In all the years of her service to the Emperor, Augusta had never seen a planet quite like Lycheate.
This was not a place for her martial expertise, nor a place for skirmish tactics or strategic advances. This was a vast and creaking sprawl of corrosion and splotched rust, its polluted waters hissing as they tugged at the crumbling uprights.
Looking down, she didn’t need an auspex to tell her if she fell from the platform, she’d be kneeling before the Golden Throne.
The inquisitor, however, paid the filthy water no attention. She showed no fear – the only emotion that crossed her small, tight face was disdain. She’d given her troops a curt set of orders, and had requisitioned Sister Caia to be her personal lookout and bodyguard. And then, she’d walked out as if she owned the entire planet.
Augusta had followed, watching the woman’s upright, grey-robed back. The Sister Superior’s thoughts were oddly uneasy – though she could not identify why.
Perhaps it was just the air of the planet itself.
Out in the open, Lycheate’s atmosphere was thick, brown and cold. As they moved away from the base and out onto the layers of walkways, the wind made the scaffolding creak and sing. Metallic dust clogged her visor, and she kept wiping it away.
Istrix at their head, they walked silent and double file. The platforms groaned and scraped beneath their feet. Over the vox, Akemi warned them not to march in rhythm, as they would increase the stress on the already rotting metal, and tumble helpless into the waters below.
At times, half-decomposed bodies floated under them like warnings.
Augusta walked warily, bolter in hand. In her scarlet armour, she felt conspicuous, exposed to threats from every angle. A thousand ambush points surrounded them – layers of steps and catwalks, of pipes and gantries, of lifts and tracks and carts and rusting cargo-haulers. And, if she looked all the way up, she could see the narrow strip of the brown and twilight sky, and the sparkle of the debris field in the light of the dying sun.
The whole place stank of rot, as if He had turned His face from the last of its corroding, fading life.
A spiritu dominatus…
Softly and over the vox, she sang the words of the litany. The others joined her, their close harmonies rising like the wind in the pipework.
He was here, as He always would be.
Behind the Sisters, their big boots loud, walked Corporal Mors and the surviving three members of his squad – Rufus the medicae, a scar through his brown eyebrow, Lucio, small and blond and bright-eyed, and a rangy, dark woman, Adriene. They were all equally grubby and startlingly young, but they walked alert, weapons in hands.
The inquisitor, however, did not bother to look back – she marched at their forefront with no flicker of doubt or compromise, marched like the demand of the Emperor Himself. At the briefing, she had offered them only a minimal set of orders; she had not as much as detailed an outline of her mission. They were here to locate the witch, and they were not to open fire without her direct command.
That was all.
The lack of information was both unusual and unsettling, but Istrix was the will of the Emperor, and she worked in His name – it was not Augusta’s place to question her.
Domine, libra nos.
The words of the litany flowed like faith, pure across the umber air.
‘Be wary,’ Augusta told her Sisters, over the vox. ‘We track a psyker. Trickery may abound. Keep vigilant, and guard your souls and your minds.’
‘Ave Imperator.’ The words of the others were steady, their litany strong. Their voices continued to sing, soft and intricate.
As they moved further, however, the Sisters began to hear different noises.
Clanking. Shouting. Gunfire. Detonations. Running feet.
The unmistakeable sounds of heavy, desperate splashing.
Caia said, ‘To our left, next platform over. They’re not bothered with us. They’re moving away.’
The surrounding violence was rapidly becoming common-place.
From the lightning and the tempest…
Amid the song of the litany, Augusta commented, ‘We are very visible – we will be a target, and soon.’
Our Emperor, deliver us.
‘Aye,’ Caia returned. ‘Scan continues.’
They went onwards, the sounds around them becoming more frequent. They had seen no one close, not yet, but it was surely only a matter of time before the denizens of this place made themselves known.
Renegades, cultists and witches; the lost and the godless.
Augusta’s hand tightened on her weapon, her skin prickled with tension. Somewhere in her memory, she heard Subul’s laughter, the boom and rumble of the Lautis daemon…
From plague, temptation and war…
‘Sisters,’ Caia said. ‘We’ve got company.’
‘Location?’ Augusta said.
‘To the left. Half a dozen contacts running parallel. Whatever’s here, we’ve got its attention.’
‘I hear you. Eyes open.’
‘Aye.’
Our Emperor, deliver us.
‘You will remain on your guard, Sisters.’ Cutting across the vox’s open channel, Istrix’s tones were severe. ‘But I repeat – you will open fire only if I give you a direct order. Is that understood?’
Augusta said, ‘Yes, inquisitor.’
‘For now, we will veer right, and remain out of range.’
Pulled by the inquisitor’s relentless forward march, they continued. Slowly, the platforms spread wider, became flat, open spaces that stretched between vat and tank and workshop, all of them engraved with the cog-and-skull of the absent Mechanicus. The brown sky slowly darkened, and the age-old lumens coughed into life. The centuries-old numerical denominations became cast in shadows; they, too, were caked in dust.
The contacts continued to run parallel.
‘We’ve got more,’ Caia said. ‘Now both sides. They’re starting to close.’
From the scourge of the Kraken…
‘They’re herding us,’ Augusta commented. ‘We must halt, and take a defensible position–’
‘Throne!’ Caia’s curse was vehement. ‘We’ve walked right into the middle of them!’
Our Emperor, deliver us!
Augusta’s heart thumped with sudden adrenaline. She blinked in her retinal lenses, scanned with her preysight for the blurs of warmth. Her mind was working – she needed to assess, to give commands, to formulate both offence and defence…
Somewhere ahead of her, a voice said, ‘Nice to see you, ladies.’
Istrix held up a hand. ‘Halt.’
Immediately, Augusta said, ‘Defence pattern beta. Mors, pull your troops back behind our cover.’
All four Sisters deployed to a compass defence, watching every direction. The Militarum soldiers pulled back into their centre, their lasrifles defended by the Sisters’ heavier armour.
Scanning for enemies, Augusta said, ‘Caia?’
Caia said, ‘Ahead and to both sides, close range. Multiple targets. Estimate more than forty individuals, though it’s hard to tell their armament.’
‘Mechanicus?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Caia said. ‘Mostly human. They’re confident, though. And they definitely knew we were coming.’
Istrix, however, didn’t care. ‘Show yourself.’
A snort answered her. Angled from somewhere below the platform, a single red light appeared on her chest. She looked at it as one might look at an insect.
Bolter in hand, awaiting the order to fire, Augusta scanned further, assembling information.
The platform they stood upon was open, and almost alone – the planet’s waters stretched around it, black and deadly and filled with garbage. Ahead of them, the area narrowed to a single walkway, a narrow steel alley caught between a rust-splotched tank at one side and a tall wall of storage crates on the other. At their top perched a huge servo-hauler crane. It was too obvious an ambush point – and if that crane came down, it would smash the entire platform into the filth below…
From the blasphemy of the Fallen…
The Sister Superior drew in her breath, still singing the litany, the words as strong as the bolter in her hand. She held herself firmly in check, looking for the escape routes, the clear lines of fire, the tell-tale glimmers of warmth that were there, there and there.
She could feel the eagerness that came from them; feel the seething corruption of this whole place.
It crawled in her skin like an infection.
Our Emperor, deliver us.
Her anger, her need to fire, was strong. Her purpose was pure, clear, unquestioned; the thump of the blood in her veins was steady, insistent. She needed to draw her blade, to bring His wrath down upon every suffering, sneering occupant of this machine-dead pit…
But she could not.
Despite her need to loose both hymnal and bolter, however, she stayed in control. Twenty years’ experience had given the Sister Superior a solid core of practicality that enabled her to hold her position, and wait.
She said, softly and over the vox, ‘Corporal, when the order is given to open fire, your squad will take the upper levels. Your primary targets will be atop the tank, and anything upon the crane. Everything close belongs to us.’
Mors said, ‘Yes, Sister.’
The voice came again, mocking. ‘Quite the army you’ve got there. Little thing like you.’
‘I said, show yourself.’ Istrix’s tone was ice.
‘Listen to you.’ The voice sniggered. ‘Thinking you can walk round here like you own the place.’
Istrix snorted, the sound utterly scathing.
‘What’s she doing?’ Viola said, over their private channel. ‘Can’t she just give him orders or some–?’
‘Silence,’ Augusta told her shortly.
Viola subsided, but the muzzle of the heavy bolter twitched as it covered the walkway ahead. Augusta heard the corporal growl softly, ‘Hold steady, eyes open. Keep pressure on the – shit!’
Ahead of them, something big and metallic had rumbled into motion. The walkway creaked under its weight.
‘Kataphron,’ Caia said shortly, her tone a curse. ‘Breacher, I think. It’s blocking the exit. Heavy rifle in its left arm. Looks like it’s been scratch-repaired.’
‘Keep vigilant, Sisters,’ Augusta said. ‘There may be more.’
The Sister Superior’s line of sight was blocked by Istrix’s armoured figure, but she could still make out the thing’s brutal, half-metal skull, its blank and open eyes, one of them gleaming red with an augmetic targeter. She heard the metal grumble of tracks as the thing rolled forwards.
‘So, why don’t we give you a proper Lycheate welcome, ladies?’ The owner of the voice was somewhere below them, and Augusta couldn’t see him. ‘Weapons on the floor, hands in the sky. Unless you want my friend here to get tetchy.’
Istrix gave a short, impatient sigh. ‘Sister Superior, rid us of this obstacle.’
And then everything happened at once.
They had little cover, and less time.
As Istrix gave her order, the inquisitor vaulted clean over the railing and dropped from Augusta’s line of sight, her movements surprisingly lithe.
Caia followed her.
Dropping to a kneel, Augusta barked, ‘Viola! Take it down!’
From the begetting of daemons!
She heard the litany hit a crescendo, heard a heavy bolter as it thundered into a full, directed burst. In the open channel of the vox, there was a faint, awed whistle from one of the Militarum soldiers.
‘Shut it.’ The corporal growled the warning.
‘Corp.’ The voice sounded like Lucio, the youngest of the four.
Viola, her hymn fully as furious as the bolter itself, loosed her full rage at the tracked servitor.
But the thing was just too big. It was slow, clunky, poorly repaired – yet its chest armour was heavy, all clumsily re-welded pieces of flexsteel. Rounds struck and spanged, leaving dents.
Snarling, Viola aimed at its head, but a heavy, spot-welded helmet defeated the directed burst. The thing’s torso rocked; detonations filled the air. Its shoulder grinding audibly, it raised the rifle.
And the servitor was not alone.
From behind Augusta came the cough and roar of Melia’s flamer. Sheltered from the Breacher by the curve of the tank, the rest of the gang were jumping down to the platform, a scruffy assortment of pirates and roughnecks, their armour scavenged, their weapons poor.
Our Emperor, deliver us!
The flamer spat death.
Attackers ignited, weapons exploding as magazines overheated. Melia, too, called the words of the litany, her anger seeming almost a blessing as she freed the nonbelievers from their cursed existence.
‘By the Emperor,’ Lucio was still muttering, his tones awed. ‘I’ve never seen fighting like it!’
Mors snapped, ‘I said, shut it.’
Knowing they couldn’t see, Augusta let herself grin, tight and lethal.
‘Go down, you cursed machine!’ Viola swore; the Breacher guttered and rocked, but the grinding continued. Any moment, it would hose the platform with rounds.
‘Back!’ The Sister Superior barked orders. ‘Use the tank as cover! Viola, take out the tracks!’
Shoving the soldiers behind her, she and the other two Sisters retreated back across the main platform. High-speed explosions chewed lines of holes in the metal of tank and walkway both, making them creak and screech. Viola followed the Sisters’ retreat, her bolter still battering the thing as it tried to roll forwards.
From the curse of the mutant!
With a sudden, livid cry that was more snarl than hymn, she aimed her full rate of fire at the joint where the walkway met the platform. A volley of rounds hit and detonated.
The walkway juddered and cracked.
As the monster servitor rolled onwards, its tracks found the weak point. There was a scrape and a jolt, and the whole thing pitched nose-down, the heavy rifle now aimed at the waters below.
This time, even the corporal loosed a curse.
But, even as metal creaking grew more urgent, the heavy bolter thumped and clattered as it ran out of ammunition.
‘Above you!’ Caia’s voice said. ‘Heads up!’
A head and forearm were poking from the top of the tank, a long barrel just coming into view. The corporal hit the sniper cleanly, his single shot sizzling across the half-light. Augusta watched the figure’s head explode, the body teeter and plummet.
Melia’s flamer whooshed again – a great spitting curve as she brought the weapon round in an arc. Screams followed, bodies tumbled, splashing as they hit the water.
In an instant, fire roared across the water’s oily surface, lighting the entire platform to a ruddy-hued hellscape.
The metal creaked again.
Still at Augusta’s shoulder, the corporal barked, ‘There’s more of them! On top of the crane!’
Lasguns sizzled at another layer of snipers. The air cracked with lines of heat. The attackers swore and fell back, holes seared in their vulnerable flesh. Another one tumbled loose, and hit the catwalk with a crash.
The metal shook again.
‘It’s going to collapse!’ Akemi said. Her bolter barked as she kept firing.
‘Motion slowing.’ Caia’s voice came through the vox. ‘I’ve got fleeing contacts on all sides.’ Augusta heard the grin, heard the sharp crack of her weapon as she made sure. ‘Mercenaries!’ The word was a snort.
‘Caia,’ Augusta said. ‘What’s your location?’
‘Look down,’ Caia replied. ‘I’m still with the inquisitor. And she’s requesting… demanding… your presence.’
Leaving the other three Sisters and the four Militarum soldiers under Melia’s command, Augusta saw immediately where Istrix had gone – the inquisitor had followed the angle of the earlier targeter, and had jumped from the walkway. She’d landed on a small lift platform, some four feet below.
Sister Caia was still with her – and she had shoved her bolter, hard, under the chin of a small and grubby figure. Over the Sisters’ vox, she said, ‘Look, we’ve caught ourselves a rat.’
As Augusta jumped down, the man’s dirty, lined face paled even further. ‘Hey, I’m just trying to make a living!’
‘You’re a thief and a bully,’ Caia said curtly. ‘And your “living” is over.’
‘Please, Sister, I was only–’ he stopped as the bolter pressed harder.
The inquisitor said, her tone like steel, ‘You have made a very unwise mistake.’
‘Please!’ The man was almost gibbering. ‘We just collect the tithes, that’s all. Y’know, try to survive, make a little profit–’
‘Tithes?’ Istrix grabbed his shirt and shook him like a captured gretchin. ‘Are you some local baron, to make such demands?’
‘I’m no one, not really.’ He was stammering, scared. ‘I just work here. But I do know things. I can help you.’ He gave a sickly, ingratiating grin. ‘If you’re heading to the city, I can get you in. I know the routes. The people. I can tell you who you need to find.’
Augusta still flanking her like a bodyguard, Istrix stepped back and pulled a long votive chain from the neck of her grey robe. On its end, it bore the symbol of the Inquisition, glittering in the light from flame and lumens both.
The man swallowed, going green.
‘You know who I am?’ Her cold tones were layered with both authority and scorn.
‘The…’ The man’s face changed. Glancing down, the Sister Superior could see the dark patch now flooding the front of his trousers. He gibbered, ‘I can tell you anything, everything you need to know. Please…’
‘Maybe you can.’ Istrix gave a small, amused smile. ‘You listen to me, little man, and you listen well. I am the word of the Emperor and I am His law. I have the Sisters of Battle at my back, carrying His faith and His torch. And there is no force on this miserable planet, nothing Zale can array against me, nothing he can muster, that is enough to stop me, or to get in my way. Do you understand? Now – tell me where he’s gone.’
‘Where who’s gone? I don’t know who you mean!’ The man was almost sobbing with fear. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know…’
‘Whether he’s lying or not,’ Caia commented, over the vox, ‘he’ll betray us the moment we’ve gone.’
‘Of course he will.’ Augusta stepped forwards, and bent the man back over the lift’s metal railing. The water sloshed and hissed. The last of the flames had flickered to nothing and the garbage on its surface was ash.
‘Enough,’ Istrix said. ‘He lives. On one condition.’
‘Anything.’ The man was snivelling, snot running down his face. ‘Anything. Just – please – don’t build me into a machine!’
‘I would not bestow such a blessing upon you,’ she said, scathing. ‘Besides, I doubt you would have the stamina for it. I need you to do something for me.’
He sniffled. ‘Whatever you want. Whoever you want.’
Istrix said, ‘Do you know a woman called Rayos?’
Augusta and Caia exchanged a glance, but said nothing.
The inquisitor continued. ‘She’s a local, a seeker of knowledge, and she’s very… distinctive.’ Her tone seemed oddly amused. ‘She’s one of my few known contacts on this cesspit of a world. Do you know who she is?’
Sniffling, the man nodded.
‘You will take her a message.’
He said, ‘Rayos doesn’t–’
‘You were given an order, worm,’ Caia said, her bolter pressing harder.
Istrix shot the Sister a sharp look for speaking out of line; let the look continue to Augusta, a raised eyebrow at her discipline of her troops.
‘All right, all right!’ The man was sobbing now. ‘I’ll do anything!’
On the platform above them, pairs of armoured legs were moving in methodical patterns as the squad despatched the last of their opponents, and threw the bodies over the side. The black boots of the corporal had appeared beside the heavy metal tracks of the doomed Breacher, and a single sizzle of light finally shut the thing down.
‘If you lie to me…’ Istrix leaned in close, and spoke softly, ‘I won’t only kill you, little man. I will tear your soul into screaming pieces. And I’ll do it slowly.’
The man had sunk to the floor. He was curling in on himself, almost numb with terror. Istrix planted her boot against his shoulder and made him look up.
‘Well?’
Slowly, still sniffing, he began to nod. ‘I know the woman you mean. She’s been here a long time. Gets a lot of work. Knows a lot of people. I’ll take her your message.’
‘I thought so.’ The inquisitor was smiling, her scars creasing with the expression. ‘Tell her… tell her I’m here. Tell her to be in the Archeotech, this evening. Tell her… I have a deal to make. And that I can make it worth her while.’
The man was still nodding, relief flooding the movement. ‘I promise, I promise. In the Emperor’s name.’
‘Very well,’ Istrix said, moving her foot. ‘You can go.’
‘With all due respect, inquisitor,’ Augusta said, ‘this creature surely cannot be trusted…’
‘I gave you an order, Sister Superior.’ Istrix’s tone was cold. ‘Release him. He may betray us, but that also works to my advantage.’ She turned, her pale green eyes alight with an odd intensity. ‘I want Zale to know I’m coming. I want him to know that I have the Sisters of Battle at my back. And I want him afraid.’ Her tone was firm.
Over the vox, Caia said, ‘Sister Superior–’
‘Do not voice the thought, Sister,’ Augusta warned her. ‘To question the inquisitor is heresy.’ Both Sisters stepped back.
Fast as a rat, the man was over the railing and gone.
Istrix lifted her chin, her expression stony. Her fine latticework of scars glowed like inlaid wires. She said, ‘We are the chosen of the Emperor, Sisters, His children, and we fear nothing. What is there ahead of us that can defeat the will of the Inquisition, and the faith of the Sisters of Battle? This city holds no fears for such as we.’
Augusta saluted, said, ‘Mea fides est, et ferrum armis.’
My faith is my shield and my blade.
‘Sister…’ Again, Caia’s voice over the Sisters’ private channel.
‘Be silent.’ Augusta answered the unspoken doubt with no compromise in her tone. ‘She is the voice of the God-Emperor, and we will not discuss this again.’