Above and Beyond, page 37
‘This seems sufficient,’ he murmured, handing the scroll to a scribe. ‘I don’t suppose you can give me the name of this agent with whom you spoke?’
‘I am afraid not, they were unwilling to divulge it. Perhaps Inquisitor Atenbach will provide those details? I have it on good standing he will be here within days.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
It was raining.
Apparently, this was the natural state on Nephira, though I confess I had never visited the planet before. There was little reason to. It was one of the Imperium’s many innocuous worlds, lacking anything remarkable enough to be worthy of fame or infamy. Its tithes were paid promptly, primarily via a greenish wheat that had a bland taste but stored surprisingly well. And its people, of course, for the armies of the Imperium always needed more soldiers.
My footsteps were heavy as I descended the shuttle’s ramp. The left, in particular. I was still getting used to the weight of the augmetic limb, but it was a relief not requiring a cane.
Ahead, everything was surprisingly green. There were hab-blocks, naturally, vast looming buildings, and agri factoria for processing foodstuffs. But the fields stretched to the horizon, broken only by hedgerows and tall, spindly trees that seemed intent on piercing the grey sky.
‘By the Throne it’s miserable.’
I turned, watching as Flight Commander Lucille von Shard emerged from the shuttle. For once she did look fairly resplendent, being clad in her formal attire: a double-breasted tunic of vibrant blue, adorned with bronze buttons and gold thread. One hand rested on the hilt of her sabre, the other holding her hat in place against the wind, its turquoise feather already beginning to droop.
‘The rain is good for growing.’
‘And terrible for my outfit,’ she said with a grimace. ‘Perhaps we should postpone for another day.’
‘Not possible, I’m afraid. Wing Commander Prospherous is adamant you return to the front lines as soon as possible.’
‘Of course he is,’ she said. ‘Shame the old man forgave his grudge.’
‘You did help him assume authority over Surling. Unofficially, of course.’
‘That was Atenbach.’
‘Perhaps. Have you heard much from Rile?’
‘Only his usual nonsense where every other word is redacted. He’s enjoying his new hand, though. No doubt it conceals all manner of cunning gadgets.’
‘I don’t suppose he mentioned Esec?’
‘He did not. And you should let it go.’
‘I did him wrong. I do not think he realised he conspired with the aeldari when he was issued those Eyes of his. I would at least like to know who provided them.’
‘The Eyes weren’t aeldari.’
I froze, glancing to her, but her gaze was fixed ahead, intent on the distant hab-blocks.
‘But Rile said they were xenos devices?’
‘Yes, but there are millions of xenos species in the galaxy. Esec could have bartered with any of them, or their human agents more likely. What does it matter? Whatever scheme they had was thwarted. Or wasn’t. But in either event it is no longer our concern. Rile will no doubt investigate. And tell us nothing of his findings.’
I turned my head to follow her gaze, and found our arrival had drawn some attention. The toiling workers raised their heads, elbowing their fellows. I suppose the appearance of an Aquila lander was unusual for such people. Or perhaps it was the occupant that piqued their interest. Even they knew her face, though now it carried a few more scars.
‘Everyone is staring,’ she murmured.
‘Perhaps they’ve never seen a star of the pict screen walk among them.’
‘Do you know where we are going?’
‘Yes. I have the dwelling marked. It’s in that hab-block over there.’
‘Fine. Let’s get this over with.’
We walked along the thoroughfare between the fields. It was strangely quiet. No thrum of machines. Just the wind parting the tall grasses, and the sonorous cries of birds in the trees. Even the hab-block felt a part of the scenery, climbing vines adorning its surface. Whatever reservations I held about the Imperium, this felt a world worth preserving.
I felt her slowing and looked back to find she had come to a stop, eyes fixed ahead.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
‘Just… give me a moment.’
I nodded, letting my gaze wander over the landscape, watching her from the corner of my eye. She did not move, still staring into the distance.
‘May I ask what you are thinking?’
She shrugged. ‘Nothing. Just wondering what my life would have been if I were born and raised here. Probably scrabbling in the dirt to make a living. Wedding some dim-witted local and squeezing out a couple of brats before dying of something mundane.’
‘Maybe you would have sought adventure and enlisted?’
‘Maybe.’
I paused. ‘Would you prefer I wait at the ship?’
‘No. It’s better you’re here. Better someone is here anyway, make sure I see it through. That used to be Plient’s job. I suppose it’s yours now.’
‘Lucky me.’
‘Would you prefer he never sent you that message? That you were still walled up in a cubicle?’
I shook my head. ‘Still you persist with that farcical notion.’
‘Well, he is the most likely suspect.’
‘Is he now?’
‘Well if it wasn’t him then I have no idea. I suppose it could be one of my siblings. Josephine is certainly cunning enough.’
‘One of the siblings, certainly.’
‘Oh please,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘You think I’d bother sending you a vid asking for aid? Even if the situation was dire and I had no one else to turn to? Does that sound like something Flight Commander Lucille von Shard would contemplate?’
‘I suppose not,’ I conceded. ‘I just wonder how Plient, talented as he was, found a way to manipulate a vid in so sophisticated a manner. So sophisticated in fact that I have been unable to determine how he did it.’
‘Esec must have shown him.’
‘They were close, then? Friends?’
‘More acquaintances. Though that was before Esec revealed his true intentions.’
‘Yes. I’m surprised Plient was so easily fooled into taking Esec into his confidence.’
‘Maybe he was struggling, and made the mistake of reaching out to someone,’ she suggested. ‘Perhaps you were the only person he could think of who might be able to help, or might at least have some sympathy for… his plight. Between the two of us, Plient didn’t have many friends.’
I thought of him. The way he moved so easily through the crowd at the fight pit, exchanging jokes and smiles. Even Lanlok had known his name, and for that matter so had Prospherous. I had never heard a bad word against him.
‘He did strike me as the unpopular sort,’ I said. ‘I suppose he was lucky to have you.’
She didn’t reply, her gaze on the hab-block.
‘I don’t think I can do this.’
‘You can.’
Her hand strayed into her lapel, emerging with a flask. I said nothing as she raised it towards her lips. At the last moment she sighed, tucking it back into her pocket before advancing towards an innocuous-looking door. She stopped before it, straightening, chest pushed out, head held high, gaze stern, especially given the scars adorning her cheek.
‘How do I look?’
‘Like a hero.’
‘Liar,’ she said, rapping twice against the door. It took a moment to open. The woman behind it wore a worried expression. She held an infant to her chest, though given her greyed hair and lined skin she seemed too old to be its mother. Other children stood behind her, one peeking from her dress.
Shard bowed her head. ‘Mrs Plient?’
The woman nodded.
‘My name is Flight Commander Lucille von Shard. This is my propagandist, Kile Simlex. I am afraid I bear sombre news concerning your son, Flight Sergeant Petre Plient.’
‘Petre?’
She knew. You saw it in her face, the way her shoulders crumpled, and the light left her eyes.
‘I am afraid your son has passed into the God-Emperor’s light,’ Shard said solemnly. ‘He fought and died with honour and went above and beyond the call of duty. He saved countless lives, and ensured our foes were defeated. May I enter? I would like to tell you of his bravery, and my associate has letters addressed to you and your family.’
‘Yes. Of course, my lord,’ the older woman said, bowing. ‘Petre spoke often of you, flight commander. You were more than a superior officer. You were his hero.’
‘…He was my friend.’
POSTFACE
My name is Propagandist Kile Simlex.
I did not reclaim my title so much as have it thrust upon me, the von Shard siblings and their superiors at some point deciding that I should assume Esec’s role. Perhaps they believed I was best placed to manage Shard’s eccentricities. Already she infuriates me, though less so than the thought of returning to my cubicle.
Saving Rile’s life probably helped. Apparently, he was conscious enough to recall me throwing myself in the path of Lanlok’s blow, though I’m not sure he knew why the ogryn hesitated. Neither do I, not for certain, though I recall the commissar and Rile noting how the aeldari seers could manipulate the feeble of mind. And who is more feeble of mind than an ogryn? If somehow ensnared in their sorcery, Lanlok would certainly have been a useful agent, seen as too dim-witted to be a spy whilst having access to restricted areas. I can only assume the manipulations he was subjected to involved keeping me alive, for I can see no other reason why he spared me, or saved me during Cesh’s attack.
And this is troubling. Because it means the aeldari wanted me alive.
Their forces made no further impact on Deighton. The planet was reclaimed, though Inquisitor Atenbach paid little heed to the conflict; his focus was the webway gate. From what I hear he has, so far, been unable to activate it. He seized Esec’s barge too, along with whatever Eyes were still functional. I still do not know who was responsible for their deployment. Were they too simply manipulated by the aeldari, or did another faction have business on Deighton? Or was it neither, simply an unscrupulous trader making a profit from Esec’s naivety.
I do not know, but in any event the conquest of Deighton was ultimately deemed a victory for the Imperium, the insurgents crushed and the xenos bested. That’s what the picts will say in any event.
But I find myself thinking of pebbles, and the ripples they cast when thrown.
Perhaps thwarting our conquest was not the aeldari’s true goal. Perhaps that will not come to fruition for decades, or even centuries. And perhaps my survival was a necessary part of that plan, because in the brief span of my life, I will leave a ripple. It could be as little as a particular pict that inspires another to make a decision. Or perhaps it is simply that were I not to assume my current role, another would in my stead, and their decisions would lead to an outcome unfavourable to the aeldari.
One could go mad attempting to untangle the threads.
Commissar Shard is probably right. It is better to ignore their meddling, impose your own plans. So that is what I did. I ignored Cesh’s entreaties to tell the truth, and instead crafted a lie to benefit me and those I favour. After all, is that not what the Imperium is built upon? We are instructed that we cannot permit the xenos, the witch or the heretic to live. Unless the xenos is employed by an inquisitor, or a commissar elects to transport a witch, or our commanders decide that condemning a planet for heresy is just too darn inconvenient and expensive.
For the rules only apply to the powerful if they suit their interests.
And I am hardly powerful. There is little a propagandist can do to change the galaxy. Even one as well equipped as I. Perhaps that is why no one seemed to notice the removal of Esec’s control helm. I assume Atenbach paid it little heed, such a trivial detail insignificant compared to the acquisition of the barge itself, the fleet of Eyes, or the webway gate.
But it holds so much. Reams of footage, all contained by something so comparatively small. I have barely had time to review half of it, but I already know much is damning, for it shows how corrupt and incompetent the Imperium really is. How our commanders fail us over and over.
And sometimes I think of what Rosln told me on the Ilrepuet. How, when crossing the warp, all it takes is an indentured worker being in the wrong place, or making the wrong choice, for there to be catastrophic consequences.
It is merely a question of opportunity.
Perhaps I will make use of the footage someday. For, if the aeldari taught me one thing, it’s how easy a narrative can be forged. Even, hypothetically, one that shows our citizens the true face of the Imperium.
But for now, I will labour as I have always done. I will produce picts proclaiming the glory of Lucille von Shard, if for no other reason than it was Plient’s final request. I will hone my skills, I will keep my eyes open, and I will wait to cast my stone. And watch the ripples left in its wake.
And perhaps, in a small way, I will see what I can do to shape humanity’s future.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Denny Flowers is the author of the novels Fire Made Flesh, Outgunned and Above and Beyond, the novella Low Lives and several short stories. He lives in Kent with his wife and son, and has no proven connection with House Delaque.
An extract from Hero of The Imperium: A Ciaphas Cain Omnibus.
One of the first things you learn as a commissar is that people are never pleased to see you; something that’s no longer the case where I’m concerned, of course, now that my glorious and undeserved reputation precedes me wherever I go. A good rule of thumb in my younger days, but I’d never found myself staring down death in the eyes of the troopers I was supposed to be inspiring with loyalty to the Emperor before. In my early years as an occasionally loyal minion of his Glorious Majesty, I’d faced, or to be more accurate, ran away screaming from, orks, necrons, tyranids, and a severely hacked off daemonhost, just to pick out some of the highlights of my ignominious career. But standing in that mess room, a heartbeat away from being ripped apart by mutinous Guardsmen, was a unique experience, and one that I have no wish to repeat.
I should have realised how bad the situation was when the commanding officer of my new regiment actually smiled at me as I stepped off the shuttle. I already had every reason to fear the worst, of course, but by that time I was out of options. Paradoxical as it might seem, taking this miserable assignment had looked uncomfortably like the best chance I had of keeping my precious skin in one piece.
The problem, of course, was my undeserved reputation for heroism, which by that time had grown to such ludicrous proportions that the Commissariat had finally noticed me and decided that my talents were being wasted in the artillery unit I’d picked as the safest place to sit out my lifetime of service to the Emperor, a long way away from the sharp end of combat. Accordingly, I’d found myself plucked from a position of relative obscurity and attached directly to Brigade headquarters.
That hadn’t seemed too bad at first, as I’d had little to do except shuffle datafiles and organise the occasional firing squad, which had suited me fine, but the trouble with everybody thinking you’re a hero is that they tend to assume you like being in mortal danger and go out of their way to provide some. In the half-dozen years since my arrival, I’d been temporarily seconded to units assigned, among other things, to assault fixed positions, clear out a space hulk, and run recon deep behind enemy lines. And every time I’d made it back alive, due in no small part to my natural talent for diving for cover and waiting for the noise to stop, the general staff had patted me on the head, given me another commendation, and tried to find an even more inventive way of getting me killed.
Something obviously had to be done, and done fast, before my luck ran out altogether. So, as I often had before, I let my reputation do the work for me and put in a request for a transfer back to a regiment. Any regiment. By that time I just didn’t care. Long experience had taught me that the opportunities for taking care of my own neck were much higher when I could pull rank on every officer around me.
‘I just don’t think I’m cut out for data shuffling,’ I said apologetically to the weasel-faced little runt from the lord general’s office. He nodded judiciously, and made a show of paging through my file.
‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ he said, in a slightly nasal whine. Although he tried to look cool and composed, his body language betrayed his excitement at being in the presence of a living legend; at least that’s what some damn fool pictcast commentator had called me after the Siege of Perlia, and the appellation stuck. The next thing I know my own face is grinning at me from recruiting posters all over the sector, and I couldn’t even grab a mug of recaf without having a piece of paper shoved under my nose with a request to autograph it. ‘It doesn’t suit everybody.’
‘It’s a shame we can’t all have your dedication to the smooth running of the Imperium,’ I said. He looked sharply at me for a moment, wondering if I was taking the frak, which of course I was, then decided I was simply being civil. I decided to ladle it on a bit. ‘But I’m afraid I’ve been a soldier too long to start changing my habits now.’
That was the sort of thing Cain the Hero was supposed to say, of course, and weasel-face lapped it up. He took my transfer request from me as though it was a relic from one of the blessed saints.
