Above and Beyond, page 9
‘I meant from Bacchus.’
‘Bacchus?’ She frowned, resting her chin in her hand. ‘Bacchus… Was that the void battle where we faced those t’au?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Hmm. That ugly little war with all the flying lizard beasts?’
‘Don’t be like that, sir.’
‘Really, Plient? That sounds like insubordination.’
‘That’s for you to decide, sir.’
‘Hmph,’ she said, shifting her gaze to me. ‘Bacchus. Was that the swamp?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘With the orks and bugs and so on?’
He nodded.
‘I suppose I vaguely recall some of that,’ she conceded. ‘And now that I think about it, there was a propagandist lurking in the background, snapping voyeuristic picts and generally getting in the way. I take it that was you?’
I shrugged, keeping my gaze fixed on the arena.
‘Oh, so now we’re pouting. Offering the silent treatment? Is that supposed to annoy or upset me in some way? Because I suspect you are far better company when you do not speak.’
I shrugged again.
‘Or are you intimidated?’ she persisted, leaning closer. ‘I have that effect on most people. It’s the blessing and curse of being so exceptional. For me, Bacchus was just another skirmish. Another notch on the bedpost. But it probably meant so much more to you. For a moment, you actually mattered. It must be distressing to go back to your old, sad life. I should have realised that.’
She stepped in front of me, blocking my view of the fight.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Truly. I’m sorry that our time together meant so much to you, and so little to me.’
I looked to her offered hand. Then to her face, though her eyes were still hidden behind the visor. Then I shuffled to the side, until my view was no longer obscured, and returned my gaze to the currently vacant arena.
In the corner of my eye, I saw her smile.
‘How rude. Are you deaf, propagandist? Or mute? Or too angry for pleasantries?’
I said nothing.
‘Would you prefer to settle this dispute in the arena?’
‘No.’
‘It speaks!’ she said, feigning astonishment. ‘Can you do any other tricks?’
I did not reply.
‘I think you do want to fight me. You just don’t have the courage because you know I’d win.’
‘Obviously you would win. You are a trained soldier and I am a mere scribe. It would be both predictable and pointless.’
‘Ah, but I can tell you’re tempted. How about, by way of apology, I let you have one free hit? Let some of the resentment out.’
‘No.’
‘I know you want to hit me. Most people do.’
‘There are many people I might desire to strike. But doing so achieves nothing.’
‘I disagree,’ she said, rising to her feet.
I foolishly hoped that was it, until I saw her striding towards the arena. At her approach, the crowd’s energy shifted, laughter and conversation supplanted by murmured disquiet. Perhaps the contests were over, or should have been, and her presence was an affront to their customs. But Shard never was a stickler for rules. Instead, she advanced into the centre of the circle, basking in the growing unease.
‘Friends, fans, and subordinates,’ she said, voice carrying across the throng. ‘I, as you all know, am Flight Commander Lucille von Shard. Hero of the Imperium. Idol of billions. Ace pilot extraordinaire. Living legend.’
She bowed to scant applause and significant heckling.
‘Thank you,’ she said, waving. ‘As you know, I am the star of numerous cinema-picts, including The 2208. You must remember that classic? I gather that in some divisions, it’s prescribed as mandatory viewing during leisure periods.’
From their muttering it seemed this was true and not particularly appreciated.
‘Well, I have splendid news!’ she said. ‘The man behind it all? The visionary who heralded my ascension? He is here! Right now! In this very crowd!’
More than a few eyes had turned my way.
‘But when I just extended my hand in friendship to him, he spurned it. Worse, he had the gall to talk down to me. To challenge me! Now, I know he is a civilian, and has not earned the right to fight in the pit. But I think this needs to be settled. So, I invite him to face me here. Not to fight, because he is weak. But I’ll give you a free hit, Simlex, if that’s what’s required to settle this grudge. Then we can move on like civilised people.’
She stepped back, spreading her hands, inviting me into the circle.
I looked away, to find more of the crowd staring at me. From their expressions it seemed I was no more popular than Shard.
Plient’s hand was on my shoulder. ‘Let’s go, sir. I’ll get you back safely.’
I rose with his assistance, turning away and receiving a chorus of boos. Her laughter carried over them.
‘Not so easy to be in the limelight, is it?’ she said. ‘Not so easy when someone else dictates the terms. That’s right, run away, you coward!’
‘Just leave her, sir,’ Plient whispered. ‘You’re no coward.’
But I found myself wondering.
Was I a coward? I had never fought, though equally I had no skill or training. And neither had I fled, nor sought to hide. I hadn’t soiled myself when the orks struck, nor whimpered and cried. I had risked death in my duties, more than once at Shard’s side. What more had I to prove? And she was a trained soldier, albeit an intoxicated one. I was crippled, barely able to cross a room unaided. Surely there was no shame in walking away when faced with impossible odds, particularly as the last time I refused to stand down it had resulted in demotion and isolation.
It was odd. I could barely manage a walking pace, even with Plient’s aid.
So why did it feel like running away?
Perhaps that was why I glanced over my shoulder, and saw her grinning as she waved me off. That smile. By the Throne I hated that smile.
I found I had slowed. Then stopped.
I looked back to Plient. ‘I’m sorry,’ I told him.
Then I turned, unsupported, and took a step towards her. Then another.
It was obvious how limited my movement was, one leg dragging uselessly behind me. The jeers faded, the disquiet returning. There was a hushed gasp as I stumbled, almost falling, but I gritted my teeth and strode on, until I was in the circle of light.
It was bright, my eyes struggling to adjust. I could make out Shard clearly, but the rest was shadows.
Her eyes were still hidden by the glare visor, but something had shifted in her stance, and her smile was gone. She looked surprised, which was gratifying. It struck me she was intoxicated, and had been distracted for the majority of our interactions. She might not have realised the extent of my injury when she issued the challenge. But it was too late.
‘Well, you’re here now,’ she said, defiant. ‘Take your shot.’
I said nothing.
‘Take your shot or walk away.’
She was close, enough for me to see just how badly she was swaying. Her voice was slurred, and if not for her visor I was sure her eyes would be glazed. But she would not fall. Or be silenced.
‘Why?’ I said. ‘Why does it matter to you?’
‘To me? It doesn’t matter to me. You’re the one with the grudge. You’re the one responsible for all of it. You did this!’
Venom had crept back into her voice.
‘I have no idea what you are rambling about.’
There was a haughtiness to my tone. I did not care for it, and seemingly neither did Shard. There was a revolting hawking sound as she gathered a wad of phlegm, massaged it around her mouth, and spat it into my face.
I felt it drip from my cheek, even as the crowd gasped in exquisite outrage. And she smiled, lip twisted in a sneer.
I felt calm then, calmer than I had since the whole sorry mess began. Because all my anger, my bitterness, my indignation and my shame? I no longer carried it.
It was now balled into my fist.
It had been years since I’d thrown a punch. And I only had one leg to launch from. But I pulled my arm back and put all I had into that clumsy, lumbering right hook.
I think it caught her by surprise. She certainly failed to dodge or block, swaying into it if anything. My fist crashed against her jaw, knocking the visor from her face. Her head snapped round, shoulders following as she stumbled, the sand slipping beneath her feet. She half tripped and half fell, landing hard on her side.
Silence.
Then the crowd roared. I confess I basked in it, just for a moment, even as I nursed my aching fist.
‘Ow.’
Her voice. She was already on her feet, rubbing her jaw. I think she wore a scowl, but to be honest I could not tear my gaze from her eyes. They were bloodshot, harrowed – the lines around them so deep they looked carved by a knife. They blazed with fury and pain and something akin to madness.
She surged forward, and suddenly I was sprawled in the sand, the world tumbling about me, blood on my lips, my jaw numb. I wanted to rise, but couldn’t discern which way was up.
My collar. She grasped it and hauled me to my knees. I could see her face, but everything else was dark, the shadows encroaching.
She was smiling. And maybe crying. I could not tell. Her fist was balled, and I wondered if I would remain conscious after the second blow.
‘That’s enough, sir.’
Plient. He was behind her, his augmetic hand secured about her wrist.
‘Plient?’
She sounded puzzled, then tried to pull her arm away.
‘Plient? Release me. That’s an order!’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘You are disobeying a direct order? From your superior officer?’
‘You’re not well, sir.’
She snarled, releasing my collar and rounding on him. But it was pointless, for he held her at arm’s length, and she could not bring her shoulder far enough around to strike anything besides his armoured limb. Not that this stopped her from raining blows against it, her knuckles already stained red.
‘Sir, you’re hurting yourself.’
She slowed, then sagged. I think she might have fallen if he wasn’t holding her upright. Her head was lolling, but still she glared at him.
‘Release me! For Throne’s sake, Plient, you’re making a fool of yourself!’
Silence. I hadn’t noticed it before, shaken by her punch. But I had recovered my senses sufficiently to realise the crowd was still. In fact, now my eyes had adjusted, I could see it was ebbing away, as the revellers concluded that, one way or another, the evening’s entertainment was over.
‘Sir?’
Plient was staring at me, head bowed.
‘I’m sorry, sir. It’s not you. Sometimes she just needs a target. Please come visit my workshop when you have the chance. I would like… I hope it will be better, sir. But you should go now. The Eyes are coming.’
He lapsed into silence. Shard was muttering something, but I could not make it out over the sound of my own laboured breath. As I slowly found my feet, my gaze crept skywards, even as Iwazar chirped a warning.
A score of crimson lights were descending upon us, like bleeding stars.
And now the soldiers fled; there was no other word for it. They ran, as though the lights heralded an invasion by some xenos force. I was knocked aside, trampled in their desperation. I could not see Plient, and Iwazar seemed panicked, attempting to flee from the oncoming lights.
‘Propagandist!’
I glanced up at the voice, and was relieved to see Tempestor Rosln. She was clad in her full carapace armour, though the helm was absent, presumably for my benefit.
‘The commissar sent me. We must go!’
She seized my elbow, dragging me upright before throwing my arm over her shoulder and setting off at a half-run, my feet barely touching the ground.
‘We secured the hangar. Once there I will– Down!’
She threw me to one side, following suit. I did not know why, though I had the sense to trust her, and with good reason. Moments later a score of Scions stormed past. Their livery was unfamiliar to me, ochre and midnight blue. They were running in the opposite direction to everyone else, their pace even, formation maintained. A lumbering figure brought up their rear, the squad’s Tempestor accompanying him. It was Lanlok.
‘How the hell did she slip past you?’ the Tempestor snapped. ‘She could barely walk in a straight line?’
‘I was ordered to keep them out, not in.’
‘Explain that to Esec.’
The ogryn grunted something in response, but they had passed us now. Rosln rose cautiously, motioning me to follow. But I hesitated.
‘What?’ she said.
‘Iwazar. It’s still back there. I must–’
The seer-skull suddenly hurtled from the darkness, its engines screeching as it fled. Three shapes pursued it. Ugly, boxlike forms, each with a single unblinking lens. Rosln drew her pistol as they approached, but at the gesture the three shapes recoiled, flittering out of range.
But their unblinking eyes remained fixed upon us, even as we retreated towards the Traderi.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Two Scions were waiting for me the next morning.
For once I had slept, perhaps due to the cocktail of painkillers issued on my return. It was Rosln who woke me, and who provided a steaming cup of recaff and a new cane. I’m unsure for which I was more grateful.
‘Propagandist Esec has requested your company,’ she told me. ‘He has sent an escort.’
I rose gingerly from the bunk. My jaw ached, though not as much as my leg. I was still clad in yesterday’s clothes, now stained by dust, liquor and blood. I considered changing, until I realised I had nothing else.
‘Where is Commissar Shard?’ I asked.
‘He left before dawn. Said he needed to get a start on restoring discipline. Do you need someone to accompany you?’
‘No. The commissar wanted me to ingratiate myself with Esec. It might prove easier if I am alone.’
She nodded before moving on, no doubt intent on whatever assignment the commissar had issued. I made my way to the transport bay. Iwazar was already there, its lenses pressed to the door, apparently anxious to be let out, its prior disquiet forgotten.
But its newfound courage proved equally fleeting. As we stepped from the craft, it shrank behind me. I could not think why. The commissar had obtained a modest private hangar, remarkably undamaged in the assault. There was space for maybe five small vessels, though only ours was docked. The waiting Scions were just visible through the viewport of the main doors. They wore the same ochre-and-midnight heraldry as the group I had encountered the night before, but they were not the cause of the seer-skull’s distress.
That lay beyond the armaglass window.
Our hangar was on a raised platform. Below, I could see the Láech soldiers clearing detritus from the prior night, but Iwazar was fixated on the trio of machines hovering beyond the glass. Perhaps they had been there since the night before. Perhaps they were new arrivals. In any event, they waited. Watching through blazing crimson lenses. They had a classic Imperial design: blocky and boxlike, the chassis marked with a small aquila. But I had never seen their like before.
Behind me, Iwazar screeched, its lenses flashing with images from Bacchus, the display too disjointed to pick out anything besides Shard’s sneer and the battle cries of ork warriors.
‘Be silent!’ I snarled, glaring at the device. It recoiled, the memories fading. As I turned away from it, I spotted three Lightning fighters soaring skywards. They were some distance from us, but I thought the lead had Shard’s markings, the image of a black griffin emblazoned upon the wings. I was surprised she was conscious this early, let alone capable of flying.
There was a rapping sound from the door. ‘Propagandist Simlex? Are you ready?’
I blinked, turned away from the window, and approached the Scions. ‘It’s just Scribe Simlex. I understand Propagandist Esec has requested my presence?’
‘Yes, sir. Please come with us.’
‘Is it far?’ I asked as I stepped through the doorway. ‘My mobility is limited.’
They exchanged glances.
‘That will not be an issue,’ the Tempestor said. ‘Our destination isn’t somewhere you can walk to.’
He turned his head, and I followed his gaze to the colossal airship, suspended high above Edbar, its hull midnight blue adorned with ochre highlights.
Esec was on the vox when I was announced. He smiled at me, nodding to the chair opposite, rolling his eyes even as he conversed. I could see no receiver, only his fingers pressed to his temple. Like me, he must have had a cranial implant.
‘Oh, I agree, colonel. Absolutely. Not the sort of thing we want happening again. High spirits are one thing, but–’
He was young. Younger than I had expected, unless his appearance was due to rejuvenat treatments. I was unsurprised to see his robes were midnight blue with an ochre trim, and though they bore no symbol or coat of arms the weave looked expensive. His hair was swept back over his left ear, the right side of his head shaved, presumably to access the various implants just visible beneath the skin.
Behind me, I could feel Iwazar whirling. It had been my shadow ever since we docked. Something about the airship had placed it on edge.
‘Listen… I understand, but…’ Esec said, struggling to talk over whoever was on the other end of the vox. ‘I… Thank you, Colonel Surling, you are too kind. But I have a very important visitor waiting and… No, I’m not saying that! Of course you are important! Possibly the second most important soldier on this planet! I jest! Yes… yes, I would say so too. Thank you, sir, I will have an update before sundown.’
