A servitor, its torso and head casing wrought to resemble an antique ship's figurehead, a full-breasted damsel with gilt snakes in her hair, hummed across the expensive Selgioni rug and offered us trays of delicacies. I took one out of politeness. It was a sliver of perfect ketelfish, exquisitely sauteed and wrapped in a nearly transparent leaf of pastry. Betancore helped himself to several.
"You're a Glavian?' Maxilla asked Betancore. The two promptly fell to discussing the merits of the famous Glavian longprow. I lost interest and looked around the suite. Amid the finery were a series of priceless portraits from the Sameter School, marble busts of planetary rulers, a Jokaero light-sculpture, antique weapons and mounted suits of ceremonial mirror armour from Vitria. Aemos would appreciate this, I thought. It was to be a journey of more than a week. I'd make sure he got a chance to see it.
'Do you know Gudrun?' Maxilla was asking me.
I shook my head. 'This will be my first visit. I have only been in this sub-sector a year or so.'
A fine place, though you'll find it busy. There's a montb-long festival under way to celebrate the founding of a new guard regiment. If you have the time, I recommend the Imperial Academy of Fine Arts, and the guild museums in Dorsay.'
'I may be a little occupied.'
He shrugged. 'I always make the time to do more than simply work, inquisitor. But I know your calling is rather more strenuous than mine.'
I tried to get the measure of him, but I was failing so far. He had agreed to give us passage, and for a modest fee considering what he might have demanded. I had already paid him with an Imperial bond. Most ship masters don't like to turn down a request from an inquisitor, even if they are charging. Was it just that Maxilla wanted to keep sweet with the Ordos? Or was he simply a generous man?
Or did he have something to hide?
I wondered. Truthfully, I didn't care. The other possibility was he might think this entitled him to some future favour.
If he did, he would be wrong.
The Essene left Hubris later that day, executed the translation to the Empyrean effortlessly, and made best speed for Gudrun. Maxilla provided quarters for us all in his state apartments, but we spent most of our time on the cutter, working. Betancore and the servitors ran an overhaul of the
ship. Lowink slept. Fischig, Aemos and I worked through the paperwork on the evidence, and threw conjectures back and forth. I still held back what little I knew of the Pontius from Fischig, but it wouldn't be long before he started to make the connection himself.
Bequin kept herself to herself. She'd borrowed a set of fatigues from a work locker and I saw her about the ship, reading books she'd taken from my personal library. Poetry, mostly, and some historical and philosophical works. 1 didn't mind. It kept her out of my way.
On the third day of the voyage, I met Maxilla again, and we walked the upper promenade deck together. He seemed to enjoy telling me the histories and provenances of the ormolu-framed paintings displayed there. We saw the occasional servitor at work, but so far there had not been the slightest glimpse of any other living crewperson.
'Your friend, Fischig... he is an unsubtle man/ he remarked at length.
'He's no friend. And yes, he is unsubtle. Has he been asking you questions again?'
'I saw him briefly on the foredecks yesterday. He asked me if I knew a man called Eyclone. Even showed me a picture.'
And what did you say?'
He flashed his pearly teeth at me. 'Now who's interrogating?'
'Forgive my imprudence.'
He waved a lace-cuffed hand. 'Oh, forget it! Ask anyway! Get your questions out into the open so we can clear the air!'
Very well. What did you tell him?'
'That I did not.'
I nodded. 'Thank you for your candour.'
'But I was lying.'
I turned and looked at Maxilla sharply. He was still smiling. I had the sudden horrible notion that we had all walked into a trap and dearly wished I was carrying a weapon.
'Don't worry. I lied to him because he's an arrogant runt. But I'll give you the truth of it. I would never want to put myself in the path of an Imperial Inquisition.'
'A wise philosophy'
Maxilla flopped down on a satin couch and smoothed the front of his coat. 'I was last on Thracian Primaris two months ago. There was talk of some cargo and I held some meetings. The usual. And that's when this Eyclone enters the frame. Didn't call himself that, of course. Bless me, I forget the name he used. But it was him. Had others with him, a sour, tight lot. One called Crotes, a trade envoy. He tried to have me believe your man was authorised by the Guild Sinesias, but that was rubbish, even though Crotes had the paperwork.'
'What did he want?'
'He was hiring to make a ran, empty, to Gudrun, collect a cargo there, and bring it to Hubris.'
The nature of the cargo?'
We never got that far. I turned him down. It was preposterous. He was offering a decent fee, but I knew I'd make ten times that with my regular work.'
'You didn't get a contact name on Gudrun either?'
'My dear inquisitor, I'm just a shipman, not a detective.'
'Do you know who finally took his work?'
'I know who didn't.' He sat forward. 'I happen to keep up dialogues with other masters. Seems several of us turned it down, and most for the same reason/
'Which was?'
'It felt like trouble/
By the fifth day, my sleep patterns had begun to return to normal. Too normal, in fact, as Eyclone began to stalk my dreams again. In sleep, he came to me, taunting and threatening. I don't remember much detail, except the afterimage of his grinning face each time I woke.
In hindsight, though Eyclone was certainly in my dreams, I don't think it was his smiling face I was remembering.
The Essene translated back into real-space and entered the Gudrun system on the morning of the eighth day, ahead of schedule. Maxilla had boasted his ship was fast under optimum conditions and the boast hadn't been empty.
I had made arrangements with him to leave the Empyrean in the outreach of the system, considerably short of the busy local trade lanes that most arrivals to Gudrun followed. He agreed without question. It would only be a short delay.
'Who was she?' Bequin asked me as we stood at an observation bay watching the pale shape of Vibben's shrouded body slowly turn end over end as it drifted away from the Essene.
A friend. A comrade/1 replied.
'Is this how she wanted to go?' she asked.
'I don't think she wanted to go at all/ I said. Nearby, Aemos and Betan-core gazed gravely out of the thick port. Aemos's expression was unreadable. Betancore's dark face was drawn and anguished.
Lowink hadn't joined us, and neither had Fischig. But as I turned, I saw Maxilla standing respectfully at the rear of the observation bay, wearing a long mourning coat of black silk and a short periwig with black ribbons. He moved forward as he saw me look.
'I hope I'm not intruding. My respects to your lost comrade/
I nodded my thanks. He hadn't needed to make this effort, but it seemed appropriate for the ship's master to be present during a void burial.
'I'm not sure how these things are formally conducted, Maxilla/ I said, 'though I think this is what she would have asked for. I have spoken the Imperial Creed, and the Oration of the Dead/
Then you have done her fine service. If it is appropriate...?'
He waved forward one of his gold-plated figurehead servitors, which carried a salver of glasses and a decanter. 'It is tradition to drink a toast to the departed/ We all took a glass. 'Lores Vibben/ I said.
A minute or so's silence followed, then we slowly dispersed. I told Maxilla we could begin our approach run to Gudrun now, and he estimated it would take two hours to reach the inner system.
Returning to the cutter, I found myself walking with Bequin. She still wore the old work-suit she had liberated, though somehow it seemed to enhance her beauty rather than stifle it.
&
nbsp; 'We're almost there/ she said.
'Indeed/
'What will my duties be?'
I had yet to explain to her what she was or why I had recruited her. There had been ample time en route, but I had been putting it off, I suppose. I'd found time to show Aemos the finery of Maxilla's state rooms, and play regicide with Betancore. I wished I could throw off my distaste at just simply being around her.
I walked with her to the promenade deck and began to explain.
I don't know how I expected her to take it. When she took it badly and became upset, my response was barely controlled irritation. I knew it was her nature that was making me react this way and fought to find the sympathy she deserved.
She sat weeping on a shot-silk chair beneath one of the massive paintings; a hunting scene of nobles riding thoroughbred ursadons in the chase. Every now and then, she would blurt out a curse or whine a regret.
It was clear she wasn't upset that I wanted to employ her. It was simply the fundamental knowledge that she was... abnormal. A friendless, loveless life of woes and hard knocks suddenly had an explanation and that explanation was her own nature. I believe that she had always, stoically, blamed the galaxy as a whole for her troubles. Now I'd as good as kicked that emotional crutch away.
I damned myself for not thinking the consequences through. I'd robbed her of self-esteem and what little confidence she could muster. I'd shown up her lifelong efforts to find comfort, love and respect as hollow, self-destructive, self-denying futility.
I tried to talk about the work she could do for me. She wasn't much interested. In the end, I pulled up another chair and sat next to her as she worked the painful truth through her mind.
I was still sitting there when I received a vox-signal. It was Maxilla.
'I wonder if you could join me on the bridge, inquisitor? I require your assistance/
* * *
The bridge of the Essene was a wide domed chamber with floors and pillars of red-black marble. Silver servitors, immaculate and intricate as sculptures, were stationed at console positions sunk into the floor, their delicate geared arms working banks of controls set into polished mahogany fascias. The air was cool and still, and the only sound was the gentle hum and whirr of the working machines.
Maxilla, still dressed in his mourning robes, sat in a massive leather throne overlooking the room from a marble dais. Articulated limbs extending from the rear of the throne suspended pict-plates and consoles in his reach, but his attention was on the massive main observation port that dominated the front of the bridge.
I strode across the floor from the entrance. Each servitor wore a mask of chased gold, fashioned into a human face of classical perfection.
Inquisitor/ Maxilla said, rising.
'Your crew are all servitors,' I remarked.
'Yes,' he said distractedly. 'They are more reliable than pure flesh.'
I made no other comment. Maxilla's relationship with the Essene seemed to me akin to the way the Adeptus Mechanicus worship their god-machines. Constant involvement with such ancient instruments had convinced them of the natural inferiority of the human species.
I followed his gaze and looked at the main port. The gleaming sphere of Gudrun lay ahead, a creamy swirl of clouds stained with the lime-green phantoms of great forests under the climate cover. Clusters of black shapes thickly dotted the space between us and the planet. These were huge groups of orbiting ships, I realised. Massive dreadnoughts at high anchor, trains of great merchant ships, convoys of trade freighters streaming in under tug supervision. I had seldom seen such a wealth of orbital activity.
'Is there a problem?' I asked him.
He looked over at me, something like anxiety in his eyes. 'I have performed legal manoeuvres and entered the trade lane approach. Gudrun control has allocated me a high-anchor buoy. All relevant data is in order and my tariffs are paid. But I have just been informed that we are to be boarded and inspected.'
'This is unusual?'
'It's been ten years since anyone even suggested such a thing of my ship.'
'Explanation?'
'They say security. I told you there was a founding festival under way. You can see considerable portions of Battlefleet Scaras on station. I think the military is being over-careful of its interests here just now.'
'You mentioned my assistance.'
'The inspection launch is on its way. I feel it would facilitate matters if they were met by a ship's master and an Imperial inquisitor.'
'I can't pull strings, Maxilla.'
He laughed humourlessly and looked me in the eye. 'Of course you can! But that's not what I'm asking. With an inquisitor present, they will treat
the Essene with more respect. I'll not have them root through this vessel mindlessly.'
I thought for a moment. This smacked of the favour I had a feeling he might call in. Worse, it stank of impropriety on his part.
'I'll agree to be present for the sake of order, provided you can assure me you have nothing to hide.'
'Inquisitor Eisenhorn, I-'
'Save your indignation for the inspection, Maxilla. Your assurance is all I require. If I assist you only to find you have some dirty secret or illicit cargo, you will have a great deal more to worry about than the Imperial Navy.'
There was a look of great disappointment on his face. Either he was a superb actor, or I had truly wounded his feelings.
'I have nothing to hide/ he hissed. 'I fancied you and I had become... if not friends then decent acquaintances at least this voyage. I have shown you hospitality and freely given information into your confidence. I am hurt that you still suspect me/
'Suspicion is my business, Maxilla. If I have wronged you, my apologies/
'Nothing to hide!' he repeated, almost to himself, and led me off the bridge.
A navy pinnace, matt-grey and deep hulled, drew alongside the massive Essene and clamped itself to the fore starboard airgate. Maxilla and I were there to meet it, along with Fischig and two of the ship's primary servitors, spectacular creations of gold and silver machine parts.
I'd summoned Fischig on the basis that if the sight of an inquisitor would help, then an Arbites chastener would do no harm either. Betancore was instructed to keep everyone else with the cutter.
The gate-locks cycled open and the hatch jaws gaped, exhaling torrents of steam. A dozen large figures emerged through the haze. They were all dressed in the grey and black body armour of naval security, with the crest and sector-symbol of Battlefleet Scarus displayed on their chests and gold braid edging their epaulettes. All were masked in form-moulded ceramite helmets with lowered visor plates and rebreathers. They were armed with compact, short-frame autoguns.
The leader stepped forward and his men grouped behind him. They didn't form a neat echelon. Messy, I thought, casual, lacking the usual drilled discipline of the infamous naval security arm. These men were bored and going through the motions. They wanted this formality over and done too.
Tobius Maxilla?' barked the leader, his voice distorted by his mask and vox-amplified.
'I am Maxilla/ said the ship's master, stepping forward.
'You have been notified that an inspection of your vessel is due. Furnish me with crew lists and cargo manifests. Your full co-operation is expected/
At a nod from Maxilla, one of the servitors moved forward on silent tracks and handed the security detail's leader a data-slate with the relevant material.
He didn't look at it. 'Do you have anything you wish to volunteer before the inspection begins? It will go easier for you if you make submissions of contraband.'
I watched the exchange. There were twelve troops, hardly enough to search a ship the size of the Essene. Where were their servitors, their scanning units, their crow-bars, multi-keys and heat-detectors?
They had no way of knowing who I was from my appearance, but why had they not remarked on the presence of an Arbites?
My vox channel was set to the cutter's. I didn't speak, but I keyed
it three times. A non-verbal part of Glossia Betancore would understand.
'You haven't yet identified yourself/ I said.
The lead security trooper turned to look at me. I saw only my reflection in his tint-coated visor.
What?'
'You haven't identified yourself or shown your warrant of practice. It is a requirement of such inspections.'
'We're naval security-' he began angrily, stepping towards me. His men faltered.
You could be anybody' 1 pulled out my Inquisitorial Rosette. 'I am Gre-gor Eisenhorn, Imperial inquisitor. We will do this correctly or not at all.'
You're Eisenhorn?' he said.
There was no surprise in his voice at all. A tiny thing to notice but enough for me.
The warning was already rising in my throat as their guns came up.
EIGHT
A dozen killers.
The procurator.
Grain merchants from Hesperus.
Maxilla uttered a yell of disbelief. The leader of the security detail and two of his men opened fire.
Their compact autoguns were designed for ship-board fighting and zero-gravity work: low velocity, low recoil weapons that fired blunt-nosed slugs which couldn't puncture a hull.
But they were more than capable of shredding a man.
I threw myself sideways as the first shots spanged off the deck or left ugly metal braises on the wall. In seconds, it was utter chaos. All the security troopers were firing, some on semi-automatic. Smoke filled the air and the airgate chamber was shaking with muzzle flashes and gunfire.
One of Maxilla's servitors was decapitated and then punched into spare-part debris as it turned towards the attackers. The other tried to move to shield Maxilla, but more shots tore out its tracks and its torso.
Two shots ripped through my trailing coat, but I made it to the doorframe behind us. I yanked my stub-pistol from its holster.
Fischig had drawn his own sidearm and was blasting away as he backed towards the door. He dropped one of the troopers with a tight group of shots that sent the man flying in a puff of blood. Then Fischig was lifted off his feet by a hit to the stomach. Doubled over, he tumbled into the corner of the chamber and lay still.