Above and Beyond, page 11
‘From what I’ve seen of your pict, significant inclusions were added postproduction.’
‘That’s not fair. Once I had made the cuts, I had to weave what remained together. That involved splicing a few extra scenes here and there. All of them were based on Flight Commander Shard’s recollections of the conflict.’
‘And you believed her?’
‘She was there. I was not.’
An edge had crept into his voice. I suspect I had struck a nerve. Which was stupid, because I was supposed to be ingratiating myself with him. Fortunately, before the conversation deteriorated further, we were interrupted by a vox-message. Only Esec heard it, relaying it through his implant, but his demeanour changed completely. He half leapt from his chair, striding to the centre of the studio.
The mainscreen flickered. Desert again, but no longer deserted. There was a distant trail of dust and smoke. The supply convoy.
‘We’re close,’ I said, but he shook his head.
‘No. A few hundred miles more.’
‘Is this footage from an advanced scout?’
‘No, merely an advanced lens,’ he replied. ‘My Eyes see further. But you are correct, we are drawing close. Shard One, is your squadron ready?’
‘Yes, sir.’
It wasn’t her voice, but by now that was no surprise. Nor was it when Esec performed similar checks with Shard Two and Three. I had seen the fighters launch, each squadron led by a plane adorned with the von Shard family crest. The mystery of Shard’s early morning departure was solved. She had not been flying the plane, just as she did not accompany us now.
Ahead, the convoy was visible snaking through the dust. Huge multi-wheeled haulers, each the size of a small building, were chained together, their combined strength dragging the monstrosity on. Smaller buggies flanked the main convoy, aircraft circling above. I believe they were Valkyries, or something equivalent. Either way, their tactical capabilities consisted of infantry support and rapid troop deployment. They were not dedicated fighters; our Lightnings completely outmatched them in speed and firepower.
‘Remember the priorities. First, we must surround them. Then I want clean, clear kills. Do not engage until my signal. We don’t want to miss a shot.’
He was giving orders.
I hadn’t fully absorbed this fact until that moment, because they always felt like suggestions, or requests. But now we were entering a combat scenario. And he was dictating the engagement.
We were close enough that I could pick out individual drivers on the buggies. They wore goggles to shield their eyes from the glare, but they had no real uniform, just scraps weaved together. They had yet to see us. The lenses on Esec’s Eyes were extraordinarily powerful.
‘Time to unleash our forces.’ He smiled, spreading his arms wide, fingers outstretched. He looked poised to conduct a symphony.
Then they were unleashed. Not the fighters as I had assumed, but an armada of Esec’s Eyes. The myriad screens lit up, each capturing a different image, some split into multiple shots as the drones flitted in and out of each other’s vision. It seemed an impossible mess. Any moment I expected explosions as the devices collided, but none came. Instead, they accelerated ahead of us, their focus the convoy.
Lanlok leant forward, intent on the screens, an almost childlike smile forming on his brutish face.
‘Vids,’ he murmured.
‘Adorable, isn’t it?’ Esec said. ‘He was gifted to me by Colonel Surling as a bodyguard. Loves the picts. Useful too, as he provides a benchmark of accessibility. If he can understand what is happening, then so can the majority of our citizens.’
We had yet to attack, even though it appeared we were right on top of them. The twin occupants of the closest buggy were laughing, perhaps exchanging a jest, when one pointed at the vid screen. He looked surprised rather than concerned, as though he was unsure what he was seeing. From the angles presented, it appeared Esec’s Eyes had surrounded the convoy.
Esec was quite still, arms still outstretched. Poised to begin.
‘Action,’ he whispered.
I heard it even through the hull, the scream of dozens of engines roaring as one. The Lightnings and Avengers surged forward, the myriad screens capturing their assault. The convoy barely had time to register the danger before the first buggy disappeared under a barrage of bolt-rounds. The Valkyries tried to reposition and respond, but they were speared by searing bolts from the Lightnings’ lascannons. And then the fighters were already past them, circling about for a second assault even as the Thunderbolts readied their armaments.
Esec’s voice came through, calm and deadly as Bacchus’ waters.
‘Now the convoy. And I want fireworks.’
A barrage of missiles struck the haulers, detonating in an admittedly impressive explosion.
‘What are they transporting?’ I asked, watching the blasts ripple across the screens.
Esec shrugged. ‘No idea. I’m just glad it appears flammable. It’s so anticlimactic when they just fall to pieces.’
I watched the unknown cargo burn. Was it supplies? Armaments? Rations? Tithes, even? It didn’t matter. Esec had no interest in capturing anything other than a spectacle, and it certainly looked cinematic, providing one was unaware that the targets were slow-moving and, relatively speaking, defenceless.
A couple of the buggies had already sped away. Perhaps their un-uniformed drivers were mercenaries who had decided their pay was insufficient for the task at hand. Or perhaps fear had seized them. As they fled, a trio of Eyes detached and followed, easily encircling the speeding vehicles.
‘Shard Two. Intercept the stragglers.’
‘Sir.’
‘Oh, and perhaps you could arrange so they collide? One flipping over the other? Something like that. I’ll leave the details to you.’
Most of the screens were now focused upon the fleeing buggies. I watched the Lightning speed towards them, diving low. Too low, and much too steep. I feared a collision, but suddenly the craft was level, speeding above the ground. Its lascannons flared, a bolt of light spearing both buggies, slaying the drivers with a single shot. I don’t think the real Shard could have done better.
‘Urgh. I wanted spectacle, Vagbon. That was flat.’ Esec sighed as he watched the buggies roll to a halt. ‘Still, no matter. I have enough to craft what I need. Excellent job, everyone. Another victory for Flight Commander Lucille von Shard.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I heard the commissar before I saw him.
I was propped in front of my data-slate, attempting to review the limited intelligence documents despite the constant interruptions from Esec’s doctored clips. Shard besting a score of separatist pilots. Shard gunning down a convoy. Shard handing gifts to cheering children. The Feed cut in constantly, and I could find no means to shut it out.
A personal favourite was her victory in the fighting pit. I missed the initial narration, my focus solely on the visuals. It looked like the prior evening, where I’d faced her and suffered accordingly. But I was absent from the vid, somehow replaced by a burly soldier. And Shard herself had been cleaned up significantly. Esec had smoothed her skin and hair, but more impressive were the changes to her stance. She danced around her foe like a pugilist rather than staggering like a drunken vagrant.
Was it even the same footage? Or the same woman?
I knew how to manipulate images, splice together still picts. But the process was labour intensive, time consuming, and what could be achieved was limited. Yet Esec had accomplished it in a day, and half of that had been spent on our jaunt to intercept the convoy.
It was unsettling. Perhaps, in purely technical terms, he did have much to teach me.
I was relieved, then, when I heard the commissar bellowing outside the Traderi. I shut down the data-slate, intent on the approaching voice.
‘–grasp the wretches by the throat and squeeze until their eyeballs burst!’
The door burst open, and Commissar Shard stormed into the room. He crossed it in a few strides, but he made no attempt to sit, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.
‘Parasites! Vermin fattened on the carcass of our faded glory!’
His eyes blazed. Spittle stained his cheek. I had never seen him so consumed by rage, and thought it foolish to draw his attention. I kept my head low as he continued his rant.
‘Those imbeciles. Trying to hammer nails with a wrench. And why? Because that Throne-cursed propagandist wants a spectacle. Well let me explain something to you!’
His hands slammed down on the table, his face now inches from my own.
‘Look at me when I’m talking to you!’
I met his gaze, and for the first time saw something of his sister in him.
‘War is for warriors!’ he spat. ‘We fight and die. Your kind captures it for posterity, so the citizens can see the glory of the Imperium and the righteousness of our cause. Now explain something to me, Simlex – when did you people start dictating our conflicts?’
‘I was wondering that myself, sir.’
‘Were you now?’
‘Yes. I spent the afternoon with Esec. Apparently he commands a fleet of our aircraft.’
‘Of course he does. What could be more logical?’ the commissar said, turning away and ripping open a cupboard, retrieving his tea pouch and a cup. ‘What else did you learn?’ he asked, back still to me.
‘He has some hold over the flight commander, though he claims it is because she relies on him to maintain her fame. But I think it’s more.’
‘Why?’
‘She apologised to me.’
He froze, cup poised before the heater.
‘She did what?’
‘Apologised. For striking me. I assume you heard of the fight in–’
‘I heard and do not care a jot either way,’ he said, returning to his preparations. ‘But my sister does not apologise.’
His tone was a little more measured now. Perhaps the tea really was calming, for he took the steaming cup with him, settling down opposite me.
‘You think Esec is the threat my sister spoke of?’ he asked.
‘I could not say. But it seems likely. He holds remarkable influence for a non-combatant.’
‘That’s because this isn’t a proper warzone,’ he said. ‘The real conflict is to the east. That is where Surling and Prospherous are now deployed, along with the majority of their forces. What remains is a token army – a few dozen aircraft and less than half a platoon, their only function to hold Edbar and produce a few more of those abominable vids. Surling favours Esec. He seems convinced he can shatter the resistance in the other fortresses by feeding them a stream of aeronautical victories. Madness.’
‘I suppose it did lead to the liberation of Edbar.’
‘Liberation?’ he spat. ‘Innumerable data-records have been burned and half the infrastructure shot. Our attack destroyed most of the air defences, there are multiple breaches in the external walls, and we lost a fifth of the indentured workers when the Láech broke through. And if we can’t get the exterior secured, we are going to lose even more. The nights are cold here, and the days far too hot. There was no strategy behind any of it. Who the hell would use the Láech for siegecraft?’
He leant back, cradling his cup. For the first time I saw the bloodstains glistening on his greatcoat.
‘The Láech are a liability?’
‘Here? Absolutely. They are warriors and hunters. Were I to face a horde of orks in open battle I can think of no better regiment to stand at my side. But they are ill-suited to siege warfare. Storming a stronghold? Just point them in the right direction. But asking them to hold off? To wait around? Madness. Like assigning Savlar Chem-Dogs to parade duty. But Esec personally requested their deployment, probably because their body art looks good on a pict screen. He’s caged wild dogs. I’ve executed three soldiers today, three men whom, if this were a different warzone, I would probably be commending for their bravery. All because some upstart values visuals over strategy.’
He sighed, shoulders slumping, his gaze lost in the steaming cup.
‘Please tell me you have uncovered something of use.’
‘No. But I am meeting with Plient later.’
‘Who?’
‘The flight commander’s mechanical. And possibly handler. He was the one who assisted us on Bacchus. We would have lost without him. A fine man.’
‘Hmph,’ the commissar grunted, seemingly unimpressed. ‘Has he revealed much to you?’
‘Precious little thus far. Apparently your sister has sworn him to secrecy, and he is unwilling to break her confidence.’
‘Protecting your superior’s confidence is commendable. But I suggest you find a means of loosening his tongue. It would be preferable to me extracting the information. My methods are quite forthright.’
His tone was neutral, though my gaze lingered upon the blood on his coat.
‘What if the message itself was a deception?’ I said. ‘Your sister claimed she had not sent it.’
‘She’s a habitual liar.’
‘Perhaps. But she is not the only Flight Commander Shard I have seen on screen. Did you know she did not fly the mission today? Others operated planes bearing her markings. I’m wondering if she even flies any more, if all of this is mere artifice.’
He frowned. ‘The only reason I assigned you to that propagandist was to get close to her, and that will not happen if she stays grounded. Let me see what I can do to get her back in the air – I still wield some influence.’
‘With respect, sir, even if she does still fly, it doesn’t change the fact that the message could be falsified. I just saw footage of her besting a soldier in the fighting ring, and I’m fairly certain it was cribbed from a vid of her knocking me to the ground. It strikes me that someone with the skill to splice those images together could potentially have fabricated the message, at least in part.’
‘But to what ends?’
‘That, I don’t know.’
‘Well find out,’ the commissar replied, rising. ‘Our contact will be minimal for the next few days. Edbar’s fall has granted us access to the tunnels beneath. They were used to smuggle in supplies, but I intend to lead a force through there – see if we can find a path to infiltrating the other fortresses.’
He adjusted his cap, tutting at the blood on his lapel before levelling his gaze at me.
‘I expect better news on my return.’
Plient’s workshop was opposite the main hangar, where the majority of the aircraft were now maintained. I presumed it had previously been a fabricator of some sort, because he was already settled in, bent over the fuselage of an aircraft, aided by his augmetic limb, which seemed to function as both clamp and hammer.
He looked up as I entered, wiping his brow with his flesh hand and smiling.
‘Good to see you again, sir,’ he said.
‘Likewise,’ I replied, as Iwazar lurched past me, seemingly drawn by the activity. But it faltered suddenly, sensors swinging left and right, before surging towards something at the rear of the workshop. An aircraft covered by a drape.
It stared at it, before glancing to me, whistling incessantly. As I watched, it slowly began tipping to one side. Suddenly it toppled, the anti-grav generator momentarily misaligning. It righted itself at the last moment, climbing once more to eye level, before once again slowly tipping to one side.
‘It’s just an alignment issue,’ I found myself saying. ‘I just couldn’t quite get the balance to–’
‘You’ve done amazing work, sir,’ Plient said, intent on the struggling machine. ‘But I think this requires more than maintenance. Have you approached a priest of the Mechanicus?’
‘No. And I doubt any would touch it.’
‘But it’s a prized relic, sir! The priests–’
‘I am beneath the attention of the Mechanicus,’ I replied. ‘And were I to come to their attention, I expect my inexpert repairs would render the machine as heretek. And both it and I would be treated accordingly.’
He didn’t answer. I think he knew I spoke the truth. Like me, Plient was sanctioned to complete the rituals of repair and maintenance required to keep our charges functional in the field. And like me, he had strayed far beyond this remit. Where we differed was competence. Plient had once cobbled together the means of creating a hololithic armada. I could barely keep Iwazar airborne.
Together, we watched it attempt to right itself again, surging a foot backwards in the process and almost colliding with a servitor hauling an engine carriage. It whirred in alarm, retreating and scuttling beneath the edge of the drape. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought it was cowering.
‘Sir, I was wondering…’
‘Yes?’
‘Perhaps I could have a look at Iwazar? I could try and realign that anti-grav generator and patch a couple of those holes. Also, the leftmost sensor seems to be out. And that lens is cracked.’
‘That would be gracious of you, but I fear–’
‘Probably need to reboot the cogitator as well, see if that’s the reason for the twitching flight,’ he murmured, voice fading slowly. I could almost see the cogs turning in his head.
‘Plient?’
He blinked, glancing over to me before smiling sheepishly.
‘Sorry, sir. Sometimes I get too drawn in. Forget what’s going on around me. But I would like to help, if I can.’
‘I don’t doubt your skill. But I’m not sure if Iwazar would be willing to accept your administrations. It has become wilful of late.’
‘Understood, sir, but I can try.’
He slowly lowered himself to one knee, beckoning with his steel hand and cooing, as if he was encouraging a stray dog. I did not know where to look.
But Iwazar’s lenses were suddenly fixed upon him, its cogitator whirring, uncertain. Then it bolted towards him, a puppy anxious to greet a long-absent friend. Only, its cracked casing was caught against the drape, and in doing so it tore it clear of the plane. As Iwazar tumbled, unable to compensate for additional weight, and Plient lurched forward to catch it, I found myself face to face with the vessel.
