be easy now that she had achieved full agent status. It
was unlikely for an active agent to remain for any length of time within the Temple.
They were brought back temporarily to endure the debriefing sessions and then let
loose upon the Emperor’s enemies once again. There was an endless replenishment of
foes.
Araya had at least been given her own quarters and her old bunk had yet to
receive a new partner. Tyet checked the security protocols on the door and found that
Araya still had access and would have known how to circumvent the customised
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measures. Whoever Araya had taken to his bed had not left a trace. It could have been
anyone. The thoughts of potential partners inside the Temple kept flashing in his mind,
making his insides groan. He had to occupy himself.
Tyet spent the day between lectures and various reorientation speeches in the
dojo. He worked up a fury to vent his frustration on the practise dummies. Then went
through complete sequences of various forms both traditional and adapted. He picked
up a number of different weapons, experimenting with augmented servitors designed
for combat practise. A number of younger students who had been watching sought
challenges, which was common practise, but he had to avoid impropriety. Thrashing a
younger member because of his failures would not redeem past actions. Instead he
supervised a number of second phase agents through advanced routines and even
coached them in sparring sessions amongst their own level, which they were only too
happy to receive instruction. They did not care about Tyet’s problems. Only that he
was a senior student more adept than they. It was successful in its diversion.
In classes, Lyetan was nowhere to be seen and the Eversors had avoided any
contact. As he suspected, few Callidus students had spoken with Tyet. It was isolating,
which in his embittered state he despised them even though he knew it was the
product of the anger he had pent up.
At the end of the day still no summons had arrived and Araya had not sought an
audience. It began to plague him that she did not want to personally explain her
actions. Obviously Lunal had been wrong and she offered no insight that evening
when she returned for lights out, only to reaffirm that he should make the endeavour.
Chaan had departed on assignment, but had only left a brief note for Lunal. It left the
two of them alone. He sensed the tension, but Tyet found it difficult to frame the
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words. He rebuked his slightly empathic nature as vestigial for the assistance it
provided him and so the silence consumed them.
The second morning brought no changes to his schedule. The morning gave him
usual lessons for infiltration techniques, languages, demographics on known Ork
incursions. In the latter half of the third phase of student development, the majority of
topics became repetitive. Students had already advanced to the stage where further
personal progression came from assignments and until they had graduated into agent
status, they were kept occupied with classes that were deemed necessary. There was
ultimately a limited time for which the learner had to advance beyond stage three. Noone could remain a student in perpetuity and it was rare for an individual to be
retained from stage two if the Teachers thought that they were not appropriate. Tyet
returned to the dojo.
It was quiet. Only a few first phase students were milling about with a Teacher.
He was ostracized, yet retained his Callidus membership for another day. He allowed
the isolation to consume him, wrapping the coldness around him, digging its icy barbs
into his skin. His stomach became a glacier, his skin as thick as the Temple walls, his
mind filled with the buzzing of the students. He set the stage to focus the bilious
thoughts that dragged him down these two days past. Selecting a long stave, he
attacked the combat servitor. It was programmed for various response levels that was
appropriate to each student. It could adapt and become unpredictable. It could be
benign or lethal. Such strength housed in the emotionless frame of a humanoid stood
impassively, waiting to be activated to fulfil its duty.
Tyet selected his appropriate level and began to work up a sweat. With rapid
successful hits, the level was increased another notch. The servitor managed glancing
blows that nicked at his skin. It was easy to shrug off the minor irritation as he drove
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his stave harder to work. With more successful hits, the level was increased further.
Working the stave into a blur he landed fewer attacks as the servitor increased its own
pace and agility and the returned blows began to hurt. The level was pushed a little
higher. Tyet knew it was dangerous, but his thoughts accelerated like never before. He
could see the direction and speed of each blow the automaton made in slowed motion,
able to match it perfectly. Following an elaborate cocktail of moves from six or more
forms, he caught the servitor squarely in the throat, but had overextended the thrust as
the servitor counterattack landed on Tyet’s newly grown fingers. The blow was light,
but distracted his next form, which the servitor’s calculations exploited. It hit again
and again, each time further disrupting Tyet’s rhythm, his parries became wilder until
the servitor slashed for the head and Tyet was powerless to counter.
A katana intercepted the strike mid arc. Not looking back at the interloper, Tyet
immediately forced through a knockout blow, deactivating the servitor at that level.
The automaton stood motionless, betraying no signs of exertion. Had it experienced
any damage during the bout, it would have retired outside the dojo and await repair as
a replacement servitor filled its place. Tyet had always felt that the cybernetic robots
would always be inferior to living, breathing sparring partners as they could never
respond to threats with emotion, using nature’s chemistry to fight harder, in a more
determined fashion. His teachers had said that alien physiology was often far more
different than our own and that every combat should be emotionless.
‘You became complacent in your sparring.’ It was the critical tones of Teacher
Muriko. It was the first time Tyet had seen her in an agent’s combat skin suit. It was
slightly adapted with closely layered fabric that de-emphasised her feminine curves,
but without the loss of mobility.
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He immediately positioned his weapon to a non-threatening position and bowed
low in respect.
‘Yes Teacher.’
‘Do you understand what happened?’
Tyet assumed she was talking about his sparring, but perhaps about Lyetan. He
opened his mouth to talk and then thought better of it. ‘No, Teacher.’
‘I saw your actions had become the necessary consequence of the servitor’s in
order to ward against the high level of attacks, but you should never try only to
achieve balance in defence. You need to continually think about victory over your
opponent. Striking Eagle. First position.’
Muriko wanted him to run through a sword form. He replaced the stave with a
katana similar to the one held by the teacher. He stood upright, feet together, arms by
his side with the blade running down his leg. Muriko stood facing him in a similar
posture. It was a practised routine conducted at a fluidic pace with style and grace.
The purpose was for accuracy. The teacher and student completed a duelling pair,
with each movement designed with attacking and defensive postures. If conducted at
combat speed, an individual needed to maintain absolute precision otherwise would
receive cuts or an impaling.
As they began the opening octet sequence, Muriko spoke. ‘Each parry prevents
a hit or provides a defensive shield over an otherwise exposed area, but it should be
channelled into an aggressive counter. You should have hit your opponent three times
and you did not press the advantage. Why?’
Tyet was taken aback. This was his session for personal practise and felt the
criticism was uninvited and, given that he had advanced four levels, unnecessary. It
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was also distracting, trying to maintain discipline of the form whilst countering
introspective questions.
‘It was to see if I could maintain a high movement rate and intersperse random
changes into the pattern.’
‘A worthy response, but a student should realise such practise is not to take
place when the servitor has the combat setting that high. It invites unnecessary
personal danger and your being and essence are not wholly yours.’
It was a predictable response in hindsight. A cool and calculated retort from a
mature agent. He knew his practise had been to vent frustration and could see that
Muriko understood, but advised caution. Always caution. Those piercing eyes waited
for Tyet to respond.
‘I have yet to receive my summons.’ He pursued a different avenue.
‘Then you will be waiting for a long time.’
‘Why? What happened?’
A wry smile danced her lips. ‘Let’s just say that I managed to dissuade Lyetan
from attempting what you also tried to do. I let the Grandmaster and Master Nal’Ban
know that you were defending my honour over a piece of my personal property. A
book. And that Lyetan became overzealous to a point where I was forced to remove
his hand.’
Tyet blew a low whistle. ‘They believed that?’
‘Apparently so. Being a Teacher carries certain privileges and Lyetan would not
dishonour himself by exposing my subtle incursion with the truth only to reveal that
he had actually lost to a mere student.’
‘He deserved to be humiliated.’
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‘Perhaps. But if you tried to understand Lyetan’s motivation, you may come to
realise that you are not the only one going through difficult times.’
‘He attacked me without provocation.’ He said incredulously. The pace did not
falter as the two pirouetted across the floor.
‘True and I do not defend his actions. Only that you knowing his reasons would
be beneficial to your development. Lyetan was repaired, boosted and shipped out, but
you will harbour bitterness for a longer period. It can ultimately be self-destructive.
Besides, knowing the truth about someone is what?’ She had patience and yet
continued to probe Tyet’s thoughts.
‘Is key to their undoing in the hands of an agent.’ Tyet recited without mimicry,
pulling the lesson from his mnemonics.
‘Exactly. Dismembering an unarmed student could be seen as dishonourable,
but to murder another student carries the death penalty. Crossing that line will result
in neither a quick or painless ending.’ Again with the piercing eyes. ‘You do
remember the last lesson I gave?’
‘I remember. You announced I had challenged you and then I lost
spectacularly.’
‘You feel impugned?’
‘No Teacher.’
‘Then let me reemphasise a previous warning. The testing never ends.
Everything you do, any action or inaction, is measured and weighed. Neither are they
passive in their testing. They will probe and provoke you and you may not even know
about it.’
It troubled him. The thought of unknowns watching him on a daily basis did not
generate consternation. Neither was he prudish. There were classes were Callidus
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students had to strip naked in front of classmates. Perform acts. And acts they were. It
rendered the value of attractiveness of the physique and sexuality to almost
nothingness, which made those rare intimate connections very precious. The
performance was the glove to the iron fist beneath. It was simply that he had little
control over the situation. They would know him better than he. They saw him, his
thoughts and reactions, from mature eyes. Damn them. Araya. Surely they would
know of Tyet’s emotional reaction.
Tyet nodded dumbly at Muriko’s words.
‘Then keep your wits about you. Your anger under control.’ She delivered it
without contempt or judgement. Speaking softly. ‘Even inside these walls, we may
find ourselves in hostile territory. Nevertheless, I will champion you towards
completion, but if you cross that line I guarantee I will be the one to terminate your
life. You will not disappoint me.’
They completed the form, stood facing each other and bowed. She arched an
eyebrow inviting a response and Tyet seized the opportunity. ‘If what you say is true,
then the watchers would be listening into this conversation. Would that not invalidate
my training?’
‘Only if they could hear what we had just said.’ She winked.
Tyet gave a little snort and reciprocated the smile. A communications blocking
device. Must have been a good one to be unobtrusive upon her person and effective at
blocking their interchange through the sparring.
Seriousness flashed into place. ‘Now attack!’ She ordered. And he did.
Despite the official records bearing Teacher Muriko’s account, rumours had
spread about the actual events between Tyet and Lyetan. It was a bitter pill swallowed
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by the Eversor Temple that a Callidus student had bested one of their fellow students
and despite them voicing the rumour that the attack was cowardly and with a weapon
against an unarmed agent, the Eversor had prided themselves on utter ruthlessness and
capable of tackling multiple foes barehanded. That image was shattered and a number
of Eversor students wanted restoration and retribution for an unpunished blemish on
their name. Whispers of embittered invectiveness resounded in the corridors, but
mainly fell on uncaring ears. Minor fracas broke out in public sectors when security
and teachers were at a minimum. Tyet found himself the centre of focussed efforts to
rid him of body parts, or so the chiding went. However, when a group of Eversor
students had moved in towards Tyet, a full Callidus agent appeared. Never the same
one twice, that Tyet could discern, it almost appeared as though they were chance
encounters. As the days went by, the feeling was one of instigation. He was being
closely monitored. If other students had been afforded protection against this targeting,
it might have galvanised the Callidus students, but it had instead created undertones of
venom towards Tyet. He felt more isolated than before. Even training sessions in the
dojo were sparse as he found himself surrounded by taunting groups. He forced
himself not to care, but found the aftertaste of despair. It rolled his insides like a tidal
wave. Barriers were reinforced internally and the external whispering began to lose its
potency. Several times he had to bury that small voice in the back of his mind that
continued to recite the taunts.
Only a few of the male Calldius students in their second phase, which Tyet had
given guidance over their combat development, had refused to join in. It was his sole
touch with friendship. They were unified by their uniqueness of their gender in a
predominantly female Temple, which had rendered them the subject of derision.
Counting Tyet among their number seemed to have diverted the attention a little.
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They had met daily to run through advanced forms and weapons. All their talk was
eagerness of achieving full agent status. Nothing else mattered, as it was for Tyet
during his second phase and should have been of late.
Tyet’s emotions still felt fractured and in the absence of Nysen, his adopted
quartet had been a welcome diversion in the hope that his psyche would self-heal
whilst he listened to their history and perspectives. Except that the quartet had become
a trio. During Tyet’s absence at the Temple, Essek had not survived a training
assignment and Moutis had become quite withdrawn. Normally full of confidence, he
instead looked broken. A boy trying to become a man, burdened with the weight of a
friend’s death.
Tyet had been trying console him as they made their way to the Callidus library.
Each had written assignments to complete with research found in the tomes of
parchment. Tyet refused to give Moutis any further insight, having completed the
similar research in his previous phase. Collusion carried severe punishment. In fact
most transgressions within the Temple were grave and dealt with harshly. It improved
character and discipline. He knew he should be beating Temple truths into Moutis that
this type of event was going to happen. Friendships should be like a hurricane. Strong
and impacting when it takes effect, but dissipating to nothing when its usefulness has
ended. An assassin could not afford the luxury of anything other than a skin deep
attachment to a friend and romantic attachments could not survive. An agent will have
to shed everyone and everything when the time is right and only hold on to his core
principals. The teachers had a saying for every occasion. Emperor help them if the
students had to learn every one.
The timing was unfortunate as they turned the corner, Araya was coming in the
opposite direction. There was no escaping the moment as Tyet had to step round her,
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lest he walked into her. Eye contact was brief, awkward glances were exchanged, but
the horror of the emotional betrayal had instantly burbled to the forefront of his mind.
He wanted to scream, rant and break that pretty face. He wanted to take her in his
arms and kiss her, ask for forgiveness of his own stupidity. But, he just kept a straight
face and walked on by, sparing no thought and no word. As they passed, she
whispered “Sorry Ty”. No. It had been in his mind and he refused to reach out with
his psyker touch. He did not want to probe her mind to find no thought sparred in his
direction. Tyet was nothing more than her epidermis, tightly clinging and integral to
her being for a while and then all too soon outgrown, flaked away and to be replaced
by her new needs.
Araya was a siren; a temptress voicelessly calling to him through to the
corridors he walked, the room where he slept. Yet, any step he wanted to take in her
direction was excruciating as the gallery of voices in his mind screamed betrayal. The
images of that moment were crystallised in his mind and he could not find the means
of fragmenting it to dust to be swept away by the winds of time.
The feeling of being discarded needed remedying. The training sessions became
harder. Suddenly those who rebuked him found themselves challenged and bested.
Neither was Tyet gentle. They may hate him for what they suffered, but were
painfully rewarded of having temporarily misplaced their respect for his skills.
The general mood within the Temple became sour. Taunts between the clades
turned to physical action, yet the Callidus students had rebuffed the superficial attacks.
Stern warnings from the Grandmasters’ office were issued to both Temples. Security
had been visibly stepped up. Patrols became more frequent. Tyet almost felt the blame
was justly deserved, having lost his head over a woman, but Lyetan had attacked
without warning and had underestimated Tyet’s claws. Nevertheless, when news
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reached him of Yageo, guilt crashed down through the barriers letting rage flood in.
Yageo had been kidnapped by the Eversor and subjected to torrid beating. His
assailants had tried injecting a few drugs into his body to weaken his resilience to pain
before tearing his hand from his body. The break had been crudely done and Yageo
had lost his arm up to the elbow. He was found by a patrol and immediately taken to
the infirmary, his erstwhile captors having fled.
The Temples had been instantly locked down and student movement was
restricted, which on reflection was a sage move as Tyet had wanted to go on a
warpath and he did not know who would his target have been. Hitting back at random
Eversor students was pointless. It would not assuage his thirst for vengeance. He had
to strike at the perpetrators. Now that Tyet had time to ponder the situation, he could
not recall who would have been considered a friend to Lyetan sufficient enough to
carry out the attack on Yageo. Even among the Eversors, Lyetan seemed distant. Not
that Eversors placed much stock in interpersonal skill development. But even close
allies would be hard to name.
He took time to digest the book that Muriko had loaned him. It was painful
progress having to scan each word and then infer the likely meaning according to the
developing context. The Samurai race had enthralled him, which made the burden
worthwhile. They had faced incredible adversity, but their discipline and code of
honour was revered throughout their planet, or it could have been land. The context of
the words were often difficult to discern, so Tyet allowed his limited imagination to
fill in the blanks. Ultimately the Samurai had been betrayed by their refusal to accept
the then new technology and adapt to changing attitudes among their race. Outmoded
and outcast, but they held on to their ways until finally extinguished.
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A plan suddenly sprang to mind and like riding a torrential river, the more
justification he could find added momentum to his chosen trajectory. He requested a
meeting with the head of the Callidus Assassins and was granted an audience with
Aisa. He had met her only three times before, twice in the classroom and once when
Tyet had won an unlikely match at Echinn against a Cullexus student from the same
training phase. It was heralded with great accord and Master Aisa had presented him
with a service medal.
The meeting was short and Aisa’s countenance was one of agitation. Being
responsible for over a thousand students and countless active agents when internal
strife had upset the delicate balance within the Temple was bound to cause stress.
Evidently she and Nal’Ban had exchanged unpleasant accusations, which had served
to further polarise the enmity between the two Temples. Tyet’s solution was
considered and granted despite the reservations Deputy Master Jarek had raised. Aisa
provided her seal of office on the parchment and Tyet left feeling slightly elated. He
had gained permission to challenge Master Nal’Ban to a duel, though the wording
could not solely single out an individual of Nal’Ban’s eminence. The opponent would
be selected by the Master from his division, determined to be appropriate of the
challenge. The choice would be restrictive given that full Eversor agents were either
in cryogenic slumber or defrosted for mission. Either way, far too dangerous to roam
freely around the Temple.
The rules of engagement were simply to score a predetermined number of hits
against the opponent. It was the only situation where combatants could wound or even
kill each other inside the Temple without reprisals and was therefore almost
impossible for students to attain permission. It would allow Tyet to demonstrate his
skill to the Eversors that he was an honourable student, worthy of his place in the
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assassin’s Temple and finally settle his part of the division. In his last bout against
Muriko, he had scored three hits for every two received and earned rare praise.
It was to take place within a few days, without any build-up. He visited Yageo
on his return to the dormitory, who was undergoing an arm graft. The removal of the
forearm was conducted in a roughshod fashion rendering the attachment time
consuming. The pent up tension dissipated at the light-hearted joviality aimed in his
direction as soon as he appeared.
‘Don’t stand there looking beat up. I won’t bite. I’m harmless.’ Keeping the ‘h’
silent.
Tyet laughed. He shared with Yageo what was about to happen, who listened
dutifully. He made for a good substitute in Nysen’s stead.
‘You’re a fool if you think you can escape with your head still attached.
Whoever Nal’Ban chooses will be merciless and brutal.’
‘That describes just about every student who stepped into the Eversor Temple.’
‘Yes, I know. I meant even more so!’
‘I can handle it. I’ve taken on a bloodletter champion.’ He said feeling affronted.
‘Sure you did, except Rakneld’s feet are more deadly after a Summer’s day of
training in the sewers.’
Tyet turned to leave. ‘Get well kid.’
‘So. Shall I look for you in the morgue? Assuming they find enough pieces to
place in a body bag of course.’
‘Nah, just leave a note in lost property when you go looking for your arm.’
Yageo raised his stump. ‘I’d give you the finger, but I appear to be missing a
few.’
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There was little time to prepare though time had been allocated in his schedule.
Master Nal’Ban must have accepted the challenge. It was not commonplace for an
Eversor to refuse confrontation, which is exactly what Tyet had hoped for. And
against an upstart student was the crowning glory.
Three new students awaited him in his dormitory, occupying the vacant bunks.
He walked in on chattering, like a buzz of insects, words flitted quickly and aimlessly.
The females were eager for gossip direct from Tyet’s lips. They looked young.
‘What, no introductions?’
They giggled. Must be first phase trainees. New recruits that had yet to lose grip
of their childish propensity of their former lives carried in through the Temple doors.
Recruitment was usually from early ages, as the young had a greater capacity to learn
and receive training uncritically. Though it was unusual, recruits were taken in even
after they had reached puberty.
Their presence was either a punishment or an incentive to conclude his third
phase as quickly as possible.
They were interrupted by a peal from the door chime. Tyet called for the door to
open, though if the arrival wanted entrance the security would not have present them
with any difficulty if it had been activated. Tyet was taken aback.
‘Master Jarek?’ he said as Jarez entered, unscheduled nocturnal visitors was rare.
All four students leapt out of their beds, standing to attention in front of a senior.
He wore a majestic garb that accentuated the austerity in his face. His eyes were
solely fixed on Tyet.
‘I would exchange a few words with you student Tyet.’ It was not a request.
Tyet filed out after Jarek, keeping a step behind as the Deputy Master of the
Callidus wended his through the passage ways behind a secretive entrance leading off
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the Teachers office complex. The walls hemmed the steps into a narrow confine, their
angular surfaces glimmered with a crystalline shimmer that made it difficult for Tyet
ocular implants to follow. Tyet doubted this series of steps would be detected on
anything other than a careful and detailed scan, leaving him wondering how many
networks existed within the Temple that were unknown to the students.
Not a word was uttered into the silence that engulfed the empty journey. The
stairs climbed sharply, abruptly terminating at a wall. Jarek pushed at a locking lever
and a door opened as a breeze washed over them. Jarek and Tyet walked out onto a
short promenade circling the periphery of one of the Callidus towers.
Tyet mused that this was an elaborate journey to exchange a few words. He
knew Jarek was a former Callidus agent and anyone surviving that many missions had
to be formidable.
‘Have you ever seen Terra from a high vantage point, Tyet?’
‘No sir.’
‘It should be introduced into the curriculum. Every student needs to understand
why they fight and what they fight for.’
‘Yes sir’ Tyet was a little impatient.
‘The view may change, but underneath any plascrete roof or crystal dome beats
the life or the Imperial dominion.’ Jarek casually waved across the skyline, lit by the
plasma engines housed within the bellies of the surrounding buildings. ‘It is our sworn
duty to protect the Emperor’s legacy from enemies outside this realm.’
‘Of course.’
‘The enemy you can see can easily be placed within a crosshair and dispatched
cleanly and efficiently, becoming a warning to the next who would try the same
subversion. The enemy you cannot see is not so easily dissuaded. We need a tight
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control over our defences and sometimes having to cauterize healthy tissue to root out
the bad.’
It was an ill feeling that overlaid conversation as though each word was laced
with barbs designed to hook the listener’s attention and then strangle the poor soul
with the sentence complete. Tyet was lost knowing a trap was being set and being
able to do nothing about it. His mind could not conjure the remedy or a suitable
diversion. So instead attempted to hasten the point.
‘Master Jarek, what is it you want?’
If Tyet’s abruptness caused Jarek ire, it was not shown.
‘We must be united internally to face the ever growing threats externally. The
situation in the Eversor Temple is volatile and threatens to destabilise the Officio
Assassinorum and I cannot stand idly by and allow that to happen. No assassin
should.’ Jarek turned to him. ‘Do you follow the ideals of the Emperor or those of the
Masters of the Temple?’
‘Master if this is a test, I would say my loyalties are to both for they are one and
the same thing.’
‘And what if they diverged? If a master chose to interpret the Emperor’s will in
a different way?’
Tyet paused momentarily. ‘Then I would say I would follow the Emperor.
Though I would naturally ask why there is a difference in interpretation. The
Emperor’s Custodians serve the spirit of the Emperor and report directly to the High
Lords and the Grandmaster receives instruction. There is no room for
misunderstanding.’
Jarek grimaced. ‘If only it were that clear cut. You are forgetting that the
Custodians, the High Lords and the Temple Masters are after all human and on some
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level fallible. Even the most dedicated servant can, at some point in their lives,
question.’
‘But the Emperor’s Custodians and the High Lords speak collectively for the
will of the Imperium. No one can voice their personal desires into effect over that of
the Emperor.’
‘Perhaps, but too many minds leads to stagnation of action over critical issues.
A single voice speaking only for the Emperor is one that will guide humanity to
salvation. Yet even that voice must be allowed to come to fruition. We must expunge
the subversive elements and present the High Lords with a unified Officio
Assassinorum.’
Tyet’s mind swirled. He had no idea whether this was a test or whether Jarek
was speaking the truth ‘The Temple is united under the Grandmaster.’
‘United in one domain and unified into cohesive action are two different things,
student. Master Nal’Ban has chosen your opponent. You will face Beusk.’
Jarek let the name settle though it immediately flashed concern on Tyet’s face.
Beusk was, even by Eversor standards, a monstrous killer. The file that had been
circulated on Beusk’s history showed his rage had led to the single-handed murder of
everyone in his habitat, including his parents and younger sister. Though reasons were
sketchy, the rumours had sprung out elaborate yarns. Only Beusk knew and perhaps a
few of his handlers. The Eversor Temple had an affinity with such animals as they
were easier to train through enhancing their natural urges with powerful cocktails of
drugs. One just had to be very careful of the targets they selected, which is why most
Eversor assassins were kept cryogenically frozen; their missions briefing was
downloaded during the thawing stage, just prior to a hyperinjection of drugs. Once
fully awaken, the Eversor assassin would feel the chemical rage burning his body and
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there was very little that could stop them. Control was almost impossible. Their brains
were hardwired with a series of command protocols that could render the agent
immobile sufficiently long enough to get the body back into the cryochamber.
However, the Eversor could not stop with killing a selected target, but anyone around
the victim was caught up as collateral damage. Their life expectancy was considerably
shorter than other agents as they simply went too far too often, hence the relaxed
recruitment policies for the Eversor Temple to maintain a high turnover. Student
Eversors were carefully monitored and three key drugs kept out of their system until
they had completed their third stage of training, but they were nonetheless dangerous.
‘You must have known they were going to choose something horrific and brutal
to meet your challenge. You should have listened to my warning and never have tried
to persuade Master Aisa. She has a penchant for the dramatic and if she has overestimated your abilities this challenge will be terminal.’
Tyet made to speak, but Jarek interjected. ‘Yes, it is against the articles of the
challenge, but this is the Eversor Temple you have taken on and they will not have
taken Lyetan’s defeat lightly. Yageo was the first. You’ll be next.’
‘You’ve written me off as having lost already?’
‘With your death, they’ll have positioned themselves as the leading whole
Temple and their eyes will be firmly fixed on the Grandmaster’s office. You
precipitated events that we have tried to restrict for many years. After this challenge,
Master Nal’Ban can force himself a nomination as the strongest candidate to succeed
Grandmaster Kintas. An Eversor agent has not sat in the Grandmasters office for three
millennia and with good reason.’
Tyet was puzzled. ‘Then why did Master Aisa agree to this challenge?’
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‘It was an easy way to stop further retaliation. We should have been more
surreptitious in dealing with this matter and now we have to ensure you win. The
Officio Assassinorum cannot survive with the Callidus subservient.’ He withdrew a
small vial of colourless liquid. ‘I want you to load this into your injector.’
‘What is it?’ he held it against the skyline, allowing the backdrop of lights to
glisten in the moving liquid.
‘It is a new toxin, currently unavailable to anyone without the right connections.
It is fast acting, a hundred percent lethal to humans at a fraction of the level required
for Fiaquin, and totally undetectable.’
He rolled it in the palm of his hand then flashed a question at Jarek. ‘I thought
all technology was controlled by the Mechanicum?’
‘And it still is. It may surprise you, Tyet, that teachers do have access to
unregulated technology that students are not entitled to.’ Jarek betrayed nothing and
yet the answer did not quite fit the question. ‘You have a chance of surviving the
challenge and bring the Eversor Temple into a proper place of respect and at the same
time you rescue Callidus Temple from a path of oblivion. All done with a minimum
of risk to yourself and absolutely no dishonour for who would know?’
‘I would for one!’
‘Come now Tyet. You are trained to do anything to achieve your task. You will
lie, you will cheat, you will sell everything short of your core loyalty to gain victory
for the Emperor. You will even sell your friendships if we tell you to. Nothing you
hold dear has value. We make very sure of that.’
If a lightning bolt struck Tyet, he would not have registered the impact. The
senses had numbed. The ground far below seemed to sway, the streets lapping at the
base of the tower. Tyet felt compelled to pitch Jarek into the murky depths. Let him
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drown in the embitterness that filled the streets that had swallowed Tyet. Damn this
master for ripping the veil from his eyes. He had been played all along. They knew
how to push the buttons and gain the reactions they wanted from him. And then
condemn him for it.
‘Your life is the first part of the sacrifice on being accepted into the Temple. Do
not feel so hard upon yourself. The sooner you embrace these truths the easier your
transition to full assassin will be. I can make sure of it, as long as you use that.’
He fell through the cracks of reality. What had seemed so certain to support his
footfalls had fractured and began to drown him in uncertainty beneath. He had to find
a way back. Tyet clenched his fist round the vial.
‘I will.’
The room was darkened and all but one of the occupants slept. The lone figure
kept a watchful eye over the door and the main window. As the minutes dragged on,
the heavy night pulled at his eyelids, drawing them closed. He woke with a start and
looked around the room. No sooner had the adrenalin rush subsided within a few
heartbeats and satisfied that all was as it should be, he found himself nodding off
again. The pattern was repeated, until at last he stood to stretch his legs. The muffled
sounds of his sleeping companions drifted through the slightly open bedroom door as
he made his way to the kitchenette and switched on the water heater for a hot
beverage. He carefully rested his carbine gun on the side, trying not to make too much
noise, then opened a cupboard in search of a cup. Tipping in some leaves from a foil
packet, the hot water instantly turned black.
A creak sounded out. He grabbed the carbine and pointed at the door, creeping
back into the hallway. They were under orders to maintain heightened alert and it was
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still a few hours away from the appointed return. He had lapsed into a lackadaisical
lifestyle, trying to do his best till reactivation. Certain exercises were harder to
maintain without continuous practise. Guard duty in a sleep deprived state was one of
them.
A figure suddenly appeared in the hallway. He dropped to one knee and aimed
at the chest.
‘Ryland. Stand down. It’s me you daft git.’
Ryland allowed the tip of the carbine to drop. ‘What the Emperor’s left nipple
are you playing at, Tiny?’ he shouted, crossing into the hallway. ‘I could have shot
you.’
Suddenly two others joined them, one with a pistol another with a carbine. All
pointed at Tiny.
Tiny shrugged. ‘I was in the can.’ He thumbed behind over his shoulder at the
bathroom.
‘You useless, dumb...’ One said, the other just swore. They were cut off by a
bang at the door.
Without warning, the door burst inwards as a black sentinel crashed through the
reinforced woodwork sending shards flying and the guards ducking for cover.
The sentinel grabbed the nearest one, hauling him off his feet by the neck.
‘Where is he? Where is Hinlor?’
The response was muffled by the grip on his throat as Ryland scrabbled against
the hand. There were screams of threats by the others as they pointed their guns at the
black figure, but went unabated as it drew Ryland’s face closer.
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‘You wont believe how much torture I had to inflict to get even that name. I
wont waste anymore time.’ He said it for the benefit of the others and not just the man
raised prostrate in his grip.
Despair filled Ryland’s eyes as his neck cracked and his lower body went limp.
The sentinel turned towards the others who had waited for Ryland to move out of the
kill zone. They depressed their triggers as the sentinel threw Ryland at them like a rag
doll and charged.
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◄ 17 ►
Two days passed in a blink of an eye. The vial kept close by, watching, taunting,
inviting. His opponent’s name had now circulated throughout the Temple, which
generated significant interest even from the Cullexus Temple. The challenge had been
bold, but the match was certain to be short lived. Tyet was called a fool by many
within and without his Callidus enclave, yet a temporary ceasefire had quietened the
hallways. It was part of his overall strategy.
He had tried to contact Araya, finally giving in his desire to talk about what
happened; these might be his last days. No plan was certain, except for the vial. Yet,
the message went unanswered. When Tyet had checked the Temple net, her entry was
listed as being dispatched on assignment. He did not believe in fate and recent events
had highlighted the machinations behind Temple life meant that no-one could engage
in any form of relationship without interference.
Tyet’s mind had dwelt on Jarek’s talk. He could feel the currently invisible
strands weaving and coalescing into a tight bond centred around his neck. The Temple
was the prize and Tyet wanted to serve. An instrument of the Imperium should have a
singular purpose with no other outcome but for the will of the Emperor. If Jarek was
correct then it mattered little which path he chose for the Temple would not be
restored to balance. He had to laugh at himself thinking he could bring about a truce
between centuries of pent up hostility between the Temples.
Those two days were filled with endless study and practise. A single sword and
gauntlet had been selected, though Tyet found the dual sword suited him better. The
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single blade allowed the other hand to remain free, donned with a gauntlet, which for
the Callidus would carry an injection mechanism.
Beusk would kill if Tyets’ scoring blows could not be landed in time. It was the
risk worth taking to salvage the situation from the mess that engulfed the Temple.
Elements felt contrived and he had tried desperately to organise his mind against the
onslaught that awaited him, but the night had brought familiar haunting dreams,
driving in rods of despair.
The truth was that Beusk would kill him, even if he did land the scoring hits.
His handlers would be just a little too slow to subdue him and there was little else that
could be done to attempt to avert that outcome, save for the colourless liquid. He was
promised that one drop would even floor an Eversor and cause their hearts to collapse.
He grabbed the vial and loaded into his injector reservoir, then began dressing
in the finest combat skin suit available in his wardrobe. The blade and gauntlet were
picked up from the armoury. The gauntlet was a tight fitting, segmented lattice of
black metal - carbon composite, though the colouration could be fine tuned to match
its surroundings as the user required. From each digit a multi-injector array was
available that bore a different needle depending on whether finesse or extreme
delivery was required, the facility fully integrated into his mnemonics and available at
the merest thought. The capacitor had been improved in current delivering capacity,
the grip strength and extendable serrated blades were standard. Except the blades
could also be fired as a projectile, which was strange for this lightweight design. The
digiweapon capability was concealed yet even possessed a magazine, which the
mnemonics listed fifteen rounds, each blade drawn through a toxin of choice. Tyet
briefly quizzed the Callidus weapons’ master who had simply said it was compliments
of Master Jarek and then handed him two vials with standard issue toxins and a three
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foot sword. The glove was of exceptional design, unsurpassed by any Tyet had seen
on teacher or full assassin alike.
The hilt and grip of the sword were worn, which suited Tyet’s desire to use a
tried and tested weapon. The edge had been slightly roughened to avoid deep slicing,
but with enough energy it would dismember. Mobility was fractionally hampered by
the extra weight of the blade, but the wielder would adopt a particular style to
accommodate. Tyet would have preferred a lighter blade in its stead. A
phosphorescent marker fluid ran along the blade edge to the tip. If the sword struck
flesh then the cut would be laced with the marker to react with the fluid in the
opponent’s skin to initiate vivid radiation, easily observed to the officiating Master.
Sword sheathed, Tyet walked through the Callidus corridors toward the dojo.
Students milling about hurled cheers or jeers, which evaporated to nothing. The
recipient ignored them all. The frequency of bodies increased as he approached the
hallowed training gymnasium. Eight agents were on guard at the mouth of the open
double doors. A low murmur resonating from within spilled out, filling Tyet’s ears
with the chants from a hungry crowd. Only the Cullexus that had been allowed to
attend kept quiet. Their minders close by.
As soon as Tyet walked through, a hush descended on the crowd, observing the
pre-challenge oath with a respectful silence. He had not seen so many in the dojo,
which made the vast arena look small. The combat area had been kept clear, though
three figures stood ready to receive the fighters. Tyet would have preferred a little
time to get a feel for the environment, but this would last only as long for it took
Beusk to arrive.
Master Aisa received him into the combat zone. She maintained a serious
expression, directing where Tyet should stand. As he turned, he saw the other half of
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the combat area was guarded by Master Nal’Ban. A short and stocky figure matching
Master Aisa’s expression. It was difficult to believe that Nal’Ban had once been an
Eversor agent, not because of his potential prowess, but how an Eversor managed to
detoxify and lose the burning rage was no simple procedure. Nal’Ban’s gaze was
firmly fixed on Tyet as though mere thought could finish this battle.
The last place was occupied by the Grandmaster of the Temple. Kintas would
preside over the oath-taking ceremony. A tall man, aged by the many years of service
inside and outside an assassins’ tunic, surveyed the dojo with neutral expression. His
retinue lined one edge of the combat floor towering over the crowds.
Out of respect Tyet refused to scan the assembled Masters. Looking to the four
corners, an agent from each Temple stood motionless.
Beusk finally entered the arena and stood next to his master. The Eversor was
powerfully built. Tyet’s throat went dry. After both made the sign of the aquilla, he
gripped the hilt of the sword to draw the blade in presentation to the Grandmaster.
Kintas chose a brief litany centred on duty and honour, though was surely chosen for
the benefit of the gathering and not just the two individuals.
Tyet stood to face Beusk. Without the helmet, Tyet could see the other’s face
twitched involuntary at the chemicals reactions within, barely maintaining control.
Tyet selected for the Jarek’s entire gift to be loaded into the injector and gripped his
sword tightly between thumb and forefinger. He was thankful for Rakneld’s sparring
prowess, though would have preferred Nysen’s advanced training to help him prepare.
Even Teacher Muriko was currently unavailable.
The Grandmaster and the two Heads of Temple retreated from the ring as the
crowd regained its voice. Tyet allowed his awareness of the chanting to touch his
mind, picking up snippets of thought by the primal energies coursing through the
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throng. An instinctive scan of the sea of faces revealed Muriko and Jarek close by.
Tyet thrust his sword into the air and only half fell silent again.
To all those who will listen, the cycle of violence must stop here. Tyet thought.
‘This I do for the Shapeshifters.’
He swung down the sword with all his might and severed his own arm. The
gauntlet and hand tumbled graciouslessly to the floor. Pain was overridden and gasps
of shock resounded in the dojo. Beusk cocked his head to one side, as if trying to
figure out what new threat might pop into existence. Tyet wanted to see Jarek’s face,
but refused to look. The toxin lay useless on the floor, mixing with the little blood
contained within Tyet’s now dismembered and equally useless hand.
Tyet raised his sword once more. ‘This I do for the Temple.’
The sword was thrown at Beusk, the tip impaling just before his feet. Furrows
of puzzlement bevelled Beusk’s forehead. He had lowered his guard for a moment,
looking at his master for guidance, then charged into his opponent with a scream.
Tyet stood motionless, breathing deeply. Gazing into Beusk’s eyes as the
Eversor charged. Tyet beat down the pang of dread as the Eversor covered the ground
in an instant swiping the sword at head height. Its shear aggression invoked dread.
Tyet could have felt a small modicum of sorrow for every individual that had faced an
Eversor’s death mask. As the blade closed, Tyet suddenly held his breath. He hoped
he could also hold onto his stomach contents. The sword landed setting off a hot
explosion in his head. He knew he was flying backwards, though the sensation of air
rippling past him was lost in the kaleidoscope of patterns all around. He wasn’t sure
whether he had ducked or instinctively tried to move out of the way. There was
shouting accompanying warning klaxons in his skull. Tyet could only assume that the
landing unaccompanied by rapid rolling of vision meant his head was still attached to
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a body. Beusk must have had a dull blade and was told to bludgeon Tyet to death. A
more fitting reprisal.
A white shadow peered down. Beusk had moved in for the kill. Thoughts came
randomly, faces he knew spoke incoherent babble. It was comical. If he laughed he
was not aware of it. The form began to coalesce with other white shadows. The bright
cloud moved and swayed. A snake coiled itself round his arms and legs leaving its
victim bound. It hissed loudly, its strike landed. His heart beat wildly.
Tyet’s vision cleared with an abruptness. His own heart still beat. A number of
agents held him horizontally off the floor and were moving him away from the dojo.
The crowd still shouted. The snake manifested itself into a medic that maintained its
pace with the litter bearers.
Tyet stayed one day in the infirmary, much of which was against his wishes. No
visitors had been allowed, given their absence, and no net access had been provided.
Only a copy of the Emperor’s enlightening words had been provided for comfort and
inspiration, both of which had been deemed necessary for a speedy recovery. Guards
had been posted to deter any attempt at visitation, only the toing and froing of the
medical bots had been his loosest form of companionship. Tyet had tried to request a
personal meeting with the chief physician, which was a useless gesture given this
particular medical droid had been given elementary routines and limited artificial
intelligence, required only to take readings or deliver pills.
He flexed his wrist. A new hand had been attached, entirely prosthetic. It was
not unusual for bionic enhancements, though complete replacements were reserved
for total organ failure or loss. The hand responded as though it were a natural
extension of himself; all the neural connections had been wired correctly.
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There was limited reflection in the glass panel of the door, for which Tyet could
see the damage inflicted. Skin grafting had formed a patchwork across his temple,
dermal adhesives applied along the joins that had rapidly sealed the new tissue in
place. His tender and bandage wrapped buttocks told him that he had provided his
own graft. Hair had been shaven back to accentuate the surgical operation, yet an
epidermal toner had been applied to give the reconstructed site an even colouration.
Overall, he should be left with inkvine scarring and the pain in his chest had subsided
considerably. He looked into his own eyes then jumped back as Muriko’s face
appeared exactly where his reflected had been.
That woman seems to crop up at the unlikeliest of moments. He mused.
The door slid open and Muriko walked in. ‘We all had a similar reaction after
Beusk landed his first blow.’
He stood to attention, but Muriko waved him to ease.
‘First?’
‘It was a rare occurrence, but his blade caught you across the side of the head
and snapped. He drove the broken tip into your chest,’ Tyet fingered the once
sensitive region of his ribcage and denigrated the incident as an accident, ‘followed by
a series of punches. Your body seemed relaxed sufficiently to dissipate most of the
impact. Grandmaster Kintas called the challenge to a halt. He declared it a draw. You
are the strangest of students.’ She shrugged her shoulders with a snort.
The Grandmaster had intervened. ‘Disappointingly so?’
‘No. Truly astounded. We all were. I would have believed all students capable
of nothing else but glory for the Emperor and their own Temple. You were willing to
sacrifice your life for the Officio Assassinorum, a point not lost with either Temple
Master or the Grandmaster himself. Master Nal’Ban had indicated to Beusk not to
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engage once you dismembered yourself, yet Beusk was enraged at being denied the
challenge. He will be appropriately dealt with, but the guards at the door are to ensure
that no other collateral damage should befall you.’
If all had gone to plan, then there should be no recriminations from the Eversor
Temple. ‘It worked better than I hoped. I am surprised to still be alive, having
resigned myself to die that the grievance between the two Temples may also.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Ultimately I guess I have you to thank for the book. Without that I would never
have thought about the Samurai ending their lives with an honourable death. It would
appear you knew that this series of events was going to happen and directed me
accordingly.’ Tyet was aware of the level of accusation, yet Muriko sighed.
‘I guess you would not believe me if I said I did not have any clue what was to
befall you? You cut off your own hand as payment for Layetan and Yageo and
disarmed yourself publically, thus shaming Beusk into inaction. He could not control
his rage, which you must have known and left him to strike an unarmed student and
thus dishonour his own Temple. This demonstrated exceptional creativity and not at
my doing!’
A cursory scan showed her to reinforcing sincerity within her emotions.
Evidently Muriko did not know about Jarek and Tyet thought it imprudent to divulge
the details. He would have to wait to see if Master Jarek sought another audience. ‘So,
Teacher Muriko, what can I do for you?’
‘Two reasons. First, I am tasked to ensure that this does not go to your head
otherwise we’ll need to use bigger stitches. And second, to give you this, this and this.
Congratulations. I can truly say this is well deserved.’ She extended a bag, a package
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and a sealed scroll, which he placed on the bed. ‘At this conclusion, I will bid you
good day.’
‘Am I free to go?’
‘Alas no.’
‘May I enquire as to why not?’ he was careful to maintain a placating tone.
‘There are few issues that require administering to and the powers at be have
their reasons. Besides the contents of that parchment will be more reveal than I.’
She turned to the door, which summarily opened as she passed.
The parchment he placed to one side and unfolded the package. Inside was a
neatly folded black tunic with multi-grey collar. Elation hit Tyet. He had made
graduation and been given full assassin status, but had to nearly die in order to prove
himself worthy. Surely others did not have to sacrifice so much. He ran his fingers
over the black fabric. The thread was made of fine gossamer, silky smooth to the
touch and completely impractical for field work.
Unlocking the latches to the bag, Tyet removed his skinsuit, basic gloves with
needle injector mechanism and mask. He had been wearing his skinsuit for the
challenge, which had then been removed at some point prior to undergoing surgery. A
phial of polymorphine was also present. He would run it through his scanner to ensure
the contents were accurate.
Turning attention to the deep red wax on the parchment, the embossing bore
Master Ormor’s seal, Head of Operations for the Officio Assassinorum. No sooner
had graduation into full assassin status had been completed that a mission had been
assigned. Tyet toyed with the notion that the Temple masters were deliberately offworlding him. He ran various strands of political machinations in his mind. Each as
unlikely as the next. It was possible that he was being incarcerated in the medical
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centre to avoid possible reprisal from Beusk. It was equally possible that Master Jarek
wanted to confine him there until he could reprimand him for the open betrayal. There
was a chance that the whole challenge had been instigated through careful
manipulation of Tyet’s emotions by others. Each drawn breath spun a new twist, the
unlikely and the impossible mixed together to form a potent sea of possibilities.
Ultimately, whether he was being controlled or directed, he could only act from his
own nature and keep the Emperor’s light within. He was a tool whether he liked the
wielder or not and could only respond to the targets in front. If Jarek was attempting
to subvert him, then he would find a way to place Jarek within his sights.
Tyet split the seal and unravelled the scroll. Black lettering highlighted with
gold and metallic red decorated the beige vellum. The short sentences of high gothic
was directed to him alone, calling him to a planet. Osia. The designation code meant
nothing to Tyet until background research was conducted, but this would be made
difficult without access to the library. The departure time and date was given for a few
hours hence and further instructions and equipment would be made available. The
correct ribbons and laser encryption foil were present, rendering this document an
official order. They had committed Tyet to duty.
The scheduled departure gave him little time to prepare. The door slid back and
a guard walked in to advise him of their immediate exit. The guard remained whilst
Tyet shed the loose fitting fatigues and climbed into his skinsuit. A smart material that
could maintain its occupant within a comfortable temperature range even in pretty
extreme outside climates. It was also flexible enough to accommodate a wide variety
of forms when the wearer consumed Polymorphine. He slipped the parchment and
mask into the upper layers and pulled on his gloves. The graduation top was folded
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neatly into the original packaging and placed with the bag. If he survived the mission,
he might get a chance to wear it.
Tyet followed the solitary guard through the Temple towards the Room of
Sanctification. They followed least trod paths, staying outside of Calldius and Eversor
domains as much as possible. The people they passed heeded them not.
The room was as empty as the last time he had visited it. The guard left him at
the door to be greeted by a solitary scribe. Tyet moved towards the dais as a door on
the far side of the room opened. Master Jarek and a Chaplain swept in moving with
purpose. Tyet steeled himself for a confrontation, but at least with others present Jarek
would be limited by his choice of words.
‘Student Tyet. Or should I say agent Tyet?’ his voice was steely. ‘Master Aisa is
indisposed and it fell to me to oversee the consecration of your mission. Osia is it?’
Tyet nodded. He would volunteer nothing. Silence drew out, yet Tyet would not
yield. He could feel a faint putrid line coursing through Jarek’s demeanour. Jarek was
barely holding onto his temper. Tyet felt little more than hatred for the thing that
stood before him.
‘Then kneel and take the invocation.’ He said at last.
Tyet knelt before Jarek as the Chaplain quoted a litany. The Deputy Head of
Callidus Temple stood motionless as the aged timbre of the Chaplain reverberated in
the room. At its conclusion a seal was handed to Tyet who affixed it to his orders and
then handed it back. The content of the orders were confined to a limited few. The
Chaplain would place the orders in the sanctum.
As the others left Jarek strolled towards the exit with Tyet.
‘It was a curious thing you did yesterday.’
‘It seemed to have resolved the issue.’
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‘Actually you may have made things worse.’ Jarek clamped a hand on Tyet’s
shoulder and spun him around. ‘Do you really think you can wipe away centuries of
tension with one act of self sacrifice? You have only delayed the inevitable and
weakened Master Aisa’s standing.’ The words made him feel suddenly small.
Tyet allowed looked the Jarek’s hand and then at Jarek. The invasion of
personal space was an affront, yet the Deputy Master did not move. Tyet grasped
Jarek’s wrist and twisted enough to break the hold, turning his body into a defensive
posture. Jarek wore no glove or rings at least as Tyet almost expected to receive a
dose of the unsanctified toxin delivered through Jarek’s grip.
‘Why not? It only took a single act to forge mankind along the path towards
unity. Surely this is a step in the right direction.’
‘The balance of power never lasts more than a generation or two. There are
always new plays for the Grandmaster’s seat. The person who sits there controls a
formidable army in the Imperium and not everyone is contented to get along nicely.’
Tyet faced down his superior. ‘Then each attempt needs to be faced down. It
cannot be achieved solely through de-weeding a path to the top.’ He spat.
Jarek sighed, looking tired and sallow. How Tyet could have felt threatened by
this weasel of a man was beyond him. Instantly he drew himself to readiness. Tyet
would not risk underestimating Jarek.
‘At what point will you realise that is exactly what I have been trying to do?’
Jarek called out, as Tyet pushed passed to the exit.
Hinlor Nalat ran for his life. The meeting was a trap. He knew it was likely in
advance and prepared accordingly. At the first sign of trouble he would exit the
restaurant and blend into the public throng that milled the streets. Undoubtedly they
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had tried to corral every member in the streets for processing, but he had backup to
cause a number of distractions allowing him to slip through the cordon. The members
of the backup unit were then cut loose and had to make their own way back to the
rendezvous. They were excellent soldiers all, though having engrained themselves
into local life whilst maintaining a worthy resistance movement had led to a slight
drop off in performance, but he accepted what assistance they could provide. They
knew the civilisation, its capabilities and its forces. They could also make the contacts
he needed.
The meeting was a risk. Perhaps a needless one, but all others had gone well and
this was the final phase of operations. The restaurant had been specifically chosen for
its convenient exit strategy though there were no guarantees. As soon as the contact
sat down and confirmed Nalat’s name, security forces had arrived en mass and
starting firing a nerve freezing agent at all moving targets. Inevitably it caused panic
and the writhing mass of citizens was easier to ride to safety.
Hinlor had walked for miles through the streets, through any department stores
and multiplexes he could find and sprinted through the few wooded areas kept within
the city’s park. He had a limited change of clothes, but had a few other tricks to keep
any spotters off his trail. It would be difficult to maintain a trace on him, plus in the
final approach to the rendezvous, the former Captain had ensured high visibility of
any pursuers.
Hinlor approached the rendezvous from a narrow alley tucked away far from the
maddening crowds. That the security forces had not established martial law was a
good indicator that he was not high priority enough to bring the city to a standstill.
The buildings towered on both sides with filled in windows, rusting ledges and
disused fire escape routes, provided excellent sniper positions.
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As he approached a door, the metal lattice shutter raised in his presence. He
ducked under and walked into the protection of the bolthole. The shutter continued to
the top and stayed open providing the only light source to the interior. The silence
called out to Hinlor as he grabbed a small sidearm secreted under his jacket using the
muzzle to probe ahead. The lighting system had been smashed.
The wide space had been crammed with numerous crates providing the facade
of almost honest trading; to be too clean as a business operator in this district would
also have garnered unwarranted interest from its locals. Hinlor checked each pseudocorridor, but only in the utility room did he find the premises’ occupants. Smears of
blood had pointed the way inviting Hinlor further in.
Three figures had been brutally ripped apart. The former Captain was missing
an arm another of his aides had their jaw ripped out. All lay still as focal points in the
blood emblazoned about them. The stench was overpowering to his senses as he
pinched his nose checking for pulses.
‘Ghastly isn’t it.’ A cold voice resounded behind him.
Hinlor spun the gun at the intruder and fired. Thunderclaps resounded in the
warehouse as both rounds punched into the wall missing their target. He threw the
spent gun on the floor and ran at the intruder. His momentum came to halt with a
single blow to the head knocking him down.
‘Before I kill you, I need some information. You’ll find I can be quite
persuasive,’ he indicated to the strewn bodies ‘and we have some time.’
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◄ 18 ►
The Temple housed a small spaceport with a fully automated docking and
loading facilities, though with antigravity engines, a number of sites around the many
reinforced domes and spires could withstand the close proximity of an interstellar
craft. Around the periphery of the spaceport a highly concentrated arsenal of
defensive and offensive weapons conjoined the void shield to protect the site. It was
one of the few areas in the Officio Assassinorum where the security of the building of
the Temple was granted to outsiders allowing the students and agents to concentrate
on being assassins. Originally a division from an Astartes chapter had the honour of
serving the Grandmaster, but had over the centuries evolved into a separate identity,
withdrawing from the Astartes legions and being adopted into the purview of the
Sigilite. The importance of the Temple warranted a safeguard that reported to the
palace of the Emperor. Such was the nature of the Shadow Legion.
Each Temple ran their own facilities, possessing dedicated craft for immediate
deployment. The clandestine nature of a Callidus assassin’s mission often meant
surreptitious departures and tortuous routes, changing ships more than once en route.
However, a solitary lighter awaited Tyet. His guardian directed him through to the
docking ramp, then left without uttering a word. An active assassin did not always
serve in the field, but occasionally had to endure a tour of duty within the Temple,
tutoring, running mundane tasks, but mainly forming part of the internal fortifications.
Tyet palmed the computer access panel, which identified his hand print,
withdrew a blood sample and scanned his cortex. It was the combination that made it
very difficult for an infiltrator to gain access. Besides, the navigator had specific
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orders and the destination could not be changed. Only the Vanus were reputed to
possess an affinity with the machine capable of circumventing the elaborate security
measures. Their modus operandi was deemed interference of the machine spirit and it
was suspected that the Mechanicum had arranged the systematic purging of Vanus
numbers by releasing advanced thinking technology into new machine builds, thus
overriding their need. Once the technology cull had taken place, only a few Vanus
survived within the ranks of the Callidus and the Vindicare, providing intelligence
processing and operational support when necessary, but insufficient in number to hold
a Temple of their own.
The Tai’Rotha was a single berth ship, possessing a compact bathroom with
sonic shower and waste compacter. Thankfully the cabin was climate controlled,
providing a good substitute for clean air in the confined space. There were sufficient
field rations for a single occupant to last several month, though the total travel time
including return would take two weeks, the warp willing.
The navigator identified itself as Diban and was integrated into the hold,
controlling every aspect of the Tai’Rotha. For all intent and purpose, the ship and the
navigator were the same entity. One provided conscious thought and control, the other
the hardware to sense and move. Tyet had but to speak out to communicate with the
nerve centre, though coming across a navigator wanting to engage with mere humans
was rarer than finding an honest traitor marine. Diban would undoubtedly keep their
interactions to a minimum.
As soon as the docking ramp had closed, Diban informed him that they had
departed Terra and were heading out along the shipping lane towards Saturn. The data
crystal in Tyet’s cabin had been preloaded. On activation an audio message played the
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sound of Master Ormor, interspersed with photos or video streams as required by the
presentation.
‘Your mission is to Osia. A datacrystal with its history is provided. I suggest
you study the government and technology developments over the last two centuries. A
once thriving tech planet in the Sirrius Cluster, but taken back into the fold on
M35.784. The battle for Osia lasted four months after the Imperial Guards finally
pushed the Osian army into surrender. It was reported that the homeguard had formed
a resistance movement and so the garrison had been strengthened twice in order to
isolate them into smaller pockets. The Administratum and Ecclesiarchy had
established their presence and Osia became integrated into the Imperial network.’
Recordings of Osia taken from a deep space approach were shown with
telemetry, environmental and warp readouts scrolling across the screen.
‘Around fifty years ago, an ion storm effectively cut-off the sector, making
passage to and from planets in that region impossible. No word had been received
from the ruling officials. A year ago, the ion storm dissipated and a frigate of the
Imperial navy was sent into the Sirrius sector. It came across heavy resistance on a
planet called Enwche. Fighting was fierce. It appears that the rebels had learned to
harness the power of the Mechanicum for their own devises.
‘Information uncovered on Enwche revealed that all other planets in that sector
had rebelled and without effective reinforcements all Imperial-ruled planets fell. The
High Lords sanctioned the dispatch of an agent to a key world in order to destabilise
its government in preparation of an invasion force. Once attained, the rest of the
worlds would succumb.
‘This agent failed to transmit a report by the last deadline and his lighter
returned without him. You have been selected to investigate and if necessary mount a
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rescue operation. Under no circumstances are you to continue their mission. The
agent’s name is Nysen.’
Tyet froze. The screen displayed the image of his friend and fellow Callidus
agent. The recording went on unemotionally.
‘Details are provided, though I believe you are acquainted with the individual.
His mission update transmissions are included. You have two weeks in which to pick
up Nysen’s trail and report back with him or with information as to his fate. On
arrival in the Osia system, the Tai’Rotha will initiate covert manoeuvres. The
navigator is ordered to issue a coded communications burst and upon successful
receipt will place you on the surface within a few hundred kilometers. We calculate
that any orbital platforms will be searching for larger vessels and you should be able
to slip through any defence net. The Tai’Rotha will hold in orbit of the second moon.
It is barren, undeveloped and the high density mineralogy will provide effect
shielding and evade detection. Its rotation will allow you to submit periodic updates.
These you must make without fail. No further back-up will be provided until the High
Council approves the Imperial Navy to move in. Currently their arrival will depend on
the Departmento Munitorum, which they say to resupply the vessels at Enwche could
be six to eight weeks given this to quell a old rebellion, so it serves all our purposes
for you not to fail.
‘Linking up with the Imperial Guard resistance should elucidate Nysen’s last
known whereabouts. You may select anything you deem necessary from the armoury
provided. I advise that you use the polymorphine to adapt to contemporary phenotype
profiling. Good hunting.’
The brief was bewildering. It explained Nysen’s absence, but not why his friend
was selected for a mission of this nature. Master Ormor had used the words “key
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world” for Osia and Nysen, as far as he knew, was still a student. They had joined the
Callidus Temple around the same time and had grown up together. Tyet knew Nysen
was capable, but in his limited professional judgement would say that his friend had
further to go than he did before graduation. That may have been true only prior to the
Araya incident. The thought left no emotional sleight, just a slight aspect of sorrow at
his absence.
Tyet reflected that meeting with the resistance would have been the first
objective for Nysen. At their encounter, Nysen would have sent a confirmation
message. Tyet checked through the data files held within the crystal and found
Nysen’s logged entries over a fifteen day period. His mission was planned for one
Terran month, but obviously communications had ceased part way through. A report
on Nysen’s drop ship, the Aenu, revealed that the communications beacon were all
within working parameters, which still left the possibility that Nysen’s own
transmitter could have malfunctioned. It was unlikely, but there had been no duplicate
provided. Navigators belonged to the Navis Nobilite, which were notoriously brutal in
dealing with internal matters such as corruption and still bore highly xenophobic
tendencies. Rogue navigators rarely survived and only if they never encountered their
brethren. Still it would be worth gauging Dabin’s thoughts.
Nysen had uploaded a detailed list of the resistance members, their location and
activities against the state. He then spent the first few days of his mission establishing
connections through to the political wing of the government, although Tyet would
have preferred going straight after the military in order to gauge the exact size of the
force and capability, plus targeting a top commander could have a destabilising
influence on the lower ranks. Though naturally, more than one assassination would be
required to effectively cripple an armed force of a significant size.
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Nysen had moved between a number of different resistance cells and had
infiltrated the Osian’s utility providers. This time only a few senior engineers were
required to gain access to the control stations of the planetary energy distribution hubs,
which when rendered to a mass of swirling atoms would require a quarter of the users
to switch to exhaustible back-up generators, placing greater strain on the defending
army in a wartime scenario.
Inevitably, Nysen had also targeted the planetary defence force. Names of a few
colonels and a general were added to those of the ruling party’s cabinet members
already obtained. Nysen indicated that genetic samples of all members listed were
obtained so that the polymorphine transformation mechanism would work flawlessly
when needed.
The last entries had briefly mentioned the Osian Intelligence Service. Tyet
instantly felt this was a pointless pursuit. The intelligence agencies of democratic
worlds where power was divided and rival nations competed were documented in
historical annals to be, in the main, excessively paranoid. Therefore successful
penetration was instantly rendered difficult.
A contact had been made in the capital city of the third quadrant; Osia had
reverted to its four ruling nations. Nysen had met with an individual. A day after their
last meeting, Nysen had missed the first of the transmission deadlines and the next
two after that. The Aenu then returned to Terra. Although Nysen had other business
scheduled in the capital city, this was a promising lead. Tyet would have to meet this
Taiemkim Chi.
Nysen had worked quickly. The resistance must have provided excellent
avenues to expose Nysen to the possible candidates that he could replace. This would
have been an excellent training platform if the stakes had not been so high. Tyet felt
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he should reprimand himself. It was a few hours ago that he had attained full agent
status and he did not have a fraction of the experience that some of the Temple’s
teachers possessed. It was reasonable that the Master Ormor and department would
have selected an appropriate agent or student. Only Tyet’s small voice called to him
that he would fare better than his friend.
It was unlikely that the resistance would have been able to keep track of all
Nysen’s movements, though both he and Tyet were to reveal themselves as agents of
the Officio Assassinorum. The name would instil greater enthusiasm in the resistance
movement, giving hope for the victory when the reoccupation armies landed.
Tyet had a week to occupy himself prior to arrival in the Osia system. Initially,
he searched the storage compartment and double-checked the inventory. The standard
package of weapons and accessories was available, though he would take a few
choices that would fit into a void canister, which possessed an active countermeasure
capable of escaping most forms of detection, and secrete in a suitable location. That
way he could move freely about the planet without an arsenal to betray his purpose
and have almost instant access when necessary, leaving the Tai’Rotha to maintain its
distance.
Tyet worked his way through the datacrystals provided. The history of Osia was
extensive. The last ruling structure of Osia had been divided into quadrants, with
members of each forming an advisory council, until their armed force disposition had
been smashed by the Imperial Guard. The transition to an autonomous administration
headed by a questionable planetary governor had incurred significant collateral
damage against the government and was likely to have instigated deep resentment by
the Osian people, though the intelligence projection indicated that any rebellion would
still leave a larger pro-Imperial population.
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Curiously, Osian research development records were sketchy, given that the
Mechanicum would have dispatched a ship of servitors and tech-priests to invade
foreign computer databanks. Osian technology output had been high, having
independently created, prior to the arrival of the Imperial Guard, the positron collider,
biological age decelerants and anti-gravity were among the many pieces revered by
the tech-priests. The most curious find was a variant of the warp drive engineering,
which facilitated the establishment of stable, long distance wormholes, though
currently only picometers in diameter. This was immediately confiscated and
dispatched to the factories on Mars for further investigation, despite the later protests
from the Adeptus Astra Telepathica when details finally emerged. The possible
applications mainly centred around hypercommunications between different solar
systems, hence the cries of heresy from the Astropaths, but if the diameter could be
widened then it would be extremely useful for rapid transportation or deep striking
through any conceivable defensive barrier. The power requirements would be
enormous.
Tyet turned his mind to other matters. Master Ormor said that a pro-Imperial
resistance movement was present on Osia. It was standard tactics that should an
Imperial ruled planet undergoing rebellion, the Imperial Guard and any Adeptus
Arbites would fight until surrender was the only option and the remnants were to hide
themselves away, collecting intelligence, mounting raids and generally subverting the
edicts of the new rulers until reinforcements came. Though surviving behind an ion
storm, isolated for over half a century, would be a difficult task for any Guardsman. If
the Adeptus Astartes had been present, then no surrender was possible. They fought to
the last marine as was defined by their charter.
‘Diban’
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Yes Tyet, the voice was near to astral that Tyet could imagine.
‘Do you know the Aenu?’
Yes, the Aenu is a sister design to the Tai’Rotha. Navigator Tsethi still serves
onboard.
‘Do you have details on Navigator Tsethi?’
A compiled biography will appear on your screen, though the entry will be
somewhat short without connecting to the Adeptus Astronomica database. Shall I
make a connection? There will be a slight delay in the link whilst your request is
routed through your Grandmaster of the Officio Assassinorum.
‘Belay that request, Diban.’ The Adeptus Astronomica would be a tricky
organisation to crack without alerting every prying eye at the Temple. ‘Can you play
some light music for the journey?’
Tyet.
The name floated from the mouth of Kassandera, a woman that haunted his
dreams, but the sounding of it was less ethereal than before.
Tyet.
The voice was not far off. It sounded metallic. He had been sleeping and once
again incorporated the calling of his name into the dream. He would have to find out
why there were a higher proportion of people in his life that would call for him whilst
he slept.
Tyet opened his eyes. ‘Yes Diban.’
We are approaching the broadcast point. You asked me to wake you.
‘Thank you Diban.’
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The transmission to the resistance was coded to avoid interpretation and pulsed
to deter possible detection. The Tai’Rotha had been passively scanning the approach
to Osia and had taken as few as possible course corrections to avoid being intercepted
by patrol cruisers. The fewer activation of the thrusters would limit the chance of
exposure and given that the ship was far from a gravity source the anti-gravity engines
were rendered too feeble for the sudden direction changes required. Tyet was
surprised at the low number of ships in the defensive flotilla, if Osia was concerned
about an Imperial invasion. Though a greater number were detected between Osia and
its sun. A massively long and indeterminate infrastructure had been assembled. He
wanted to collect data on the general design specifications of the cruisers, but Diban
was certain of interception. The curious aspect he reported was that in the surrounding
space he, at least Tyet thought of Diban as male, could not detect the faint presence of
other navigators. These ships were solely under the domain of humans.
A few hours of gliding towards Osia and a return signal was ascertained. It
possessed the correct encoding and directed the ship to a given set of coordinates,
located some one hundred kilometres from one of the main cities, according to the
fifty year old charts.
Tyet checked and rechecked the contents selected for the void capsule. Once
disembarked he would not have the opportunity to change that choice. The Teachers
had often said the items picked from an array of weapons could tell volumes about
that individual. Not that that would alter what Tyet had stowed away. He could not
predict what the mission might require and had spent a day dividing the cache into
definites, probables and maybes. Then promptly threw them all back together and
tried to divide them differently. A capable agent should rely on their own talent, but
then a wise agent would be properly equipped.
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Tyet had dressed in his black skinsuit. He would acquire the necessary clothes
to match the styles of an Osian citizen, but would need guidance from those in the
Imperial underground movement better attuned to life on the planet. Void canister
under arm, he awaited for the ramp to drop. The Tai’Rotha could slip quietly and
quickly, touchdown briefly and then slide up through the atmosphere, shedding the
grip of Newtonian gravitons by temporarily placing the starship’s matter outside the
influence of the gravitic vibrations occupying each interstices of space-time in the real
universe. The ship could escape to space with the minimum of ease.
Counting down from ten seconds. Diban advised.
Tyet steeled himself for a little impact. Whether it was inside or outside the grip
of a gravity field, the ship would have to ignite its thrusters to avoid crashing into the
surface.
Five... The lights of the storage bay went out.
Four... The landing platform cracked open, blasting Tyet with rushing air.
Three... Tyet could discern the still rapid descent suddenly break under the
firing of the thrusters.
Two... Diban had allowed Tyet to plug his nmemonics into the sensor grid along
the lower belly of the ship. The Tai’Rotha could scan on a multitude of frequencies,
rendering the night bestricken landscape into a hive of nocturnal motion. The ship
would land on a rugged field surrounded by dense woods to two sides and connected
by the other two by a larger network of countryside under the transformation to urban
connotations.
One... the thrusters hit more strongly and Tyet flexed his knees to steady
himself.
Touchdown.
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Tyet ran down the fully extended ramp, jumped as far as a he could, then
huddled into a ball. Diban had not waited more than a second, before igniting the
thrusters harder and then switching to the antigravity field. The Tai’Rotha slipped
upwards, coating Tyet with loose debris picked up from the field in the eddies of the
brief downwash.
Tyet picked himself up and ran towards the nearest part of the wood. Three trees
in then Tyet stopped to survey the field, spending a moment to carefully cover the
landscape with his ocular implants. Then turned and started the scan of the woods. He
could have looked at the departure of the Tai’Rotha but it would have been a rookie
mistake.
A snapping of twigs brought his attention to bear. He slipped out a pistol from
its holster and moved towards the sound. The implants picked out a faint heat trace
against the cold wood. At least three individuals were present and moving cautiously
towards him.
Tyet changed course so that he would not walk into the middle of them. A red
light struck his face, coming from above.
‘Stand fast.’ It was male, Low Gothic, but with a thick accent of Osia. Its owner
had perfected his camouflage to allow the visitor to come within range of a sniper
rifle.
Tyet could have sped behind a trunk for cover, gained altitude then hopped from
tree to tree to disarm the lone voice, but this was likely to be his welcoming
committee. The three figures on the ground materialised around Tyet. Each carried
medium assault weapons, one of which was a bolter mark two, a holdover from the
Imperial campaign. A broad shouldered man lowered his rifle and approached Tyet.
The red laser still traced his chest.
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‘This is an interesting time you chose to come back.’
‘What do you mean “back”?’ Tyet queried.
He was struck across the face with the butt of the rifle, which was then spun to
point the barrel in his direction. But Tyet had taken the blow, rolling his head to
disperse the impact energy and kicked out into the stomach, knocking the rifle out of
the other’s hands. He turned the soldier still keeping him upright and ripped the
goggles off his face. The pistol locked to the other man’s temple. The laser sighting
could not target him without hitting his comrade. The other two soldiers had raised
their weapons, looking for an opportunity. The soldier struggled against the
stranglehold, but made no impact in trying to break free. Tyet would not kill him
unless the last possible resort. He had a small quantity of a neuro-scrambler, enough
to render the individual’s last hour of recollection a complete mess.
‘This is a very cold reception for a servant of the Emperor.’ Tyet spoke in
hushed tones. The exertion had barely raised his heart beat.
‘If you are not Nysen then who are you?’
‘Tyet of clade Callidus.’
‘Don’t trust him, Warner. Same ship, same contact frequency. How can this not
be Nysen. He could have shape-shifted into this form to gain re-entry into the
resistance.’
‘Then we are at an impasse. Unless you can suggest a way that I can
demonstrate I am not Nysen.’
‘We followed the protocols, made all the preparations for an agent of the
Officio Assassinorum, only to be betrayed and slaughtered. What do you suggest we
do?’
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Something had gone seriously wrong. ‘How about I lower my gun and let this
one go?’ The solider in his gripped still squirmed.
‘We cannot risk it. Six months ago we numbered just over five hundred. Three
weeks ago you contacted the Intelligence and soon after our network was
compromised. Coincidence? We’re on the run, trying to salvage what we can from
your butchery.’
‘It’s unlikely to be coincidence, I grant you. But I know Nysen. He would not
do this. Besides if I were him, I could easily kill you all right now if that was what I
wanted. I would not waste my words and it also begs the question as to why you
actually came here. But the truth is I am ordered to find Nysen and bring him back to
Terra.’
Warner spoke out. ‘Briggs, his words do not even fit Nysen’s character. This
guy is different. Let him be!’ Warner then shouted back at Tyet. ‘Would you mind
turning that little shooter in another direction?’
Tyet dutifully obliged and stowed his sidearm.
‘Not good enough. The Nysen demonstrated how effective the Callidus shapeshifting can be.’ Briggs called out.
‘Can you see my head?’ Tyet forced the polymorphine out of his face to revert
back to its original condition. Thankfully the dosage was minimal so the
transformation was quick. He pulled his collar down, still maintaining a grip on the
person identified as Warner. ‘It should take a few moments for it to appear. Each
agent possesses a fractal maxicode glyph, which is hardwired to the genetic structure
of each assassin. Should it be tampered with or removed in any way, the glyph is
destroyed. This is my unique identity, which will be different to Nysen’s. The carrier
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code transmitted to you from the Tai’Rotha will contain part of that sequence. When
Nysen contacted you, it would have had a different number. Are you able to check?’
‘Denlor. Does this mean anything to you?’ Briggs called out.
The soldier to the left of Briggs pulled out a scanner. The green hue illuminated
the darkness.
‘Okay, so tell me what the code should be.’
Tyet read out a series of numbers.
‘Confirmed, Briggs. I’ve even got the carrier signal from Nysen recorded.
Completely different number set. If what he say is true, I do not see how they could
be one and the same person. Unless this glyph is a fake, then we are back to the first
square. Sure wish we had a copy of Nysen’s maxicode to compare.’
Tyet had already begun reloading polymorphine into his face.
‘Damn it. We still cannot be sure.’ Briggs said.
‘It’s good to be paranoid, but ultimately it will render you inactive.’ Tyet
offered. ‘You will be so worried about whether your comrade is actually who they say
they are, you’ll be forever questioning and looking over your shoulder, too busy to
partake in the fight. All I can say is that an assassin will not knowingly kill a member
of the Imperium, unless the target became rogue or heretical.
‘And I really do not have time for these delays. You must prepare for the arrival
of the Navy and I must find Nysen.’ Tyet released his grip on Warner, who coughed
violently whilst massaging his neck. The laser marker still traced across his body, but
no shot was taken.
It took a few heartbeats before Briggs said ‘Stand down.’
Briggs walked up to Tyet, whether in act of supplication or defiance, he could
not be sure.
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‘It’s no wonder you assassins are rightly to be feared. I place my life and those
of my men at your disposal. In the name of the Emperor I ask that you do not discard
our lives lightly.’ Briggs made the sign of the Aquilla.
Tyet responded in kind.
‘Do you have any reason why Nysen did not share that identification business
with us?’ Briggs flicked his head at the Tyet’s neck.
‘We are a private organisation for a reason. You will now swear to the Emperor
to maintain this secret to your dying day. Do not give me reason to hasten it.’
They all did. Tyet could sense each had reservations presumably aimed at him,
but were committed. Emotions of loyalty were easier to identify than many others that
were equally subtle.
‘We need to move. It’s a fifteen kilometre trek to a safe house. The patrols are
light outside the city, but and you haven’t yet got a pass.’
‘That should not be a problem.’ Tyet spoke, but in perfect mimicry of Warner’s
voice. Briggs stared at Tyet, whose face was a perfect replica of his face also.
‘Geez, that’s scary.’ Denlor remarked.
‘Cut the chat. Maintain silence.’
‘Just one thing I have to do before we go.’ He noticed Briggs grip his bolter, but
said nothing further.
Tyet scoped up the void canister and scanned the area to select an appropriate
place to bury it.
Afterwards, they moved out of the woods, Warner led the way.
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◄ 19 ►
The safe house was in a suburban extension of the central city where every
square meter was packed with high rises, stacked behind the main avenues to form
smaller mazes of footpaths. The group had paused to stow their weapons and goggles
into shoulders bags, still maintaining their silence.
They followed the backstreets, yet had to backtrack away from a few open areas
to avoid the local patrols, but were met by no other foot traffic. The night time had
brought desertion to the area. Only silence permeated the streets.
Tyet had seen a number of surveillance cameras and had tapped Briggs on the
shoulder, pointing towards their location. Briggs had simply shrugged and shook his
head. Flicking his hand at Warner’s back, Tyet jogged to keep up.
They downed a flight of steps and entered a building through the basement. It
was a holding area stacked with boxes, covered crates. Exposed wood and plastic
strewn the surroundings. The team cut through the clutter, pushing through to a
staircase and climbed.
Tyet maintained pace behind Warner, watching the angles. A glance over his
shoulder showed the marines were doing the same. They slipped out of the stairwell
into a corridor, the walls were broken with doors, equally spaced along the length.
Each door possessed a number and a scanner.
Warner placed a card into a slot and pressed his thumb. A light flashed and the
door pushed open. They filed in.
‘This is pretty average accommodation for an electronics worker on a medium
wage.’ Briggs said. ‘It took a while to get used to it after thirty years in service. I just
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hope we haven’t atrophied because of this lifestyle. The majority of the men that
buried themselves into the Osian way of life had to obtain suitable cover stories. We
also needed currency to maintain supplies to the resistance’s interference program.’
‘Who are you?’ Tyet asked.
‘I was Alexander Briggs. Sergeant of the Kaklid 41st Regiment. And when the
Imperial Navy arrives to reclaim Osia, I will be again. Could you do me a favour,
Tyet and adopt a neutral face. Seeing one of Warner is quite enough at times. Thank
you. Anyway, bedrooms thatta way, bathroom there, kitchen just behind you. We’ll
need to hunker down till morning and then the others can depart safely. We’ll bring in
our forger and suitable clothes. The former make take a while. As I said we’re being
systematically exterminated ever since Nysen tried to infiltrate the Intelligence
agency.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Sure thing. First off, Warner stow the gear. Denlor, guard duty for the first shift.
I’ll take second till day break.’
Denlor nodded, removed a hand gun from his backpack and pulled up a chair,
giving him a low, diagonal angle cover the doorway. ‘Better get the coffee on.’ He
mumbled as he disappeared into the kitchen.
Warner grabbed the bags from each of them and disappeared into one of the
bedrooms.
Briggs continued. ‘I had better start at the beginning. Please sit. We were
garrisoned in Capital City when a coordinated strike hit the Governor’s buildings, the
Imperial Guard and the Adeptus Arbites bases as well as the patrols. We were
unprepared for such open hostility, but we rallied with the armoured platoons to
establish a safety zone around the headquarters. They hit again with a precision strike.
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We could not reposition the heavy artillery and General Ramal ordered long-range
bombardments. By the Emperor, the devastation was immense, not that you would
know it when you see it. Civilians were hit the hardest, caught in our barrages. If the
Osians had truly cared, they would have moved them out prior to the attack, but
obviously it would have shown their hand. Tough call. I couldn’t have made it
myself.’
Briggs took a deep sigh, his grizzly looks seemed to soften. ‘I have no problem
killing for the Emperor, but unarmed innocents always sickens me. We were herded,
supplies were severed. No matter what we tried, we could not break out of their
stranglehold. Our sappers had constructed limited tunnelling from the headquarters,
but the attack had collapsed all but one. My squad was part of the platoon filing out to
secure the other end. Not sure what happened, could have even been our
bombardments. Sections of the last tunnel collapsed on top of us. Sixty men went in,
ten managed to survive. We spent days down there, no power, limited rations. By the
time we emerged, half the city was a waste land. The radio chatter was to a minimum.
There were pockets of the 41st scattered in Capital City and from army spread across
the four quadrants, but as time passed they fell. We moved out of the area, trying to
link up with the remnants of the Infantry. It was immediately apparent that we had
lost Osia. The then government was wiped out and the Imperial Guard was smashed.
We will regain our honour, when the time is right. Don’t think we have lost our fire.
We have hit the Osian government hard. Many times. But, I digress.
‘Captain Hakel was the highest ranking officer left after the Osian attack against
the 41st. Months went by and there was no communication with the Adeptus. We were
isolated pockets. Dying. He ordered us to shell our uniforms and weapons and blend
into civilian life. We switched radio frequencies and encoding, allowing us to network
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our remaining soldiers. It took years, but the resistance expanded and became better
organised. As I said earlier, we had just over five hundred. There may be other groups
that had not linked up in time; hopefully they have stayed out of the carnage. How
many we have now, Emperor alone knows. I cannot access more than fifty.’
Tyet shifted a little, trying not to divulge his impatience for information on
Nysen. There was time to listen before he could do anything.
Briggs went on. ‘There are soldiers of the 41st in many trades on Osia. Some
secure, others more risky. We lost a few trying to penetrate too deeply. We lost a
number infiltrating the Osian government’s pro-Imperial propaganda too. The
bastards tried to smoke us out as well as weed out the Imperial loyalists amongst their
population with free pilgrimages. It was all tastefully done. Even the company, ah
what did they call themselves, The Light Crusade, appeared legit. Can you believe it?
A few did. Anyway, we knuckled down trying to keep under their radar. We occupied
several positions in the government, the military, planetary defence, we just could not
crack the Intelligence service.
‘All was quiet. We collected data and tried to subvert Osian operations, but
being behind this ion storm there was no chance of us bringing the government to its
knees. We’re soldiers trying to play your game, assassin. Then a month ago the
Captain’s cell on the other side of Capital City picked up the coded transmission. My
team was sent to pick up Nysen and deliver him safely to Captain Hakel. We
maintained logistical support, set-up a few contacts. Three of my team were requested
for back-up surveillance when Hakel had made touch with a member of the Osian
Intelligence Agency in arranging a meeting for Nysen. We knew they would have
eyes, so Hakel wanted some unknowns outside of his cell keeping tabs. Less than a
day later the Captain’s group went quiet and the city was in lock down. Nightly
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curfew. Terrible if they find you, but in this area they’re badly coordinated. Only one
of my men made it back when the OIA deployed the suits.’
‘What are the “suits”?’
‘Ah, sorry. They are the metal fist of the OIA. Armoured giants with heavy
calibre weapons. No quite an Astartes, but just as menacing. Tilir exited immediately
after they appeared. I got a coded transmission from Hakel minutes after things had
gone wrong and then nothing. Took Tilir two days to get back, making sure he was
not followed. I sent Denlor, who managed to get close to the Captain’s lock-up.’
‘All executed.’ Denlor interjected. ‘They had agents and police swarming all
over the place. I talked with one of the police guards who volunteered information.
Probably third hand. Don’t think he even saw it himself.’
‘We scorched the only place Nysen came into contact with my group and the
owner of that place was shipped out of Capital City. Nysen must have been turned and
gave them the Captain’s group. It was the only possible explanation.’
Tyet felt an annoyance. ‘That I cannot accept. Do you have any notion as to
how much torture an assassin can endure?’
Briggs shook his head. Tyet could see Briggs level a calculating stare as if
trying to derive an appropriate quantity.
‘Then you’ll have to take my word on the matter. Nysen would have died rather
than give up guarded secrets and there is no way they would have been able to extract
anything from his mnemonics.’
‘You don’t know how advanced the Osians are. I’ve seen some pretty weird
stuff available on the market. For crying out loud, we should all be old men put out to
pasture, but we’re all taking this extract of something or other. ViaPlus they call it
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sold openly by the Diree company who owns half the world, which has boosted our
life expectancy. So who knows what the OIA has access to.’
‘What do you know of a man named Taiemkim?’
Briggs suddenly stiffened. ‘How do you know that name?’
‘Nysen uploaded periodic reports. His name was included.’
‘Taiemkim Chi was the contact made by Captain Hakel through to the OIA.’
‘Can you get me an introduction?’
Briggs snorted. ‘Your fellow assassin tried it, got himself caught and betrayed
his training and all of us. And you want to do the same?’
Tyet suddenly felt like a first phase student. He had not really thought it through,
only that he was in many ways superior to his friend Nysen and somehow the right
avenue would open before him.
‘I need to find Nysen, not infiltrate the OIA. I just need to know where
Taiemkim can be found, outside of his place of work, and I’ll take care of the rest.’
Osia had developed an advanced research industry, even by Imperial standards,
investing heavily in new technologies since they threw off the shackles of Imperial
rule. The evidence was all around for Tyet to see and he was glad having spent a full
day and night cramming as much information into his mnemonics. The files on Osia
were hopelessly out-of-date and Nysen’s reports contained only cursory details.
There were a limited number of ways to move around Capital City using public
transport, but their effectiveness had warranted their wide deployment in the once
heavily congested urban areas. Each road possessed a number of stations where the
destination and the number of users could be entered. Once programmed, the user
would then step onto an energy disc, which Tyet swore was very similar to an anti-
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gravity platform, and an energy canopy would enclose the occupants and possible
cargo. The energy used was exorbitant, yet the modest cost was tax deductable to the
user to encourage its use. The traveller could pay extra to darken the capsule should
privacy be required. Then the user would relax in the knowledge of moving at
tremendous speed in a safe environment of a network of thousands of other capsules,
completely controlled by a central computer. Tyet was impressed at the minimal
amount of inertia exerted as the module took off.
The bar fit snugly in the city, blending perfectly with the crystal glaze and
chrome of the main boulevards. It was the place for socialising of the middle class
hardworking citizens of Capital City, the financers, government officials, even the
low-order socialites. The entry fee was high, but not as much as the beverages or
snacks one could order from the expansive bar, hewn in a complete section from an
“indigenous” tree on Osia. People milled in twos and threes, occasionally colliding
into larger agglomerates, ejecting a lone individual who would bounce off the bar
with an order or to the toilets, then return to the stability of the group.
Tyet had adopted the looks of one of the Imperial Guards who had purposely
kept off the radar of the local constabulary since the rebellion, which afforded a nearclean identity, perfect for casual surveillance. On this occasion, Stenlon Thralor, had
stayed in the rented accommodation whilst Tyet had walked out of the apartment
wearing a new face and carrying the identity card allowing him freer movement
across the quadrant. The pro-Imperial movement had moved Stenlon into the city
ready for Nysen’s use, but the identity went unused. Briggs decided not to move
Stenlon back home so soon, fearing contact might needlessly expose him.
‘Hi.’ Tyet said to the barman, then indicated towards a tap. ‘Can I get a beer?’
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The barman, different to the previous night, nodded courteously and began to
pull the dark liquid into a glass. It was late afternoon when Tyet had entered the quiet
establishment, but had found this the easier way to attempt to obtain information.
Undoubtedly, it would remain quiet given the city-wide curfew, which would be
problematic if it kept Taiemkim away.
‘This may be a long shot, but I am trying to find a long lost friend of my wife.
She passed away and I’ve been trying to track him down.’ It was always a difficult
task in asking questions without appearing desperate or suspicious, but a semiplausible cover story usually avoided piquing undue focus.
The barman peered at the photo, bearing Taiemkim’s reproduction, but shook
his head making his ponytail flick across his shoulders. ‘Sorry sir, cannot say that I
have.’ He placed the beverage in front of Tyet and taken the credit stick, inserting it
into the counter to extract the cost from Tyet’s account. ‘I’m sorry about your loss.’
‘Kind of you to say.’ He took a long drink before continuing. ‘It happened a
while ago. In her will she left a few details that needed clearing up, here in Capital. So
I’m trying to go through her old haunts hoping to make a chance connection.’
The barman handed back the credit stick with a polite smile. ‘I take it you tried
a CityNet search?’
‘Yes, but there are too many possibilities and if he married, he would have
changed his name.’ The truth was that the CityNet was heavily monitored by various
government agencies including OIA and Briggs was adamant that if they were
keeping tabs on Taiemkim Chi, they would hunt down all interest in that name. Briggs
had been able to tap into the surveillance video streams in the suburban area of
Capital City surrounding his domicile, but had maintained sufficiently low
interference of the data feed to allow their nocturnal movements to go unnoticed.
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Tyet had studied contemporary customs whilst the search of Taiemkim Chi had
been undertaken through the pro-Imperial movement. Briggs’ unit had been able to
trace Taiemkim to this bar, though whether he would be frequenting it during the
coming week was unknowable at the time, but it had been the only lead they could
find in a hurry without tipping the authorities. The search continued.
The barman nodded then went to serve another customer. The beer was cool,
but not refreshing. Alcohol had little physical effect due to his enhanced metabolism,
but the taste of this local brew was acrid and he didn’t know how it was supposed to
taste so let the complaint pass. Having seen others drink it, it seemed like a safe
choice.
‘Interesting face.’ A silky female voice called out over his shoulder. He had not
returned the photo to his pocket, but had unconsciously peered into the eyes of the
face trying to derive a cosmic connection to the one person he needed to find quickly.
His only lead to Nysen.
Tyet tilted his head, finding his vision filled with an almost, but not quite
majestic face, small nose and full lips. Her hair was short, falling down to just above
her shoulders at the front and cut back up at a sharp angle where the blonde highlights
disappeared into darker roots.
‘Sorry.’ She said with a smile. ‘I did not mean to butt in, only that I’ve seen you
come here during the two previous days and thought it was about time to introduce
myself. I’m Adil. I’ve just moved back into the city. Was hoping to integrate myself
with the socialites, but I think my forwardness puts them off. My friends back home
say I jammer too much, but personally I think they are a little afraid of an intelligent
female with a quick mind and sharp tongue. Not that I think I’m particularly
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intelligent, but friends can be so self-centred. What do you think?’ She broke into a
smile, the sudden rush of talk had not phased her.
‘Stenlon.’ And he stuck out a hand. She gripped it gingerly and let go.
‘Pleased to meet you Stenlon. So who is this person? I’m just curious, I did not
mean to eavesdrop, but you know, in a place like this,’ she waved her hands to
encompass the room, then suddenly paused. ‘I hope I don’t make you feel
uncomfortable.’
‘No. I’m just a little overwhelmed. The city was not what I expected, despite the
vids.’
‘I knew you were not from around here. There’s just that something that gives
you away.’
Tyet tried not to freeze, but just adsorbed the words and let them float through.
He scanned her, but found nothing more introspective than probably a social foul up
he committed without realising.
‘Yes. Just a country boy from a little village in the foothills of the Hin’Os
mountains.’
She slid a hand onto his shoulder and then tapped the photo still lying on the
counter. ‘You know, I think he does look familiar.’
Adil scrunched up her face in thought. ‘Yes. I’m sure I saw him last week. But
you know, with all that goes on in a place like this, it’s hard to concentrate.
Sometimes even the most ardent thought just evaporates when the wrong song comes
on.’
Tyet cut her off. ‘Adil, it’s really important that I find him.’
She dropped her voice to hushed tones. ‘I don’t want you to look, but there are
two guys eyeballing you. I know they were here last night taking an interest.’
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‘Would it help if I said I was not that way inclined?’
‘Hmm, it would be disappointing if you were.’ She allowed a finger to gingerly
trace his chin.
Tyet had kept his body as relaxed as he could, without falling off the chair. He
flicked his eyes to the mirror and then returned his attention to Adil. He asked
questions of her, her background, her interests, bought another drink, but every so
often stole glances in the mirror.
They were professionals. Two males of mismatched build, one tall the other
shorter but rounded, maintained an amiable conversation, but the low level noise from
the increasing numbers of clientele made it difficult for Tyet to tune in. The distance
was too great to pick up any mental setting. They never looked continuously in his
direction, but had made a significant number of glimpses at Tyet compared to the rest
of the bar. He calculated several scenarios and the only one that seemed likely was
one of the barman had advertently, or not, let it slip or ran a search of Taiemkim’s
name. He had given it when asked; it would have been too strange to not. It was
impressive that within a full day of his first arrival at the bar, the OIA had tracked him
down as an individual of interest.
‘It is exciting though, don’t you think? To be the centre of undue attention,
makes one feel almost violated. Are they still looking?’ Adil asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you want to get out of here?’
‘Yes, but I just need to arrange a little parting gift. What is the most intoxicating
drink available?’
‘Try the Magma. I’ll just grab my coat.’
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Tyet called for the barman. ‘I would like to send a round of drinks to the two
guys sitting at the back, third booth left of the door. What have they been drinking?’
‘Er, soda water and lime sir.’
‘Gotcha.’ He said under his breath. Who would come to a bar only to drink
water and then survey him so frequently? Then spoke to the barman. ‘Excellent. I
want them to try a new variety. Soda water, lime and a shot of Magma.’ Tyet
extended his credit stick. ‘Oh and completely anonymous, okay?’
The barman nodded trying to suppress a bemused grin. Tyet allowed his fingers
to drum the bar top as he spoke to Adil. ‘We just need to wait a moment, see if they
take a few sips. Hopefully it’ll throw them off balance. And if they have to report in,
the trace of alcohol on their breaths may not sit well with their superiors.’
Tyet toyed with the option of spiking their drinks with an aggressive toxin, but
that would completely blow Stenlon’s cover, invalidating his sacrifice as an honest,
law abiding Osian citizen. Stenlon’s life must now be invaded by the OIA. They could
trace his history back past the war. The real Stenlon had died, pulled from the rubble
and stripped of his identity. His body incinerated, so that the impostor could lead an
Osian life, until the moment that Tyet required it to end.
Adil caught him with a mischievous grin. ‘You got it all figured out Stenlon.’
‘Not yet, but getting close. So you had abruptly moved away from Capital City
and after four years decide to come back.’
‘I got bored of the slow lane. Wanted to step back into the light. I guess the city
under lockdown wont help. Bad timing, as always. But then again, I never imagined
running into another waif and stray from the country. Perhaps when one door closes
another opens? I’ve not been good in this life, so perhaps I was in my previous one.
Do you believe in karma?’
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Tyet looked shocked. Osia was supposed to have a greater level of decency than
other planets in the Imperium, such an Isser for instance. ‘Kama Sutra is a belief?’ He
asked, wide-eyed.
Adil shrilled with laughter. Tyet turned red. A large section of the crowd looked
at them both. Realisation slowly dawned.
‘No, silly. Karma is an ancient belief of cause and effect. Has life in the country
erased all our history from your memory? Perhaps you sampled too much of that
Magma yourself?’
Tyet saw the interchange between the barman and the two covert operatives in
the booth and made for the door, Adil in hand. He pushed out onto the street, walking
swiftly from the bar. There were still a few hours before curfew.
‘How about we take in a few sites of the city?’ Tyet asked.
‘How about we head back to my place?’ Adil countered.
‘Give me your address id and I’ll be there in half an hour. There’s just a little
thing to take care of.’
Adil handed over a card with a hastily scribbled city code on the reverse. ‘Don’t
keep me waiting’ She said coltishly. She mounted the transporter disc, the field
enveloped her and she disappeared into the night. It was possible that the OIA would
follow her destination, but the trace was about to come to an abrupt stop.
Tyet walked back towards the bar until he heard pounding footsteps echoing
down the deserted street. He stood and placed a smile on his face. The tall and short
males from the bar suddenly broke out of their run, the shorter one panting the taller
one looking slightly flushed. Their attempt at undercover surveillance had just been
blown.
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The tall one had fingered open a warrant card in anticipation. ‘Osian
Intelligence Agency. Your identity card.’ The taller commanded, his face matching
the small 3-dimensional projection hovering just above the card alongside a rotating
OIA symbol.
‘How can I help you officers?’ Tyet asked.
Tyet reached slowly into his jacket to pull out Stenlon’s identity card, as the
shorter agent placed his hand just inside his own jacket. Tyet assumed it was resting
on a gun. The shorter watched Tyet with a fixed stare, daring him to withdraw an
offensive weapon.
‘By just cooperating.’ The taller one said at receiving his card. ‘So what brings
you back from For’Farr to Captial City?’
‘Hin’Os’ Tyet corrected.
‘Ah, yes, Hin’Os.’
Tyet was not fooled, but doubted a little trivia trap would be the only attempt at
this interrogation on the streets. They were on to Strenlon.
‘I am looking for someone.’
‘Who?’
‘A friend of a friend.’
‘You have a name?’ The shorter one interjected this time.
‘Perhaps if you relaxed a little and removed your hand from your sidearm.’ Tyet
rejoined, whilst still focussing on the taller. Somewhat reluctantly the shorter removed
his hand.
‘Taiemkim is all I know. A friend of my late wife.’
‘Interesting. As far as the records show, Strenlon Thralor never married.’ The
taller left the fact hanging in the air.
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‘Perhaps your records need updating.’ Tyet could feel his heart beat a little
quicker.
‘I see. And given that Hin’Os State records also do not show a registered spouse
for Strenlon Thralor, their’s behind the times also?’
Strenlon’s identity was utterly compromised; Briggs would have to bury him
and bring him back to life in another capacity.
‘It’s a distant region.’
‘You are going to have to come with us.’ The taller said resolutely.
‘For how long?’
‘As long as it takes to find out who you are.’ The tone shifted aggressively.
‘This is a mistake.’ Tyet implored. Their sacrifice was needless, but he could
not be captured either. Being incarcerated would invalidate his mission and going
with these agents would not bring him closer to Nysen. They were under orders and
highly unlikely to be connected directly to Nysen.
The shorter one shoved his hand inside his jacket again and pulled out a sleek
silver pistol. Tyet caught his wrist and twisted its direction in line with the taller.
‘You’re going to have to move faster than that!’ Tyet said.
The motion accompanied a crunching sensation as the shorter’s wrist shattered
under Tyet’s applied tension. Shortie screamed. The gun fired twice hitting the taller
in the stomach and neck. He fell having just extended his own sidearm at Tyet.
Shortie had been dragged forward, so Tyet kneed him squarely in the face, jarring the
other’s head violently upwards. Shortie dropped out of Tyet’s grip and slumped to the
floor.
Tyet stripped the agents of their sidearms and warrant cards then the now dead
taller into a waste container. This one was already lost, but the other he could salvage.
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He injected taller with a serum that contained a bacterial strain that would multiply
quickly, digesting its way through the body, rendering it into a pool of amino acids. If
the agent’s clothing was organic, that would dissolve to. Without a blocker contained
in Tyet’s injector storage, the bacteria’s metabolism would accelerate uncontrollably,
exhausting the bacteria’s lifespan with minutes of the flesh being consumed. The
body would still be identifiable from the dental records and if they had tagging chips
inserted in the bones, but Strenlon would have disappeared and the pro-Imperial
movement kept quiet for a little while longer. It felt strange not to administer fluids
without the gauntlet and the sensitivity of the needles would not penetrate deeply, but
against bare flesh it worked just the same.
Tyet could find a modicum of atonement, balancing one regrettable death for
the possible thousands or millions and if the Teachers were correct, billions. Over and
again life and death was meted out, yet only his orders contained the measure of both.
Orders tainted. The same questions percolated his mind, about Jarek, about the
Temple. Members of the Officio Assassinorum were playing politics, but to what
end? It could start out as small differences, how to deal with a rebellious star system,
send an agent. How to deal with a disaffected sector, send four. Inevitably the
differences would grow. Which type of agent to send, how protective of your assets
would you become, what technologies could be acquired to heighten your agent’s
abilities? What came next was troubling. Self-preservation, egotism, divisiveness?
The High Lords directed, the Grandmaster controlled. With the right person in place,
those attributes might go unnoticed. Is that what Jarek is after? Yet, a Grandmaster
who could act no matter what the spirit of the Emperor desired still needed higher
protection. The final states. Defiance and rejection. The Horus Heresy was the prime
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example of the darkness of mankind. Civil war bred by powerful individuals arguing
over the little things.
Did all students, agents, servants and Masters of the Officio Assassinorum
occupy one rung of that ladder? Could Jarek be the ultimate test? Even though he had
graduated, Master Muriko said they were always being watched. Could one death
truly lead to all that? It was impossible to know. Taller was an unknown. Tyet could
kill and leave only a slightly bitter taste on his tongue. How many more it would take
before the taste became unbearable he could not say.
Shortie was spared liquefaction. Tyet selected the neuro-scrambler and injected
it into the prone man. The events over the past few hours would be mixed with longer
term memory and the subconscious and although not seriously affecting his future life,
Shortie would not be able to satisfactorily piece together what happened. His career
would be terminated, but the arrival of the Imperial fleet would have also seen to that
anyway. Tyet placed him against the wall and checked his pulse. Still living.
He changed his face to that of Warner and would change back to Strenlon just
before Adil opened the door. Walking to the transporter, he punched in the address on
the back of the card. Within minutes he was knocking at the door.
‘Come in, what kept you?’ A smiled filled Adil’s face. She pulled his face to her,
devouring him with a longing kiss.
‘Oh, I just had to leave a tip.’
‘Those agents catch up with you?’
‘I wouldn’t worry about them if I were you.’
Tyet followed Adil through the hallway into living area. It was smaller than
Briggs’ place, but packing boxes littered the floor. Pictures were stacked against the
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wall, ready for sorting and hanging. Tall, slender ornaments crowded the single table.
Bubble wrap draped over the sofa.
‘Sorry, still unpacking after four weeks. But I’ve got the bare essentials.’
‘I dare say you have and more.’
She grinned. ‘Just push that onto the floor and take a seat if you want.’
Adil crossed to a dresser, dropping her identity card and earrings into a dish.
Tyet moved in close behind, slipping a hand around her waist to kiss her neck. She
turned into his embrace and slammed a muzzle underneath Tyet’s jaw.
This has got to stop happening to me. He cried inwardly.
‘Who the chikusho are you and what do you want with Taiemkim Chi?’ Adil
demanded.
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◄ 20 ►
The muzzle of the gun, or was it a pistol, felt cool against the skin. She had
buried it tight into the gullet, making swallowing difficult. Adil’s demeanour had
transformed the instant she thrust the gun in his direction. Confidence abounded in the
stern looks, a cold glimmer of resoluteness affixed in her eyes.
‘Perhaps the question should be, who are you?’ Tyet managed.
‘Nice try. I asked first so you get to answer first.’ She gave the gun a little thrust
for good measure.
‘Which part?’
‘Both and fast. I’m feeling a little edgy and would rather not mistakenly blast
your brains all over my new furnishings. Cranial matter is a bugger to clean out of the
upholstery.’ There was a sense of conviction in her words.
Tyet surveyed his options. It was possible that Adil was a plant by the OIA,
though probably would have asked more leading questions about his interest in
Taiemkim Chi. Or maybe she was a crossed lover. Any option still did not help that
he had a gun pointing in the direction of his cortex, with little protection from the
penetration of the round except thin skin, his tongue and nasal cavity.
‘First...’ He grabbed the gun, slipping his finger under hers preventing Adil
from activating the firing switch. Then against her strength, he pulled the firearm
away, twisting until the gun fell free of fingers.
‘Geez. You’re OIA!’ she screamed.
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‘No. Not even close. I’m looking for someone. A friend of mine. This
Taiemkim Chi may be able to help. I think you had better tell me what you know of
him.’
‘No.’ Adil practically cried.
She turned away from him, but her motion was going to overbalance her.
Mistakenly, Tyet moved forward as a foot flicked out catching Tyet across the cheek
with a round house swipe. Coming full circle to face him, she tried a jabbing punch
with one hand and switched to an alternating elbow strike. Each time Tyet deflected
or blocked. He caught one hand and then the next, rotating them to interlock and
keeping her off balance. A little more torque and this time she would fall prone. She
could not break free. He could see the helplessness in her eyes and growing fear in her
mind.
‘Now how about telling me who you are and where I can find Taiemkim?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t know where he is. I’ve been looking for him
myself.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he is responsible for killing someone close to me.’
Tyet let go of her arms as tears formed and she tried to brush them away. In an
instant she looked utterly spent. ‘Go on.’
‘I worked for a company that was, shall we say, not quite above board. When
our jag was up, what was left of our team went separate ways. We kept a low profile.
Only, those OIA assholes came knocking on our doors. My partner was dragged away,
I barely escaped. The company disappeared, cutting us loose. The only person that
could have betrayed Atton was Taiemkim. He was, is, an informant. I didn’t realise
and that scum had served under my command for years. I fled the city, changed my
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name and face and waited long enough till they might not be so eager to find me
before coming back to finish what I swore I would do.’
‘What is it you want?’
‘I don’t know if Atton is still alive. Most likely dead. I want those responsible to
pay.’
‘Trust me, revenge is not the answer. It will not give you the satisfaction you
seek. If your friend Atton is dead, then perhaps Taiemkim will give you closure, but
killing out of passion leads to an irrevocable state of fracture with little chance of
return.’
‘You don’t think I know that. I’ve killed before. I was a Sergeant in the war of
liberation.’
‘But have you murdered?’
She looked stunned. ‘It’s been too long since I last heard about Atton.’ She sat
down exhausted. ‘I lost men under my command, but never lost someone I loved.
Easier to fire at faceless targets, sure, but there needs to be some measure of justice
when it is personal. I need to get to Taiemkim, but why do you? Oh that’s right, your
friend also went missing. You see, he has to be stopped.’
‘Let me decide that.’
‘What are you? A judge, jury and executioner?’
Tyet could not help the grin that leapt to his face, but tried to suppress it
immediately. ‘Something like that.’
‘What will you do with Taiemkim once you find him?’
‘That will depend on the information he provides.’
‘You wont kill him?’
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‘Not if I can help it. It will depend how easily he will volunteer the information
I need.’
‘That’s cold. I don’t think I could take a life so clinically.’
‘There are worse things one can do.’ There were memories locked away, kept as
far from recollection as was possible in the human mind. Fragments of intensity that
would threaten to overthrow any secondary persona and the Temple inquisitors knew
exactly how to play them. For Tyet and many of his fellow students it was to execute
an innocent child. An act so abhorrent, yet to defy the order was tantamount to suicide.
Adil saw an inexorable flow of pain. Tyet allowed it to dissipate. What was
done was done.
‘Chikuso.’ She reached out a placating hand, but Tyet blinked away the memory.
‘I take it you are not going to kill me then?’ She said rhetorically, but Tyet shook his
head nevertheless. ‘You still wont tell me who you truly are?’
‘Adil...’
‘Thetia. My name is Thetia V’estiss. I had to change that and my face so I could
get back here without raising suspicion.’
Tyet scanned her face and her mind. She had morphed into a new identity, as
would a Callidus agent, but without any intention of returning to her natural state. The
effects of polymorphine would not last in his own body and without a regular supply,
Tyet’s actual face and body would be parading round Capital City instead of
Strenlon’s. She made an emotional commitment and he felt a warming curiosity that
someone would willing undertake a permanent change. For love. Not even these
emotions, so spurned by the Callidus and all clades within the Temple, had to result in
such dramatic disasters. The Emperor himself now battled the forces of Chaos in the
immaterium in an act of love for humanity.
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‘Thetia. I take it you have no interest in serving the OIA?’
She shook her head.
‘And neither for the Imperium?’
‘What I did, I did out of duty. We replaced a bad Governor with an equally
inept presiding body. It was good for a while, but ultimately pointless. They had
become what they once feared and tried to root out. I have no love for either, just Osia
of the past. Before the Imperial Guards came.’
‘Then knowing who I am will not help you in any way. I will be gone and you
will never have to see this face again.’
‘Wait! You cannot leave. Curfew has just been forced.’
‘I will find a way.’
‘No it’s fine. There’s room.’
‘You trust me?’
The tears had dried and a relaxed aura bubbled in her consciousness. ‘What
choice do I have? Just crash here. I’ll find you a blanket and a pillow.’
She busied away in the bedroom then brought out extra linen. The evening dress
had been replaced with an oversized T-shirt and shorts. Much less flattering, Tyet
thought, but it rendered her with a softer disposition that he found more alluring in
females. If his training schedule had ever given him enough time to reflect on such
thoughts. Or his instructors were not beating such weak emotional pleasantries out of
him.
She shoved the contents off the sofa, some fell into boxes and others onto the
floor haphazardly. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll clean it away tomorrow. Bathroom is over there,
kitchen.’
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Thetia stifled a yawn with a clenched fist, then ran a hand through her hair. It
sprang quickly back in place, framing deep eyes still alert in surrounding sleepy flesh.
‘Get some rest Adil.’
‘Night.’
Tyet nodded and sat down on the sofa, testing its forgiveness, as Thetia padded
softly across the floor out the living room. The emptiness of the strange room
suddenly became all consuming. When asked by a teacher how an agent should act in
such an environment, he had said at ease. Obviously it had been the wrong answer.
The correct retort was to act however the circumstances demanded. He sat still,
calming the senses, replaying the events of the evening. The death of the OIA agent
brought a sorrowful spillage that he tried to shove back into its holding cell. He dug
deep to trawl out one of his favourable litanies. It had been forged in battle during the
First War for Armageddon; a rune priest held the tide of chaos against impossible
odds and survived long enough to pass on his thoughts to his relief. Generations
passed and Rakneld, however he had found it, had carried it with him from Fenris.
Within fifteen minutes, Thetia’s breathing had slowed and deepened. Sleep. He
waited some more. An hour went by, when he decided to get to work. He imaged the
contents and their locations, then carefully rifled through the belongings strewn across
the living room. He was not sure what he was looking for, but if Thetia knew
Taiemkim, perhaps there would be an item located in her possessions that would be
invaluable. Unless she had been thorough in erasing her past from her new life.
It took three hours before he found a photo. Not of Taiemkim or Atton. But of
Thetia in combat fatigues. It was stuck to another photo, equally as old, buried among
paperwork lost to her past. The photo was slightly faded, folded, but she stood proud
with her original face. It would serve his purpose. Even if her voice had changed, the
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temper, pitch and inflexion would not, which he had recorded. It would not be perfect,
but it may be sufficient. If required. He carefully repacked all that he had sifted
through, using the images is his mnemonics to ensure it would be found as she left it.
Thetia probably would not have noticed.
At daybreak, the curfew lifted. Tyet left Thetia’s apartment without disturbing
her. He changed his face to Warner hoping that when OIA track down Strenlon’s
movements they might only trace him as far as the bar and not to Thetia. Besides she
knew the risks. Tyet wondered whether she would sacrifice her life for love. The
concept was as alien as he found in the belly of Isser City. He tried to place himself in
such a position. Araya replaced Atton. Amorous feelings were injected into the
imagery, but were quickly replaced with bitterness. He would not, could not die for
Araya.
He shifted the image to a dozen different females he knew as close as anyone
could at the Temple, but none could fit. There was quick rejection; the reasons
invaded like white blood cells swamping a foreign body. He allowed Thetia, in Adil’s
form, to pervade. It settled. It felt right. She was a complete unknown and had showed
him more of a human reaction than anyone he had met. Mankind carried a spark
worthy of survival in the universe and not just because he was ordered to. This was
the mission of the Emperor. Kassandra may still haunt his dreams, but he would give
her no quarter.
‘Warner. Where the chikuso have you been?’
‘Hello Briggs.’
‘Tyet?’
Tyet let the mimicry drop. ‘Yes. How could you tell?’
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Briggs shook his head. ‘He would not have been so familiar. You’re a hard man
to find.’
‘That’s the general idea, Sergeant.’ This time he perfected Warner’s voice.
‘We found Taiemkim.’
‘Excellent!’
‘There’s more. We put a covert trail on you. He kept away from the bar, but
kept trace of you and a woman as you left. He had to keep back sufficiently far
enough to avoid being detected, but he knows you were being followed. Two men
were inside the bar. The trace couldn’t follow without being compromised. The
intelligence operatives are definitely on to you.’
‘Yes. We had an unavoidable tête-à-tête. Strenlon’s id has been tainted.’ He
delivered in matter of factly.
Briggs jaw clenched and then he nodded. Tyet suddenly caught sight of very
feint scarring on Briggs’ temple he had not noticed before. Briggs must have removed
service studs. It was not uncommon for the Imperial Guard to adopt traits of the
Adeptus Astartes. The camaraderie ran deep and Tyet had served Strenlon’s death
warrant without a hint of emotion. Thetia was right. He was cold.
‘I’m sorry. It was unavoidable.’ Tyet offered afterwards.
‘Never mind. We’ll deal with Strenlon. The pressing concern is that another cell
has been compromised. We could be looking at a widespread contamination of the
Imperial resistance. Plus Warner is overdue.’
‘I thought you had closed down communications and contact between groups?’
‘We had. The OIA appear to be well informed all of a sudden.’ It contained an
accusation.
‘Get me to Taiemkim and I’ll force the issue.’
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‘I cannot spare anyone. I’ve sent my best men to bring back intel. After that we
will have to move out of the city. We may not be able to run resistance any longer.
We’ll preserve what we can until the fleet get in, but here’s a datacrystal of sensitive
strike targets, military force distribution, off-world defence armaments, anything we
could scrap together. The fleet will benefit from it, if you can upload it in your report
back to Terra.’
‘So you have been trying to follow me!’ Tyet had to backtrack to his capsule
periodically to send reports to the Tai’Rotha and thought he had been careful. The
Imperial Guard under Briggs had talent.
‘We’ll have to adopt a scorched earth policy. There will be no-one left except
me. I will stay until your departure. It just means limited support.’ It was a
tremendous offer when Briggs so reluctantly trusted him.
‘You’ve traced Taiemkim’s address. Is he alone?’
‘Unlikely.’
‘Then I’ll need a dress, something with a long hem.’
Briggs looked as though Tyet had just asked for a clipping of the Emperor’s
fingernails.
Taiemkim lived in a part of the city remote from the centre. The transporter
pads took Tyet within two kilometres, but he had to walk the rest of the way. The
streets were lined with trees, not unlike the ones he had visited a few hours ago to
recover a number of items from the void capsule. He was fortunate to be able to
hitchhike back into the city, though he mused whether the workmen would have given
him a lift had he not have moulded into the female form.
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The houses were neatly recessed, like sparkling jewels against the dark purple
foliage. Immaculately maintained gardens illustrating painstaking care. This was an
affluent part of the city. Taiemkim must have made the right connections to afford
such opulent tastes or this was a controlled operation away from the nerve centre of
the city.
The sun kissed the ground, doubly warming the air. Not quite stifling, but Tyet
was in the wrong garb for a hot day and the form he wore was equally uncomfortable.
He had approximated Thetia’s build and proportions, but adjusting to wider hips and
adopting a different walking style was grating his joints. Plus, he caught himself
trying to counterbalance the extra weight in his chest and avoid backache. The look
would be passable, the voice a perfect reproduction. He had purposefully talked with
Thetia, Adil as it was, during their time at the bar, asking different questions, probing
her past and emotional responses, in order to ascertain her mode of speech. It would
not be needed for a long term operation, just sufficient to meet Taiemkim.
It was a hot day and he was wearing his black skin suit underneath a flowing
dress. The legs and sleeves of the tunic had been rolled up and his collar down, which
still left a stretch of black material exposed, which Tyet covered with a summer scarf.
But it itched and the scarf made him sweat. Had he been in full combat tunic
temperature regulation would not have been a problem, but his purpose would have
been a lot more obvious.
The mnemonics contained a map of the city and details of this area, which
guided Tyet to the path before him. He spent the last hour agonizing as to what he
would find inside the house. His orders were clear. Find Nysen. He wondered if it
were easier for the Vindicare agents to undertake missions. They simply had targets.
Vindicare and Callidus students had argued long and hard about which clade required
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the higher level of technique, style and knowledge required to plan and execute an
order. Each felt the other were justified to claim greater finesse and artistic form
whether it was up close and personal or coordinated from a distance with various
obstacles in between. For every argument made by one side, the counter was equally
as sharp. Ultimately, their specialism was equally valued, hence the continued
survival of both clades. Still, competition raged.
Tyet stood before the marbleized path, casting his eyes upon the house. He
looked at the paper in his hand. It was empty. He folded it with conviction and stuffed
it in his haversack and sauntered to the door. Every part had to be orchestrated as the
original would. Extending Thetia’s hand, the door chimed. The occupants would have
monitored his female figure as it approached and would be searching the database for
a positive match. It was time to see who could outperform the other.
The door slid open to reveal a tall, slender strip of a man. His hair was closely
cropped giving room to a youthful expanse of face. He starred for a brief moment.
‘Is that really you? Thetia?’ Taiemkim spoke with the lightness of being
reunited with a long lost friend, but his eyes betrayed him. They were as cold as steel
in a winter freeze.
Tyet scanned the surface of Taiemkim’s mind finding it difficult to differentiate
between the rapidly converging states of worry, confusion or surprise. ‘Hello
Taiemkim. It has been a long time and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever find
you. You look well.’
‘Er. You too! I cannot believe it. Why... how did you find me?’
‘Are you going to keep your old commander standing on the doorstep?’
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Taiemkim looked as though he was going to decline, then thought better of it.
Instead he smiled and opened the door wider, indicating the invitation. Tyet slipped a
hand inside the haversack as the door slid shut.
‘You know, you’re hair looks a lot lighter than I remember.’
A strange smile grew on Thetia’s face; the photo must have been more faded
than he thought.
‘It suits you.’ Taiemkim continued. He motioned for them to walk into the
reception room.
Tyet stood still, calculating. Polymorphine was pumping through his body,
accelerating the reshaping.
‘Are you ill, Thetia. You look bloody awful.’
‘Just a hormonal storm.’
‘But your hair!’ He cried.
His cortex directed the shape shifting drug away from currently maintained
areas to drive the outer tissue into a new shape. Neurotransmitter signals had been
activated to severe the hair and start growing again with a coarser grade and darker
colour. To Taiemkim, Thetia’s hair starting to fall out and her skin redden beyond
what he perceived to be normal for a person even suffering from long illness. She was
haemorrhaging inside the outer layers of her skin. She grasped at her neck scarf as if
trying to breath. Then tearing at her dress.
It was unfair that no sooner had an old comrade walked through the door that
she started dying on him. He tried to provide assistance.
The dress fell to the floor in shreds. The haversack fell away from Tyet’s arm to
reveal a black claw. It was a ghastly sight to behold. Thetia was no more. It was a
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creature stuck in transition between a woman that Taiemkim knew, with a rapidly
shrinking bosom, and something with a distinct manliness to it.
Taiemkim emitted a strangled scream as Tyet pounced on to him, knocking
Taiemkim backwards, but maintaining a hold on his collar preventing him from
falling.
Utter fear filled Taiemkim’s face and his bladder gave way. Tyet could see he
was trying to form words, but they came garbled whimpers. Getting information out
of him was going to be easy. Trying to make any sense of that information could be
difficult. Every Temple student had to study human and alien psychology. For the
Callidus it was a second language, having to spend so much time wearing other
people’s faces that their actions had to contain the correct emulation of reasoning
form other viewpoints. Taimekim’s psyche was fractured and Tyet knew he could not
afford to push him any further otherwise there would be no chance of dragging him
out of the abyss.
Heavy footfalls sounded behind, as Tyet spun himself round with Taiemkim’s
body as a shield. Two behemoths stomped into from one of the siderooms. Angular
black armour with a layering that bespoke of impenetrability filled the hallway
making the space look impossibly small. Taiemkim’s cries must have summoned
them. Harsh serrated edges and red lit eyes. Tyet froze, almost losing his grip on his
captive. He knew this design. It was impossible. It was identical to the governor’s
bodyguards on Isser. Osia had been held hostage to an impassable ion storm making
all travel hopeless except by sub-light speed which would have taken millennia. And
yet here they stood.
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‘Stand fast.’ A thick choppy metallic voice sounded from one of the suited
figures. It raised its arm, deploying a weapon muzzle directly at Tyet through
Taiemkim.
The value of Taiemkim’s life with these guards suddenly hit bankruptcy. He had
to keep himself and his only link to Nysen alive. Tyet punched Taiemkim in the
kidneys, more in hope of causing sufficient pain to counteract the mental shock, but
also to ensure that Taiemkim lay flat against the floor. He ran at a diagonal towards
the first guard as it trained its arm and fired an automatic weapon. Rounds strafed
through the door and walls as Tyet leapt over the arc of fire. The hang time in the air
was critical, but he figured the distance traversed was small enough to negate his
prone flight. His left leg landed on the chest and then smashed down with his right leg
into the helmet causing the guard to tilt backwards. The helmet stayed affixed. He
locked his gauntlet on the neck and ripped the throat out spraying arterial blood across
the wall. The confined space prevented the second guard from firing until the target
landed on the floor.
He slipped a small fission knife into his hand and slashed the muzzle of the
second guard. A high voltage shock powered through his hands flinging his arms
involuntarily causing him to drop the knife. The electric charge blasted his senses.
The guard charged, crushing him into the wall. It punched just below the sternum
knocking the wind from his lungs, then back handed him across the face. Tyet tripped
over the first guard as the second grabbed his leg and hauled him off the floor.
It looped a lasso of metal over Tyet’s head and instantly tightened. Tyet had
caught part of the wire in his claw trying to pull it away. It sliced into the back of his
neck. Blood dripped down the back of his head to the floor. He prayed to the Emperor
his spinal bone would hold and then shoved his hand forward. The lasso bit deeply
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into his fingers and finally the wire snapped. Tyet struck his gauntlet out at the knee
joint where the overlapping segments looked thinnest. He missed. As the guard
grabbed his other leg, he struck again, this time the needle punched through the
artificial joint and injected its load. Tyet could not tell if it penetrated flesh as he was
spun round like a club and smashed into a wall. He crumpled to the floor.
The guard stomped towards him, then suddenly could not seem to place his leg
back to the ground. Caught in mid stride, the armoured giant fell forward, landing on
Taiemkim’s body. It crashed heavily. Taiemkim howled. Evidently the toxin had
penetrated flesh and killed the guard inside the suit. Tyet shook his head to stop the
ringing in his ears and pulled himself to his feet. He fared far better on Isser in the
open space of the sacrificial chamber that afforded greater movement. In a confined
space there was little scope for acrobatics. Only the thuggery of trading blow for blow.
His ribs, back and neck concurred. It had been a close affair.
Pocketing the fission knife he dragged Taiemkim from underneath the guard.
He was still alive, but his legs were crushed. Tyet propped him against the wall.
Drawing his own breath deeply, he struck Taiemkim across the face with an open
palm. He saw that the loud slap had focussed the other man’s eyes. He loaded a shot
of adrenalin into Taiemkim’s neck, then checked his body, removing a stubby pistol.
‘Try not to wonder off.’ Tyet said wryly.
Tyet checked the rest of the abode. Room by room, he carefully crept. An anti
room revealed a bank of monitors. Surveillance equipment that fed images from
outside the property on a number of angles. Two mugs were still steaming with coffee
and unless the guards had a drinking straw into their suits, it was likely another person
had been present, but scarpered during the fight. The back door was open and no
doubt reinforcements would be on their way.
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Satisfied that no-one else was hidden, Tyet walked back into the corridor.
Taiemkim had been calling out for help.
‘Now Taiemkim Chi, down to business.’
Taiemkim’s body writhed with spasmodic pain. The stimulant he had received
had knocked his senses fully awake and the sight of his crushed legs amplified the
signals sent by his pain sensors of the damaged skin and muscle around the area.
‘What, what do you want? I’ll give you anything you want, okay? Just get me a
doctor!’ He pleaded.
‘I need to know what happened to a friend of mine. You will have known him
as Hinlor Nalat.’ Tyet said as he hauled the dead guards out of the way.
‘I don’t know any Hinlor Nalat.’
‘Sure you don’t. But put it this way, you either stop lying to me or I will
amplify the pain you are currently experiencing.’ Tyet said dragging the last body
away.
Taiemkim swore. ‘I don’t know who you mean.’
‘I tied to warn you.’ Tyet grabbed hold of the fracture site and gave a twist.
Taiemkim found new heights to his vocal range. ‘I have great tolerance for the
screaming of others and you want to test my patience! Now where is Hinlor Nalat?’
A smash sounded at the front door then gave a groan. With a sickening crack,
two hands punched through and wrenched the moulded plastic apart. Missing sections
were filled with a figure adorned in black armour, which burst through into the
hallway.
‘I think I can help with that, you Callidus pissant.’ The voice was horrifyingly
familiar.
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It loomed into the hallway as Tyet back further into the house; Taiemkim’s face
increased with abject horror. The intruder was a head shorter than that of the Osian
guards, yet powerfully built. It wore a bleached bone skull as a death mask with a
fixed maniacal grin that betrayed the seriousness of the eyes. Death exuded from all
its joints, underlined by the arsenal of weapons about its body. Taiemkim tried to pull
himself away. This thing had been waiting outside for the right moment. The holes in
the door must have allowed sound to drift out into the front garden.
He smiled at Tyet.
Lyetan on Osia!
The face of Tziz Jarek leapt instantly to the front of Tyet’s mind. It had to be
simple retribution for his disobedience.
‘Nysen died squealing at my hands and another Callidus stain is about to suffer
the same fate. You are both so damned annoying with your little party trick. Had to
torture a lot of the resistance before I found you both. Had to use my complete
repertoire with those last ones too. Warner and Biggs was it? They were tough nuts to
crack.’ Lyetan laughed as he drew and activated a force sword then smacked it into
the top of Taiemkim’s head, the body writhed for a second then stilled. ‘He’s going to
be pleased we finally rooted out two more weeds from the Temple.’
‘Who do you mean?’ Tyet said, but Lyetan was not listening.
Instead he had peered down into Taiemkim’s eyes. His body had been held rigid
by the massive and instantaneous trauma of the force sword. ‘We’ve got to make it a
safer galaxy. Cannot allow weakness within the Temple. Must unite the strongest
against our enemies.’
Lyetan started to speak the same words again like reciting a litany as he wiped
the blood from Taiemkim’s forehead. Tyet had begun to back down towards the rear
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of the property, keeping the Eversor in sight. There was barely enough room to cope
with two OIA guards in the hallway, let alone this new threat. He had to find open
space. And a gun. A bigger chikuso gun.
Lyetan charged. Tyet stood and raised the pistol. The Eversor covered the
distance in an instance, Tyet pulled the trigger till it went dry. Two rounds missed and
the others were adsorbed into Lyetan. Without slowing they clashed together.
Lyetan’s greater momentum causing the pair to fly backwards, through an internal
door, which slid open, but not quickly enough. It cracked Tyet across the back of his
head as they landed. Lyetan swung down with the force blade, the lightening blue
sheath sizzled in the air. Tyet stuck the short fission blade in the Eversor’s eye. The
pain sufficient to drop the force blade, deactivating the weapon.
Lyetan tried to grab the blade to wrench it out of his eye socket, as Tyet looped
his leg round Lyetan’s neck pulling him backwards gaining room to get to his feet. He
grabbed the force blade as Lyetan threw the knife away with a bestial roar, then
launched himself with blistering speed a flurry of attacks. Lyetan’s first punch
knocked the blade out of his hand. The next four Tyet blocked, until he over-extended
a counter strike and Lyetan landed a punch into his ribs, breaking two, then headbutted him breaking his nose. Pain exploded his senses, knocking his cortex into
inactive suspension. Up was down. Left was right. Not knowing which way to fall, he
was grabbed and thrown through the reinforced windows into the garden.
Tyet skidded across the turf unable to brace his fall. Glass lacerated his skin.
The temporary suspension of movement allowed his cortex to regain animation.
Stimulants began pumping through his body. Coagulants poured into open wounds
trying to stem the tide. A neural enhancer kicked into life, accelerating transmission
across his entire neural net. He jumped to his feet.
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Lyetan ran full pace. Tyet returned favour. The Eversor was shorter, stockier
and lower to the ground. It was an unstoppable juggernaut. The grinning face loomed
closer. A single eye screamed murder.
Tyet waited till the last possible moment to slide feet first keeping his body
tucked tight into a ball, catching Lyetan’s footfall tripping into a tumble through the
air. The gauntlet struck into Lyetan’s body, racking bloody tears down the torso. He
knew the Eversor’s blood contained a nightmarish cocktail of drugs that his own
toxins would not have an effect. In fact, it would probably serve to enhance the
agitations of the killer.
As Lyetan passed, Tyet bent a knee and shifted his balance allowing him to
move back to his feet in a fluid motion. The Eversor was much less agile, landing
heavily, scrabbling like a beetle lying prostrate on its back. Tyet ran back through the
broken glass strewn across the patio and into the house, scooping up the force blade.
He could hear screaming threats hurled at him with utter hatred. For Lyetan it was
personal.
Tyet could take this onto the streets, but without a heavy weapon there was little
to stop the Eversor. His body was saturated in agony, every movement brought a
grimace. Only one chance at surprise could tilt the tide. There was little time as he
dove into a bedroom, slapping the control panel for the door to lock shut. He ripped a
stretch of cloth from his combat tunic and mopped the largest flow of blood that his
body could not yet stop. He would have to compress the area allowing the coagulants
to bind to the material placed across the wound. Not exactly sterile.
Lyetan howled with rage. This should have been easier. His eye ripped apart by
the impudence of a weakling, but even a timid creature could become feral when
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backed into a corner. He spat in disgust, though his eye would be a simple
replacement. Once Tyet was killed he could return to the sanctuary of his drop
capsule. It wasn’t a place of rest, but a moment away from the agony of the burning.
Always the chemicals kept his body aflame. Orders. Duty. Death. He was not allowed
to die so relief could only be sought with dispatching others. Images. Targets were
imprinted on his mnemonics.
The gouge down his torso was not deep. That little monkey could dance, but he
would ensure this was Tyet’s last turn across the floor. He screamed at the Callidus.
He heard distant sirens being drowned from all that was within crying its fury of the
blood rage.
Lyetan ran back into the house, smashing his way through doors into rooms.
They were mostly sparsely decorated, affording the Callidus no place to hide. Only a
small bedroom contained a wardrobe, a bed and a table all tastefully hewn from the
same coloured timber. Clothes and computer monitoring equipment were scattered
across the surfaces. The bed had been pushed against the door blocking the entrance.
He scanned the wardrobe. There was a smudge of blood by the handle and a tiny
fragment of black cloth trapped between the door and the frame. He knew the
Callidus excelled in subterfuge and was trying to divert his attention. A normal person
would have shot the wardrobe, flung open the door and then be struck from... under
the bed! A swipe across the heels would immobilise the target, then follow in with a
coup-de-grace.
This was an easy hunt. Even in his damaged state and without his arsenal Tyet
had been no match. He kicked the bed away from the door. It slid back a few feet into
the wardrobe pinning the hinged doors shut. From the doorway he jumped onto the
bed, his dense frame shattered its legs as the platform collapsed. He grabbed hold of
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the wardrobe to throw it to the floor face down and rip it apart from the reverse side.
Something blue flashed through his chest. Screams escaped his lips. He scrabbled at
the blade, trying to push it back, but severed his fingers. He turned to find Tyet not
with a look of triumph, but relief.
‘I knew you were weak.’ The words dribbled from his mouth as he slumped to
the floor.
Tyet had set the trap. The obvious gambits were easily seen. Even a drug-crazed
Eversor would probably see past the first trick and look for a second. It was a gamble
whether Lyetan would look for a third. Indirect attacks were not the Eversor’s style.
Once fixed on a target it was difficult to dissuade them and more often than not,
innocents were caught up in their rage. Reasoning was possible, though in most cases
pointless. There was enough hardwiring to keep the Eversor loyal to the Emperor.
That was all.
After affixing the wardrobe with its new decorations and kicking the bed to the
door, he jumped above the doorway smashing his gauntlet through the ceiling for
purchase. He lay as flat as his body would allow, looking down at the room and the
broken plaster on the bedcovers that screamed to an observer to look up.
Lyetan had ripped the door outwards, then kicked the bed the short distance
across the room. The Eversor had launched himself in the air, carrying him into the
room to land on the bed. So much for the second trick. Tyet committed himself,
pushing away from the wall with as much power as his legs could generate and at the
last moment activated the force sword. Timing was perfect as the blade drove deep
into the Lyetan’s body. Tyet wrapped his arm around the neck, the claw penetrating
into metal and flesh gaining stability in the landing. Lyetan mumbled words as Tyet
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cut a ‘J’ pattern that split apart internal organs, but leaving the secondary heart to
continue pumping. In the rush of the moment not checking to see how careful the
operation was conducted, he withdrew the blade roughly and decapitated Lyetan. The
Eversor fell into a heap.
Time was almost up. Tyet heard the wailing of the Osian emergency response
units as he ran back into the house from the garden, but if he had to guess he would
have said the OIA and the army would have been called in to this address, whether by
Taiemkim’s associates or Lyetan’s actions. His body had already begun pumping
polymorphine, but there was another pressing matter.
Manipulating the force blade as carefully as he could, he sliced off a section of
Lyetan’s cranium and dug his fingers into the gore, plucking out a crystalline cortex.
Then ran with all his might. As soon as his foot touched the patio in the rear garden,
the house exploded.
The Eversor failsafe had counted down and once the secondary heart stopped,
the body detonated. Walls were blasted through windows. Mortar spilt apart allowing
glass, wood, plastic and metal to escape in the inferno. Fire raged in an instant as the
roof was lifted upwards, shattering into a million pieces, and descended back down
out of sequence. The house generators overloaded and in turn exploded, adding to the
conflagration. Burning debris rained down on Tyet as the sky darkened in the
billowing smoke. He swallowed the cortex crystal, ignoring the sticky fluid coating it,
and tried to scrabble to his feet. His legs gave way. He rolled onto his back and stared
upwards sucking in breath deeply.
Overhead, the high pitched whining of hover engines of armoured security
flyers roared into presence, generating swirling eddies in the smoke. Rows of guards
in black armour smashed through fences. Commands were barked to the occupants of
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this once tranquil house, others to the neighbours. Security units were ordered to
converge on the figure lying in the deep green grass. An officer shouted at Tyet to lay
still. Tyet had given up his intent on moving, focussing instead on other thoughts.
The years in the Temple had never resolved the enmity between himself and
Lyetan, which had heightened as their abilities had developed. It still did not fit as to
why Nysen warranted death. At the manner in which Nysen died and his own nearassassination at the hands of Lyetan, Tyet became enraged. Even above the pain he
felt the chronic bitter taste of venom. Lyetan had crossed the line, but could only be
present on Osia if under orders and bespoke of senior official involvement within the
Temple. An order to eliminate a non-renegade assassin was in itself a treasonous act.
Not even the High Council’s mandate could sanction such a command. If Master
Jarek had ordered the death of students within the Temple it was his own head if he
was found out. That he could have eliminated those within his own Clade using an
Eversor for the strike had the potential to precipitate civil war. Unless Master Nal’Ban
had approved, making him as guilty as Jarek. His mind filled with useless attempts to
discern what hold Jarek had over Nal’Ban. In the final consideration, it could only
point towards the possibility of a coup within the Temple aiming for the
Grandmaster’s seat, yet it just did not fit with the assassination of a student and a justgraduated agent on a planet far from Terra. Several pieces to the puzzle were missing.
The OIA guards closed in on Tyet. His thoughts shifted to the identical armour
being worn on Osia as it had on Isser. It was impossible.
All weapons were trained on Tyet.
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◄ 21 ►
The descent through low clouds into darkened skies made for an uninspiring reentry. For half an hour, the tiny craft was caught in the violent cascade of water,
buffeted by strong crosswinds, till landing clearance had been granted. The rain
lashed down on the landing platform, creating a haze above the markings. The
engines fired to adjust the pitch of the Tai’Rotha briefly vaporising the puddles into
steam rendering the reinforced tarmac dry for a split moment as the exhaust kept the
surrounding surface water at bay. The stabilisers powdered down with a whine and
the anti-gravity field switched off transferring the full weight of the ship onto the
suspension pods with a heavy groan. The landing bay distended and lowered its
platform as four uniformed and fully armed agents enclosed the foot of the ramp. One
surveyed the inner belly of the ship as the others formed a perimeter.
Tyet clambered down the ramp, stopping in front of the lead guard who
presented him with a pad. Tyet placed his hand on the scanner, which analysed his
bio-implants for recognition and entered his return into the Temple’s computer to be
archived by the scribes at a later stage.
‘Tyet?’ The lead guard shouted through the rain. Two of the faces were familiar.
One he knew as Laran, leader of this troop, from his classes on the history of the
assassinorum. She was a legend for her work on a number of missions, some of which
they covered in the classroom and others were only hinted at in the communal areas.
The prominence of such a person was not lost on Tyet, though the rain washed away
much of the awe. Her voice matched his records; Tyet nodded, though the bioscanner
would already have confirmed his identity.
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‘We are to escort you to a meeting.’ She continued.
She was tall with long black hair tightly braided into a single ponytail allowing
her hawkish angles and stern face to emphasise her words. It was evident that the four
rain-soaked guard escort, guns in hand, C’Tan phase-swords sheathed but ready,
grenades pinned to their tunics, would brook no dissention.
The other recognisable face was Araya. Fate had conspired to worsen the
manner of his arrival. She gave no indication of recognition, focussing on her orders
from Laran and watching the servitors move through her assigned surveillance sector.
With a bolter in hand and the tight fabric clinging to her curves, she looked
formidable. Tyet suppressed the aching memories after finding himself stare a fraction
too long.
‘Under whose orders?’ He barked over the downpour at Laran. Servitors and
service engineers had moved in around the Tai’Rotha adding to the cacophony.
‘We are not at liberty to disclose.’
‘And if I refuse?
She didn’t bother responding, just cocked an eyebrow daring him to try.
‘Point taken.’ He muttered to himself. It left him with a sinking feeling. Thirty
minutes in a holding pattern was unusual. The Tai’Rotha would have been registered
entering the Terran system around Saturn and its codes piped through to the Temple.
Its arrival would have been coordinated with navigator Diban, but even he could not
explain the delayed touchdown. The dark clouds had afforded no visibility of the
ground or air transport beyond the Temple. Terra was a dark and damp mistress, as
cold as Araya’s rebuff.
Resignedly, he slung his haversack across his shoulder and followed the guard.
They walked through familiar corridors towards the Calldius sector, agents had been
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posted in doublets, fully armed, automatic weapons in hand. Then they turned down
less trodden paths. Tyet tried to recall the last time he had been this way, tracing it
back to his first arrival at the Temple.
Typically, the guards said nothing, instead devoting their energies into
concentration of vigilance. A scribe and a servitor passed them, keeping their bodies
pressed against the wall till the retinue had gone by. They only halted after one
particular interchange. The lead guard held her fist upright, bringing the group to a
sudden stop. Tyet had scanned the hallway, but saw nothing. Nonetheless, the guard
indicated falling back to the crossway and taking an alternative path.
Tyet’s mnemonics suddenly loaded in battle strategies, survival tactics and
raised his endorphine level higher than when he first met his Callidus escort. This
group was not lost; they were too professional. They were protecting him from danger
that lurked out of sight.
Steadily they made their way, now undeviated from a path that took them into
the Temple’s administration centre. Shadow Legion warriors had been placed at
various approaches between the clades. The Callidus group did not slow and the
guards did not interfere with their journey. They had been expected.
At last they entered through a series of doors, vast and clad in wood betraying
their hidden strength. Though Tyet could see electromagnetic plumes in the walls,
which no doubt held an arsenal of devastation within, and behemoth sentinels
protecting this stretch of corridor. Taller than an Eversor, more powerfully built and
equally as menacing. This was the Grandmaster’s retinue. With each Grandmaster to
take the highest seat of the Officio Assassinorum, a select number of drones were
animated with the Grandmaster’ DNA sequence encoded into their augmented senses.
It made them utterly loyal to the Grandmaster and no other. They were loaded into a
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variant of terminator armour without even proving themselves worthy of the honour
as was the custom with the Astartes marines.
The quartet stopped. The lead guard ushered Tyet forward. ‘You’re on your
own from this point.’
Tyet conveyed his appreciation for the escort and continued onwards. Scribes
were carefully tucked away in open anterooms dotted along the corridor, paying
attention to nothing other than the scrolls and parchments before them. Only the
Grandmaster’s personal guard kept Tyet in their midst. He arrived at the end of the
walkway with no other place to turn. Two sentinels stood directly in front of the door
to the Grandmaster’s office. As Tyet approached, one palmed for the door to open and
stepped aside that the visitor may enter.
The room was a modest size, resplendent with rich wood panelling and deeper
red leather upholstery. An artificial window stretched across the far wall, adjusting
itself to the taste of the occupant. This was Tyet’s first visit to the Grandmaster’s
office and he had not really given thought to what he might find here, but still found
himself surprised that the Grandmaster orchestrated the power and might of the
assassins’ temple from a modest desk and chair.
Grandmaster Kintas broke off his conversation as Tyet entered his abode. He
possessed a non-descript face, ideally suited for espionage as part of the Callidus
clade. Grandmaster’s often never revealed their upbringing to avoid due bias, though
it was often obvious from their actions. The simple clean cut black uniform with a
white sleeveless jacket was evidently tailor-made from the finest material in the
Imperium, giving him a just deserved sense of importance.
Two other figures were also seated at the table. He nodded at Teacher Muriko
and Inquisitor Cireez.
338
‘Tyet. Welcome. Please be seated.’ The soften voice of Grandmaster Kintas put
him instantly at ease. Tyet made the sign of the Aquilla and took the proffered chair.
‘Before we begin I want you to know that whilst you have many questions and
we will do our best to answer some of them, but there are larger issues at stake. We
need straightforward answers from you. No embellishments. No stories. And this
meeting never took place. What you hear must stay in here. I think your recent
mission will ensure your silence.’
Confidence flowed from Kintas. Tyet looked at Cireez; his uniform was stark
contrast against the designs of the assassins. ‘And the Inquisitor is here to ensure I
give honest answers?’
Cireez looked non-plussed, just casually flicked his eyes to the Grandmaster.
‘Inquisitor Cireez is here at my invitation. These are but two of my closest
confidants. My eyes and ears behind closed doors. They are perceptive to the
whispers in the corridors and are excellently placed, as are others, to assist me. If you
would, please start at the beginning.’
Tyet was unsure where to start or how much to divulge. Whether he should raise
his suspicions over Master Jarek. He decided on playing coolly to see where this
gathering was aimed.
He talked about the landing on Osia, the underground resistance and their
qualms. He moved onto the integration of new identities and the attempt to track
down Taiemkim. His meeting with Adil and the OIA agents. He tried to keep the
details free of emotion, but every so often, one of the group would interrupt, asking
for clarification or his personal thoughts of the situation. Tyet still felt reservation in
talking about Nysen as a sub-par student and kept such meanderings to himself.
339
Cireez asked as to why he did not kill both OIA agents that had followed him
from the bar. Tyet’s initial reaction was to divert from the reasons, but knew the
Inquisitor would easily detect the avoidance. A cold sweat started to form in the
palms of his hands. The Grandmaster could turn him over to Cireez for the weakness
displayed. As he laid out his misgivings over killing for the sake of killing, their
response was not condemnatory. Tyet sensed their familiarity with his words, as
though it was commonplace. He felt relieved.
Refreshment was brought in by a servitor and whilst the others affixed
themselves drinks, Tyet’s beverage went untouched as he continued. Adil turned out
to be Thetia. The finding of Taiemkim and the OIA guards. He spoke of his
recognition of the design matching those on Isser. Muriko raised her eyebrows, but
Kintas nodded.
‘It is as I thought.’ The Grandmaster said solemnly. ‘Osia has become a supply
of extramartian weaponry and armament. Their technology has advanced considerably
behind the ion storm. I cannot believe they managed this after the Imperium purged
their planet and resources and yet the evidence speaks for itself.’
Tyet’s mouth was ajar. He came prepare to deliver shocking news to the
Grandmaster himself and found he already knew.
‘It appears the Osians have succeeded where the Tech Preists have not. Warp
drive is not the only way to get technology onto distant worlds from behind an ion
storm. Worm holes. It is the only logical explanation. Oh, I’m sure the Osians would
not be so open-handed about it. They had to maintain a low profile to avoid raising
interest in their activity and inviting a swifter Imperial response.’
340
Tyet looked at Kintas incredulously. That was a lot of guess work and he voiced
his opinion, though choosing a careful and diplomatic tone. It was echoed by Cireez
and Muriko.
‘You must understand, Tyet, that your two encounters with these suit designs
were not the first and your mission to Osia was not entirely forthright. Whilst there
are many in the Temple’s administration, filing reports, issuing assignments,
organising training schedules, ensuring enough food is provided, I do keep abreast of
what is happening in the galaxy. The details of the suits you encountered on Isser
matched those observed by two agents on assignment elsewhere. It was not
coincidence. There had to be a common cause. I had to be careful in my approach to
the investigation, but there were particular intricacies about the design that led to three
possible sources of manufacture. I ordered three agents to investigate, though their
mission briefing would state otherwise.
‘Nysen’s reports indicated new technology manufacture, but I needed more
evidence. His orders were duly updated to infiltrate the intelligence groups where this
machinery was likely being developed, but his reports stopped and then his craft
returned. Empty. His disappearance could have been an accident or by Osian design. I
had to know.’
Tyet froze. ‘You ordered me there.’ He said dumbly.
‘Yes.’ Kintas delivered it deadpan.
Muriko spoke. ‘Service to the Temple and the Emperor is for life and you will
finally pay with your life, Tyet. As will we all.’ Essentially she headed off any retort
about fairness, making him feel immature.
Tyet was about to launch in with that being incorrect and what he meant was he
expressed surprise at the Grandmaster himself being involved, but the words did not
341
seem right. Tyet resumed the telling of the mission. ‘I did not find Nysen, but I did
trace a link to one Taimekim Chi who was one of the last known contacts.’
Inquisitor Cireez spoke up. ‘You never saw Nysen’s body. How reliable is the
information you extracted from this individual?’
Tyet shook his head and delivered the reply slowly. ‘There was no chance to
interrogate Taiemkim about Nysen.’
‘Then how did you...’
‘As soon as I had the opportunity, Lyetan attacked.’
Muriko gasped, not believing what she heard. ‘Eversor Lyetan?’
‘The same.’
‘What by the Emperor’s name was an Eversor doing on Osia?’ Muriko
demanded.
‘He said that “He’s going to be pleased we finally rooted out two more weeds
from the Temple”.’ Tyet matched Lyetan’s voice perfectly.
Kintas stroked his chin in thought, until the other three were staring blankly at
him for an answer. ‘As far as I know, this is unprecedented.’
‘Unprecedented! This is war!’ Muriko cried.
Kintas drove on as though she had said nothing. ‘Eversors possessing a full
agent status are the most physically dangerous assets we have. They are purposefully
kept from other members of the Imperium, because they cannot control their
tendencies. If his words had not betrayed insidious design I would have said this was
an unfortunate mix up.’
Muriko swore at the lack of commitment from the Grandmaster. Despite their
years of comradeship, the Grandmaster’s diplomacy was a poor substitute for action.
‘I believe he meant Master Jarek.’ Tyet rejoined.
342
The room was silent. Tyet caught the Grandmaster looking towards Teacher
Muriko. By the time Tyet flicked his head back, Muriko was looking elsewhere. He
related the events in the lead up to his challenge of the Eversor clade, the drug that
Jarek had supplied and Jarek’s desire to strengthen clade Callidus.
‘This is a very serious accusation. Are you sure you want to level this at Master
Jarek?’ Muriko queried.
‘It is not an accusation it is truthful. Why would you doubt me?’
‘It is not doubt. It is whether you can substantiate the events against the new
head of the Callidus clade.’
‘Wait a moment. Did you say “new head”? What happened?’
Kintas spoke. ‘Master Aisa died in a transporter accident ten days ago. Though
it was never satisfactorily explained. I knew Master Jarek had aspirations and offered
him temporary headship in order to put him off balance. But this...’ he trailed off and
for the first time Tyet saw a trace of vulnerability in the Grand Master.
‘I may no longer have the vial Master Jarek gave me, Grandmaster, but I have
evidence. If you’ll permit me.’
The Grandmaster nodded. Tyet turned aside and began to retch, coughing
mucus violently into his hands. He picked out the crystal, wiping it on his tunic and
then holding it aloft triumphantly.
Three severe faces stared at Tyet. ‘I apologise about the manner in which I
brought this to you. I removed this from Lyetan’s cranium before his body detonated.
It is his cortex implant.’
‘You killed him. A fellow agent?’ Cireez practically shouted; it was the one
moment in Tyet’s experience where he sensed the Inquisitor had lost control.
343
Tyet looked into Cireez’s eyes and without an emotional retort, simply replied,
‘Yes.’
The moment had passed. Cireez had caught himself. ‘Allow me Grandmaster.’
He extended his hand to Tyet, but Tyet refused to hand over his one piece of evidence
to the individual associated with his suffering over many years until Kintas nodded
for Tyet to do so.
‘You have a reader here?’ Cireez jumped up, fetching a device from a cupboard
and placing it on the desk. He removed the crystal from Tyet’s hands and loaded it
into the device. After hitting a few different buttons, he said. ‘Nothing.’
‘It was unlikely. The Eversor have a protein encoded engram within the
crystalline matrix. It would have begun to decay as soon as brain function ceased.
However, this puts you in a very delicate situation, Tyet.’ Kintas said.
Muriko spoke defensively. ‘Grandmaster, this is hardly his fault. You know I
have been...’
Kintas raised a placating hand. ‘That may be, but a Callidus agent has admitted
to killing an Eversor agent. No matter which way the story is spun, a death has
occurred and Tyet cannot avoid the consequences!’
‘What about Lyetan’s records?’
Muriko shook her head. ‘We both know it is unlikely that the mission
assignment logs will show Lyetan to be dispatched to Osia. There will be... an
accounting error somewhere between our administration and the central
Administratum. Lyetan’s handler would not leave their traces.’
‘What about my cortex? That will verify my story. You can download it.’ Tyet
chimed in desperately.
344
‘They will argue that you were under great stress, capable of transferring your
creative thoughts into the cortex. There have been precedents with Callidus agents.
Rare, but it does occur under huge emotional upheaval.’ Kintas warned.
‘Even your records show it has happened before. We know about Kassandera,
for example.’ The Inquisitor looked knowingly at Tyet.
‘What?’ Tyet felt sucker-punched. His innards had been violently wrenched
from his body and displayed for all to see. ‘And you let me continue within the
Temple?’
‘You would be surprised at what the human psyche has hidden away. It is
whether is represents a potential danger or not. When it does, you will be removed.
There is no taint of chaos in you. We tested you many times and more thoroughly
since you return from Isser. You have faced chaos and survived.’ The threat hung
dangerously in the air. There was no getting away from these people. Once a student
entered through the doors, they had resigned all forms of self-governorship.
‘So that leaves me where exactly? I survive a premeditated onslaught only to be
thrown before the very wolves who wanted me dead!’ Tyet was infuriated.
‘There are always designs for power and to occupy this seat requires great
sacrifice of others. I cannot draw this Temple into civil war, despite your reservations
Teacher Muriko. The Grandmasters have always defended their seat by balance rather
than open aggression.’ Kintas drew a deep breath and looked very solemn. ‘There is
no alternative, Tyet. To save the Temple you must be assigned renegade status. To
keep you listed as an active agent can only precipitate civil war. Your name will be
stripped from the archives. Your memory carried by those who knew you will be
soured. You will have to flee from every Imperial soldier and stronghold.’
345
Tyet’s head swam. He turned to Muriko. ‘And this is the moment of service to
the Emperor and the Temple where I pay with my life?’ Bile rose in his throat.
‘Grandmaster, I must protest! You said yourself that someone is orchestrating
agents of this Temple without your knowledge. A lost planet with formidable
engineering capability is supplying Imperial worlds in order to destabilise them... You
cannot expect Tyet to take the fall for the machinations of others.’ Muriko cried.
‘You have an alternative, Teacher Muriko?’
‘Yes! If Jarek is the instigator then let me undertake the hit. I’ll be as clean or as
bloody as you want me to be, but you can be assured no-one will ever trace it back to
you.’ See practically seethed the words.
Cireez vocalised his ire against the unjust musings of Muriko. Kintas shook his
head as if trying to reorganise the thoughts by mixing them slowly.
‘Too risky at this time. If Jarek is responsible, then keeping him as the Head of
Callidus means we see a clear path to any oncoming danger when he makes his move.
I will deal with him at the appropriate moment.’
Tyet snorted ‘Then I have lost all.’
‘Tyet. Every agent sacrifices themselves for the Emperor. It is your reason for
existence. I believe you know what damage will happen should the assassins turn on
each other. Without evidence I cannot unite the other clades and there will be no
support from the Table of the High Lords. Temple Callidus would initially stand alone
and the volatility of the Eversors will drag in the others for or against. It would tear
the Temple apart and engulf Terra. The Golden Throne cannot be put in such danger.
It would destroy the Imperium. One person weighed against several trillion. What
would you do?’
346
Tyet tried to lift his eyes from the floor. ‘I have no problem serving the Emperor
with my life. But service is an active thing. I would rather not serve the Emperor from
the grave.’
‘Tyet. Look at me! There is still a chance to overturn this travesty, gain
evidence and clear your name. I would not entrust someone who was about to sever
ties to the Imperium unless I was sure of their character. With your help we may yet
flush out the traitors, but you will have to move quickly. Only a few select people
know you have returned, but it will not be kept quiet for long and we have to get you
off Terra. Only then can I declare you traitor away from immediate retribution,
allowing the continued survival of the Temple. I believe there is an appropriate cover
story to divert the most prying of eyes. I want you to take the Tai’Rotha.’
‘Where to, sir?’
‘Back to Osia. You can find those orders of Lyetan.’
‘But his body is charred remains, scattered over a significant area.’
‘Of course you wouldn’t find orders on his body, Tyet, but in his drop capsule.’
It was an immediate revelation that he had completely missed. Like finding
oneself stumbling down a street only to realise much later that there had been a
conspicuous rock underfoot that the mind had completely erased. With the correct
scan frequencies and Imperial decoder, the drop pod would be accessible. For Eversor
operations the agents were deposited onto worlds at sites away from local interest.
There was every chance that the drop pod would be untouched.
‘Obtain these orders and get back to Terra. If you return without them you will
be executed as a traitor. A measure of a person is in their actions and I believe you are
a man of great integrity. The future of the Temple rests on your shoulders, Tyet. You
347
have helped uncover the taint within this hallowed building and together we can purge
the enemy within.’
‘And if I fail?’
‘Then you will hunted for the rest of your life.’ It was delivered matter of factly,
but to Tyet his heart had been ripped out. ‘Will you accept?’
Tyet suppressed his anger, rising to his feet he looked at the Grandmaster
squarely in the eye. His ire threatened to boil out of his eyes, consuming those around
him.
‘I guess I’ll be missing the Echinn tournament then!’ He raised his hand,
making the sign of the Aquilla and kneeled for the oath of mission.
At its conclusion the Kintas said ‘You will need to make haste. The High Lords
of Terra have sanctioned the fleet to recapture Osia and you do not want to be there
when the Imperial Guard arrive.’
Once the invocation was completed he stood and turned to the door.
Teacher Muriko made to talk to Tyet, but held off with a moment of indecision.
Concluding her thoughts she called out. ‘Just one moment Tyet. How did you manage
to get pass the Osian guards and their security hover ships after Taiemkim’s house
was obliterated by the Eversor’s failsafe?’
Tyet looked at her softened face, peering into the eyes of a friend. ‘Oh. A little
of this and a little of that.’ Muriko raised an eyebrow quizzically, but Tyet continued.
‘You don’t expect me to divulge all my skills? How else am I to become a legendary
agent of this Temple?’
He stepped through the door and the called back over his shoulder. ‘Other than
being a traitor without having done anything wrong that is!’
348
On a marble promenade, the sun beat through swaying trees, making their
shadows dance in the footfalls of a giant and a spindly companion. The pathway was
devoid of others save the security detail ensuring no-one walked close by.
‘It appears that events on Osia have moved quicker than expected. Their
intelligence agencies are better mobilised than I gave them credit, despite our
connections into the ruling faction. The arrival of the Callidus assassins was
unfortunate and has assuredly piqued the interest of the Grandmaster. It seems that
even dispatching our Eversor was insufficient at dispensing with both interested
parties. It is time to cut my losses.’
His companion nodded. ‘My lord. We can scorch your assets before the
Imperial Fleet arrives and remove necessary personnel away from the interference of
the impending Imperial Guard.’
‘There is little time. Besides I have something in mind that is altogether
magnificent.’ He looked majestically pensive.
‘And what of Grand Master Kintas?’
‘I doubt the Grand Master is yet aware of who is controlling the situation.’
‘He is a smart individual and should not be underestimated. He has eyes and
ears everywhere.’
‘Not here it would seem.’ He cast his hands about the promenade. ‘Nonetheless,
I need our Tziz Jarek for a special assignment. Should suit his purposes. He wont
even have to leave the Temple this time.’
His companion looked troubled, making to open his mouth to divulge the
reluctance of Master Jarek.
‘Yes, Skellisum?’
He closed his mouth abruptly, then said, ‘Nothing, my lord.’
349
The four guards escorted Tyet back to the Tai’Rotha. The environment was no
less menacing. The storm had subsided into a drizzle as Laran and her troops formed a
protective line.
‘Good hunting.’ Laran said.
Tyet nodded back at the Temple. ‘And you.’
Laran motioned for her troops to drop back to the edge of the landing platform.
Araya had stayed put, hesitant.
Tyet finished logging into the Temple computer, though the Grandmaster would
have had the records of this new assignment purged. He wanted to turn his back on
Araya, leave her to wallow in whatever self-sustaining misery she generated. But he
knew his agony would not subside at such callousness.
‘Many times I have dreamt of beating you for what you have done. Many other
times I have wanted to fall into your arms and recapture what we lost. Neither action
is becoming of an assassin, is it?’ Tyet spoke as gently as he could trying not to let the
fractious emotions permeate his words.
She took a deep breath. Tyet could see she had been dreading this moment.
‘No. There are many things the Temple will do to a person in the name of duty.
You do know it was a staged. We both were targets. Whoever he was had your
genetics loaded into a Polymorphine conversion and was very good at mimicry. It was
only when I saw you standing at your own door, that I realised I had an impostor
beneath me. It had been executed in great detail. I beat him. Savagely. Then I tried to
find you, but you had disappeared. Any time I tried to get close... I could see the
damage they wanted to inflict had already taken hold.’
350
They stood rock solid. Neither extending physical comfort to the other. Only the
eyes and the soften voices exuded a soothing balm into the gap between them.
‘I could not let them see how much it affected me. Much has passed between us
since and what I am about to undertake could mean I never return to the Temple.’
A look of consternation settled on her face. ‘They have not told me what is
happening, though rumours are ripe. We were told to escort a VIP to the
administration wing without interference. I had no idea it would be you.’
‘And they let you speak to me?’
‘Laran is an exceptional agent, but not without heart. Perhaps one day you will
get to know her. It is a shame that these few moments will all we will ever share.’
Tyet reciprocated the puzzlement. ‘Aren’t you counting the body bags a little
prematurely?’
‘What? Oh. I have no doubt you will survive, unless you’ve been ordered on a
one way mission.’ She suddenly became hesitant. The words stuck in her throat,
unwilling to come forth. Then in resignation she finally whispered, ‘I mean I’m
pregnant.’
Tyet was immobile. Only the clenching of his jaw betrayed signs of life. His
body tried to turn inwards, reducing his exposure to her cutting words.
‘Their designs were more than just trying to force you into an emotional
compromise. I had been deliberately withheld from Polymorphine allowing my body
to regain fertility. I will be allowed to keep it till the third stage before it gets
implanted in an exowomb. Emperor only knows what happens next.’
Moments stretched between them until finally Tyet extended an arm, allowing a
single finger to gentle trace the contours of her face. She didn’t resist. Instead placed
her hand over his, pressing his palm against her face.
351
‘Araya.’ Laran called to her.
‘Goodbye.’ Tyet said, turning on his heels. He walked into the belly of the
Tai’Rotha. As the ramp closed, he looked back at Araya. A single tear glistened on
her cheek.
352

run straylight tension terror

Transcription

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