The Lycheate city was designated ‘City-05’, and the crush and the stench were incredible.
The place was a cacophony of noise – metallic music, harsh and jangling; voices, raised in shouts and anger. Everywhere, there was the push and shove of filthy, reeking humanity, with orks and beastmen in the seething crowd. There was the flit of the thief, the bulge of the mutant, the bellow of the roustabout thug.
Sister Melia had seen such things before – she and Caia had both been with Augusta on Hadria, on their mission to recapture the renegade rogue trader Samual – but still, the stink and the corruption of this place crawled under her skin like an infection. She hated it; she needed to offer it the cleansing it so richly craved. She could feel the Sister Superior’s rising impatience, and her restraint; could feel the sharp sense of wariness that came from Akemi and Viola both, neither of them long from the schola.
Yet Melia, her Hospitaller training rising in her heart, contorted with something else. These people had lost their way, lost the Light. They should be purged; they should be granted the Emperor’s final peace…
She walked with her hand on her flamer, itching to pull it free.
Around them, much of the machinery had been prayed to new life. It rattled and clanked. New devotions had been embossed into its surfaces; its old Mechanicus symbols had been cleaned and polished, or defaced and carved over. Liquid rumbled through endless pipes; bursts of steam hissed free from louvered vents, and rose, ghost-pale, into the almost-dark sky. The hauler engines were running here, clattering loudly in their tracks. Screen linked to screen and silent information flowed almost palpably across the air. In places, there were figures tending to them, praying. Melia caught flashes of additional limbs, of extended augmetics and hood-covered faces…
Of the twists of warp and ruin that crept from the Mechanicus’ remaining skin.
She shuddered.
This whole place was a hive, a living, breathing melting-pot of machinery, and every type of depravity clamoured in its suspended steel streets.
Before her, Sister Akemi walked slowly, a prayer on her lips. Melia was about to intercede when Augusta stopped beside the youngest Sister and gripped her shoulder in one gauntleted hand.
‘Have faith, Sister,’ she said. ‘He is with us, even here. Keep your thoughts on His light, and the despair of this place cannot touch you.’
Akemi nodded, continuing to pray. Melia echoed her, the words both strength and comfort.
Yet her hand remained on her flamer.
They walked on, their red boots clanging loudly. Desperate figures huddled away from them, crippled or mutated or both. Others turned as they passed, gaping in awe or astonishment. Still more narrowed their gazes, as if weighing the opportunity – then thought better of it and turned away. There were even those who tried to trade, bundles over their shoulders that they spread out, laden with scavenged treasures – machine parts, pict-slates, ancient fragments of forgotten weaponry.
More than once, they saw a figure overwhelmed in a corner, and beaten casually to death.
Nowhere were there soldiers, or any icons of either faith or authority.
‘By the Throne,’ Akemi said, her voice soft. ‘This place is a hell. It should be ended.’
‘Why do they even come here?’ Viola asked.
Istrix replied, her voice flat. ‘A place with no authority can be seen as an inviting prospect – somewhere that one can live without the restriction of rules. Outlaws and renegades, the lost, the unlucky, the mutant, the witch – all have rid themselves of the Emperor.’ Her voice curdled, sour with anger. ‘Here, they consider themselves free.’
‘This is not freedom,’ Viola muttered, her tone edged with ferocity. She gestured with the bolter-muzzle, indicating their surroundings. ‘This is sacrilege.’
But Istrix turned sharply on her heel and faced them, making them stop.
‘I suggest you control yourself, Sister,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘I remind you again – you will take action only by my command.’
She held Viola’s gaze, stared her down. She turned to Augusta, making sure, then to Mors, one eyebrow raised.
‘Ave Imperator.’ The young man offered a salute, but he let his fist drop as soon as she’d turned away. The expressions of his squad, Melia noted, were less than properly schooled.
They glanced at each other, silent stress shifting between them. Augusta was watching the inquisitor’s back. The Sister Superior’s expression was concealed by her helm, but her armoured shoulders seemed increasingly tense.
It appeared, Melia thought, that there was more to Inquisitor Istrix than they’d realised.
Staying close together, the group pushed onwards over the endless, groaning metal. It was fully dark, now, but the lumens were brighter and their light gleamed from the soldiers’ steaming breaths. The platforms were larger, better maintained, and many of the tanks and reactors had been repurposed as habitats or saloons. Smoke curled in the air – tabac sticks and kyxa weed. Coloured signs gleamed in darkened corners, making offers that made Lucio nudge his fellows and snicker.
But Istrix did not care. She ignored the graffiti, scratched in mockery over the cogs and skulls of the original forge world; she ignored the sharp gazes of the curious opportunists, ignored the surrounding bodies, looted and rotting. She walked through all of it with her conviction blazing fearlessly, like an aura. The Sisters, in their scarlet armour, followed her, pushing through the grubby people like a wash of blood through rust.
And the four soldiers walked with them, their eyes everywhere.
At last, the inquisitor stopped. She indicated a large, cylindrical tank, standing alone at the platform’s outer edge – a smeltorium, perhaps, from the corroding pipes beneath. A sequence of binary code was carved into its outside.
And below it, scratched into the metal, was the word, ‘Archeotech’.
‘Sssss.’ The noise might have been laughter, but it was mechanical, and oddly flat.
In the dim illumination of the tank’s interior, a hooded figure sat in a defended seat, its back to the curve of the wall. Before it, the place was packed, all shouting and fighting and the pounding of scratch-built metal tables; the air stank of piss and spirits. The figure, however, did not raise its hood to look.
On the other side of the table, Istrix stood solid, arms folded. The five Sisters flanked her like icons.
Ranged with them, the Militarum soldiers seemed somewhat distracted. Lucio was looking around, and casting a wistful gaze at the battered metal mugs.
Melia left him to it. Her attention was on the figure itself, and its mantled, augmetic limbs.
A tech-priest.
A renegade.
Its cloak was black, shimmering with an oily glisten, and it bore a cog-symbol unfamiliar to the Sisters. Its limbs clicked and twitched; one claw pulled back its hood just enough to reveal a semi-human, female face, a single bright blue eye. Her other eye was an extending metal lens, glinting with a red, augmetic glare, and her mechadendrites rippled this way and that, scanning Istrix, the Sisters and the soldiers, and the bar in every direction.
Satisfied with the data she had assembled, she sat back and hissed again, the noise like releasing steam.
‘Rayos.’ The inquisitor picked up a mug, eyed the contents, and clanked it back down on the table.
‘Inquisitor.’ The word was emotionless, emerging in ticks and whirs. ‘There has been an eighty-six point seven per cent chance that you would come, seeking my input.’
‘Your information is excellent,’ Istrix said. It was statement, rather than question. ‘And I know about you, also – the heretek Vius was not alone in his desire to plunder the mysteries of Lycheate.’
The hood cocked to one side, the movement precise. ‘Vius is gone, his data held only in memory.’
The bar heaved and roared. From somewhere, there came singing, coarse and ragged like a shanty; the tables clattered in rhythm.
Istrix said, ‘I wish to trade.’
Rayos let out another hiss. ‘My trade is forty-two point two per cent information, twenty-one point three per cent machine parts, and eleven point four per cent ores and minerals. The remainder can be defined as “unusual”, where that definition is taken from–’
‘I’m looking for a man called Scafidis Zale,’ Istrix said, with a thin smile. ‘You either know where he is, or you can tell me where he may be found.’
The tech-priest sat back, her augmetic eye twisting as she focused upon Istrix’s face.
‘I can access this data,’ she said, at last. ‘But its release requires a very specific exchange.’
Istrix glanced pointedly at the Sisters that surrounded her, and leaned her knuckles on the table. The seemingly casual movement dropped her symbol from the front of her robes. It swayed there, glinting. ‘It’s not a request.’
The priest hissed again, the noise thoughtful. All of her mechadendrites had swivelled upwards to focus on the leaning figure. ‘You have…’ she paused, ‘…no authority here. And you do not have sufficient force of arms. Releasing this information may place my life at risk, and I will not offer you this data without a suitable reciprocal exchange.’
She turned away, as if the interview was closed. Melia found herself wondering if she’d try to throw them out.
What binary messages were stealing out, even now, across the air?
The Sister looked around for enforcers, but could see nothing obvious.
‘Inquisitor, with your permission?’ Augusta took a half-step forwards.
Istrix nodded and stood upright, her arms folded.
Augusta said, ‘Answer me, Rayos, yes or no – do you know the location of the witch?’
The priest turned back, raised her chin as if curious. ‘I can offer a ninety-seven point six per cent probability on where he may be found. These parameters are usually enough to assure accuracy.’
The Sister Superior paused, then said, ‘But you will not offer the information. Why can you not just tell us, Rayos? Does the heretic have some hold on you?’
‘Sssss.’ The priest’s limbs were moving now, closing about her body as if to defend herself against assault. ‘My programming is uncorrupted. The Adepta Sororitas have no cause to assail me.’
Augusta paused, eyeing Rayos’ hood-shadowed, half-steel face. ‘We seek the witch,’ she said, ‘and we intend to find him.’ The Sister Superior’s hand was resting on her chainsword – whatever enforcers Rayos may have, she looked prepared to fight through all of them.
Lucio had stopped looking around now, and the four Militarum soldiers were paying tight attention.
‘The Sister Superior is correct,’ the inquisitor said. ‘We will see this mission completed.’
The roar of the bar clamoured round them; Melia laid her hand on her flamer, a prayer rising on her lips.
But Rayos clicked and whirred, considering the pair of them. She leaned backwards in her chair, her limbs mantling higher. Then one claw pulled her black hood right off, revealing all of her once-human face, and the nest of augmetics that swarmed over it like a contagion.
They stared.
Rayos looked unclean, her flesh twisted and her metal corroding. As Melia suspected, she did not resemble any Mechanicus adept the Sisters had ever seen. In her remaining human cheek, her original cog-and-skull symbol had been obliterated by a long, red scar.
‘Incaladion,’ Akemi commented, over the vox. ‘Must have been her home forge world.’
‘What do you want?’ Istrix asked her. ‘In exchange for Zale’s location?’
Rayos’ mechadendrites flicked from the inquisitor to the Sister Superior and back, considering their unity and determination. Melia could almost imagine her assessing the information, calculating the threat. She said, ‘One of the Sororitas will remain with me until you have secured Scafidis Zale.’
‘What?’ Augusta stepped forwards, her hands tightening on her weapons. ‘To what purpose?’
‘As bodyguard,’ Rayos said. ‘If I reveal Zale’s location, there is a ninety-nine point six per cent chance that he will seek retribution. The Adepta Sororitas are known for faith that can defy witchery. This is my trade. If you wish to locate the heretic, you will grant me security.’
‘We will make the deal.’ Istrix made a decisive gesture. ‘Sister Superior, one of your squad will volunteer.’
The words were an order.
Augusta inhaled sharply, her armour creaking with the movement; Viola and Akemi exchanged a look.
The priest wheezed again, a sound like straining bellows – she sounded almost like she was laughing. A clear space had spread out around the table and Melia could feel shadows lurking at its edges, bristling dark with threat.
The Sister had no doubt that, if they turned on Rayos or tried to betray her, the resulting confrontation would be excessive.
She heard herself say it: ‘I will stay.’
‘Sister?’ Augusta turned, her face concerned.
‘I will stay,’ Melia said, again. ‘Sister Caia must remain with the inquisitor, and you will need Viola’s strength and Akemi’s knowledge. The success of this mission is the will of the Emperor,’ she kept her tone neutral, ‘and if I can serve Him best by remaining here, then I will do so.’
‘You have great courage, Sister Melia,’ Istrix said, her smile thin and cold.
‘You have great courage,’ Augusta repeated. ‘To face this test alone is an act of both honour and bravery.’ She offered the sign of the aquila and a blessing. ‘Imperatoris vobiscum.’
Emperor be with you.
The blue eye of the priest had observed the exchange with interest; the red one swivelled to focus on Melia, scanning her from head to foot.
‘The chances of successful retribution have lessened by a factor of three point three recurring – these parameters are acceptable. I must clarify accurate data. Inquisitor, Sister Superior, you will return here at 20:03:57, Solar time, when I will possess the information you require.’
‘What guarantees do I have,’ Istrix said, ‘that you will not betray us?’
The priest placed her hood over her face and sat back, hissing.
‘You must calculate those odds,’ she said, ‘for yourself.’
Outside the repurposed tank, Augusta was finding herself increasingly disconcerted. They had been given no clear orders. They had walked blindly into an ambush. They were forbidden to open fire.
And now this.
Leaving a member of her squad behind was unthinkable – her Sisters fought, moved, as a unit.
They had no Kimura, no Jatoya…
And without Melia, they had no medicae, and no second.
Augusta wondered why her Sister had volunteered, but the thought was too much. The Sister Superior was becoming more unsettled with every passing moment, with every order given and decision made…
But, erratic behaviour or not, Istrix was the Emperor’s chosen, and her word was law.
Levis est mihi.
A prayer in her heart, Augusta walked like an automaton, her boots clanging with every step. Viola and Akemi flanked her like guards. The three of them stayed in tight formation as they followed Istrix back out onto the platform, and over towards the city.
Ahead, Caia still walked with the inquisitor, but the set of the Sister’s red shoulders was tense. Melia was her closest friend, and it was easy to see that Caia was angry.
At the back, the four Militarum soldiers stayed silent, as if they dared not make a sound.
At the city limits, however, and demarked by a chain-link metal fence, a crowd had gathered to watch.
Eyes hungry and gleeful were observing their every movement.
As if they were waiting for something.
They didn’t wait long.
Caia’s warning and the single shot came almost simultaneously; Augusta saw Istrix jolt, then slump sideways like a broken thing.
Caia shouted, ‘Up there!’
The corporal’s lasrifle streaked fire across the darkness. But, on the high walkway, the cloaked figure was already vanishing from sight.
Viola’s weapon was drawn, covering the city; Augusta and Akemi both aimed their bolters at the tank’s entranceway. The Militarum bristled lasrifles at the higher gantries.
Nothing moved.
Stuck out in the open, the group was coverless, and alone. Gazes still watched them from the town, avid and curious. Augusta could almost feel them, mustering their courage, their hatred and their fear – they bulged with resentment like some mutated growth.
But would they dare attack?
Bolter still in hand, she drew the chainsword with the other.
Daring them.
Caia had dropped to one knee beside the inquisitor. ‘She’s alive,’ she said, bio-scanner in hand. ‘By the grace of the Emperor, she’s alive. We need Melia…’ She stopped, twisting her words to a halt.
Rufus, one of the Militarum group, called, ‘Sister! I can help!’
Augusta gave a curt nod.
‘Go,’ the corporal told him, and the man ran forwards, pulling a medi-pack as he did so.
Viola hadn’t moved; the muzzle of the heavy bolter still covered the crowd. Augusta could feel her fury; she was burning to pull the trigger.
‘Rayos must have betrayed us.’ Her tone was vicious. ‘This whole place stinks of corruption. We should go back in there and–’
‘That is not our priority.’ Augusta cut her off. ‘Akemi, speak to Melia and secure her report. Corporal Mors, we need a defensible location. If the inquisitor dies while under our guard…’ Purposely, she let the implication hang.
‘Sister!’ Viola’s protest was angry. ‘Rayos–’
‘Sister Viola!’ Augusta’s tone was a bark. ‘The inquisitor is alive. She is the word of the Emperor, and she must take precedence.’ She looked at her squad. ‘We will not abandon Sister Melia. But we need security – and now. Akemi, what’s the report from the Archeotech?’
‘Nothing, Sister,’ Akemi said. ‘I can’t reach Melia on the vox – I’m getting static.’
Throne! Augusta stopped herself cursing aloud. She was caught, thinking, praying, her whole body was alert with adrenaline – she could not abandon a member of her squad, but nor could she leave the injured inquisitor out in the open.
A prayer curled in her heart; she needed guidance, under-standing…
Levis est mihi…
Show me to the Light!
She had to make the decision.
She said, ‘Keep trying. Mors – how well do you know the area? Can you find us a safe location?’
‘I believe so, Sister,’ the corporal said. He had his rifle in hand, still scanning the upper catwalks. ‘The Mechanicus construct these platforms in repeating and regular patterns, and I know where one may be found.’
‘Good man,’ Augusta said to him. ‘We will follow your lead. Can the inquisitor be moved?’
‘The Emperor is with her, Sister Superior.’ Rufus was on his knees and holding a dressing to Istrix’s shoulder. ‘The wound is serious, but treatable. The hydrostatic shock has robbed her of consciousness. I can revive her–’
‘Not here.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
The city’s crowd was getting larger now; they were starting to shift and seethe. Viola made a deliberate show of re-cocking the heavy bolter, the noise echoing from the tank like a challenge. Akemi kept her weapon trained on the tank’s hatch, though the bar had remained silent. Her voice in the vox continued, but there was no response to the call.
Augusta checked her annoyance, and gave her orders.
‘Corporal, take point. Sister Caia, with the corporal. I will carry the inquisitor myself. Viola, guard our backs – and if anything tries to attack us, shoot it.’
Viola said, ‘Aye,’ and the word was like a promise of violence.
They moved, low to the ground and at the double. Caia’s scanning enhanced the corporal’s local instincts and they made good speed, skirting the outer edges of the city and climbing down towards the lower platforms.
It was darker down here, the lumens faltering, but it offered at least basic concealment.
Suspended walkways creaked over the reeking water; the group moved as fast as it dared, all suit-lights turned off.
The unconscious inquisitor hung in Augusta’s arms like a sacrifice, her scars glinting. She was heavy, but the Sister Superior’s power armour was enough to bear her easily.
In the vox, Augusta offered a prayer – for Melia, for Istrix’s health and recovery. And for herself, for insight, for His wisdom to show her the way…
Domine deduc me mi Imperatoris…
This mission was not turning out how they had expected.
Soon, they left the noise of the town behind them. They could clearly hear their own boots and breathing, the hiss and seethe of the hungry, polluted waters. And, as they walked, Augusta’s prayers focused her thoughts, and she began to understand something.
The Sister Superior did not doubt Istrix’s authenticity, nor her dedication to her target, yet still, her choices of action seemed odd. She came across as arrogant, though perhaps that was not so unusual. And she had willingly walked them out from the Munitorum depot, and straight into the nearest ambush…
For what?
So she could locate Rayos?
Rayos herself had seemed genuine enough – a local boss, manipulating the people and powers around her to her own best advantage. Augusta had encountered such creatures before. She–
‘Here!’
The corporal’s deep voice sounded in the vox.
‘No movement,’ Caia confirmed, auspex back in her hand.
‘That doesn’t mean it’s empty,’ Augusta commented. ‘Secure the area.’
‘Aye.’
Caia nodded at the corporal, and his heavy boot hammered the metal door. It spanked back against the side of the lift shaft, and Caia brought up her bolter to cover the space. Within was a cargo-lift, more than big enough to accommodate all of them, and with the added advantage of a second exit on the opposite side.
Caia counted five and said, ‘Clear!’
‘Very well, then,’ Augusta said. ‘We will regroup, and reload.’
As they moved in, and laid the inquisitor down, Rufus moved forward with his kit, but Augusta held up a hand. ‘She’s stable, yes?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Then why don’t we let her sleep for a moment?’ Her tone was grim. ‘Keep an eye on her. Corporal Mors, I’ll need your full report.’
If this mission was to succeed, then the Sister Superior wanted to know everything.