[Space Wolf 04] - Wolfblade

  “I was thinking about the alliance between our Houses.”

  “It’s one of the bedrocks of my family’s power,” she said.

  “How so?”

  “It helps keep our rivals in check. Few would move openly against us for fear of reprisals from the Space Wolves.”

  “Few would move openly against you on Terra anyway. It is sacred ground. Bloodshed is not permitted there.”

  Gabriella laughed. “Blood is shed on Earth as it is everywhere else. It is merely done more circumspectly. And we do not have holdings only on Earth.”

  Ragnar thought about this. “The Wolves have come to your aid in the past.”

  “Aye, they have, and would do so again, if need be. Who knows, they might even fight on Terra if the need arose. Your Chapter is known to be wild and uncontrollable, a law unto itself.”

  “All Space Marine Chapters are. Their privileges and prerogatives date back to before the Imperium itself.”

  “Aye, but your brethren have a reputation for being more erratic than the other Chapters.”

  “It has never stopped us from fighting well, or from being loyal to the Emperor.”

  “I did not mean it as a criticism. Indeed from the point of view of my House it is praise. Our enemies might have swallowed us up millennia ago, had they not thought your Chapter would avenge us.”

  “I thought Belisarius was one of the most powerful of the Navigator Houses?”

  “It is now, and has been at many times in its history. But these things are cyclical. All Houses suffer setbacks. Such is the nature of trade and competition. In our history there have been many periods where we have suffered reversals, and we have been eclipsed. Leading a House is like guiding a ship: sometimes all it takes is one bad or unlucky decision for you to founder.”

  “It has not happened to Belisarius yet. For more than ten millennia we have been your allies.”

  “And let us hope that we are for another. Although I have a foreboding that events are taking a turn for the worse for House Belisarius.”

  Ragnar wanted to contradict her, but he could see the sadness written on her face. He realised this was a woman who had just lost her father, a father who had been the leader of his House, the Celestarch, a Navigator of Navigators.

  They passed more sailors in the wide corridor. Almost automatically Ragnar put himself in a position where he could interpose himself if they proved to be a threat. The humans sensed this and gave him a wide berth.

  “There is no need to terrify the crew,” said Gabriella.

  “I am here to ensure your safety. Those were my orders.”

  She glanced at him. “Fair enough, but there is no need to glower while you do your duty.”

  “I had not realised I was glowering.”

  “You Fenrisians never seem to realise. You are so feral. What you think is always written on your face, and what you think about is mostly violence.”

  “Before this voyage is out you may be glad of that.”

  “Perhaps. I am glad you are here anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if there is a threat to my life, I think you will deal with it.”

  “You think it a serious possibility?”

  “Yes. These are troubled times. My father has just been assassinated. Anyone who could get to him could get to me.”

  “You seem to take it very calmly.”

  “It happens. It happens even within the Houses themselves. Siblings have been known to remove those they think of as rivals.”

  “You think they would kill you to remove a contender to the throne?”

  “Now you are thinking like a Fenrisian, Ragnar. I am not a contender for the throne. Not at this time anyway. The Celestarchy does not pass from parent to child. Our rulers are selected from a short list of available candidates by the Council of Elders.”

  “They are the oldest and wisest of your tribe?”

  “Something like that.”

  The door slid open and they arrived on the command deck. Tech adepts hovered over command altars, linked to the ancient devices by cables that ran to occipital sockets. The smell of ozone and technical incense filled the air. Officers in the House uniform of Belisarius stood to attention as Gabriella entered.

  “Navigator on deck!” snapped someone and the others bowed their heads reverently.

  “Be at ease,” said Gabriella. “May fortune smile on us and prosperity wash over us.”

  “May fortune smile on us,” responded the crew. Gabriella strode forward to the centre of the command deck and began communing with the crew. They spoke a technical argot of their trade, which was less than gibberish to Ragnar so he took the opportunity to study his surroundings.

  The command deck was large and circular. It occupied a blister on top of the massive hull of The Herald of Belisarius. There were several large circular armourglass windows. Through the starboard side the vast white and blue sphere that was Garm was visible. Swift moving dots told of other sub-orbital craft going about their business.

  Various technical altars were arranged around a central holo-pit. Something like a huge throne occupied its own dais on the balcony overlooking the pit. Ragnar recognised this as the Navigator’s command chair.

  Various personnel presented reports for Gabriella’s approval. She listened and nodded before beckoning Ragnar over.

  “When we leave orbit, we will be about twelve hours away from our insertion point. The captain will handle the steering of the vessel until then. I am going to get something to eat and have some rest.”

  “Very well,” Ragnar said. “I will accompany you.”

  She gave him an amused look. “I have asked for you to be given the stateroom adjoining mine. Your gear has already been stowed there.”

  “Very good.”

  The Navigators of Belisarius did well for themselves, Ragnar thought. He was used to the bare cells of military starships. This chamber was more like something from the hookah dream of a Slaaneshi cultist.

  The massive bed was bolted to the floor. The mattress was soft. There were chairs carved from single pieces of Leviathan tooth ivory, desks and furnishings from precious scented woods. Faintly narcotic incense perfumed the air. A vast mirror dominated one wall. The controls beneath it indicated that it doubled as a televisor. He had already dismissed the body servants who had hovered around waiting to satisfy his whims. He had told them that all he wanted was something to eat.

  A bell announced that the food had arrived. “Enter,” he called. A row of liveried servants entered bearing silver trays. On each was a collection of enamelled porcelain, which his enhanced senses told him bore all manner of highly spiced delicacies. The servants bustled around the room, arranging a table, spreading tablecloths, and setting heating elements in place to keep the food warm.

  An elderly white-haired man, the possessor of a superlatively supercilious expression, uncovered each dish with a flourish.

  “Pickled slime eels,” he said proudly. Ragnar nodded.

  “Roast haunch of dragonbird in a venomberry sauce. I think this one will tickle your palate, sir,” he said with an ingratiating smile.

  “Really,” said Ragnar.

  “Boiled naga-goat tripes in leper brandy,” The dish looked as if someone had been sick in it, Ragnar thought. He ignored the rest of the descriptions until the old man tried to move into a position behind him. Without thinking, the young Space Wolf whirled ready to strike.

  The servant blanched. “Your napkin, sir,” he said, displaying a serviette almost the size of a small sheet.

  Ragnar glared at him. “Do not attempt to get behind me again,” he said.

  “But how will I prepare you for feasting, sir?”

  “I require no help to sit down to table,” said Ragnar. The servant looked affronted.

  “But sir, proper etiquette at the Court of Belisarius dictates that…”

  “Proper etiquette in the halls of Fenris dictates that a man is left alone to eat when he wishe
s. Breaches of etiquette require duels to settle them.”

  “Duels, sir?”

  “Personal insults require the challenge,” said Ragnar.

  “I meant no insult, sir. We must all make allowances when two cultures meet.”

  Ragnar grinned, showing his fangs. “Indeed we must. Now I would be obliged if you would leave me to my food and my meditations. Else…”

  “Quite, sir, quite,” The elderly servant clapped his hands, and they all fled the room. Ragnar was left alone in his chamber. He surveyed the food and realised that it must have cost a small fortune to bring it all this distance. The selection of wines, brandies and cheeses that had been provided had been brought all the way from Terra. Given the cost of transportation the Navigators charged, it seemed almost a sin.

  Nonetheless he sat himself down to eat. The tastes were interesting but he would have preferred plain old Fenrisian seal or caribou meat. Perhaps he would ask about getting some. Just at that moment, he heard a faint panicked call from the adjoining door.

  Without pausing to think, he snatched up his bolter and threw the heavy airlock door open. Fortunately it was unlocked or he might have had some trouble. He could see Gabriella on the far side of the chamber. Something glinting and metallic scuttled over the bed towards her.

  The situation was dangerous. In this small heavily armoured chamber, bolter shells would ricochet. Ragnar’s armour would shield him, but there was every chance they might harm the woman he was supposed to protect. He focused his attention on the thing that stalked her.

  To normal humans it would have been moving with blinding speed, but Ragnar was a Space Wolf, and his perceptions and reflexes were superhuman. For him, in combat mode now, it moved in slow motion. The scent gave it away. It was a compound of metal and oil and subtle toxins: a form of robotic spider created by the black arts of some degenerate alien race. Two long needle-like fangs protruded from its front. Camera eyes glittered high on its back.

  An assassination device obviously, probably controlled by someone nearby.

  Ragnar sprang forward onto the bed, slamming the butt of his weapon down on it. He was taking a chance. If the thing contained an explosive device he might well detonate it, but he was counting on this thing being more subtle: you did not equip such a device with poisoned fangs, if you intended to detonate it. The spider cracked open. Blue sparks shot everywhere. A strong stench of ozone wafted into the air.

  Ragnar picked it up in a gauntleted hand and crushed it again.

  He glanced around to see if there were any other threats in the vicinity and detected none. He gestured for Gabriella to follow him into his own stateroom where he tossed the mechanical spider into a flagon of water, hoping to short it out permanently.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “Did the thing sting you?”

  The Navigator appeared perfectly composed but her face was white and her pupils dilated. The pineal eye on her forehead had opened. It was much smaller and less disturbing than he had expected it to be.

  “If it had, I would be dead now. That is a jokaero death spider. An assassination device that contains zarthax, one of the deadliest poisons in the galaxy.”

  Ragnar cursed. He had expected many things but not this use of foul deviant alien technology. Another thought struck him.

  “You seem very well informed about such things,” said Ragnar.

  “Every child of the Navigator Houses knows about such things. They are commonly used devices. Small enough to crawl through ventilator shafts, stealthy enough to infiltrate a mansion. I was lucky. I had gone to wash my face when I heard it thump down on the bed. I froze and shouted for help. Its camera eyes would have tracked movement. The operator could not have seen me or I would be dead now.”

  Ragnar kept his manner all business, but part of his mind reeled. They were commonly used assassination devices? Such vile alien works were forbidden throughout most of the Imperium. He supposed that the Navigator Houses would naturally have access to these things but still… “Whoever unleashed and guided that thing must be on the ship.”

  “Yes.”

  “We will find him.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You do not seem very confident.”

  “How could you tell who, on a ship as large as this, could have done it?”

  “As long as they are human, I have my ways,” said Ragnar, knowing that the stink of guilt would be on someone, and his nose would pick it out. Another thought occurred to him.

  “The attack was well timed: you were in your chamber, and I was supposed to be eating.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who would know about such things?”

  “The ship’s quartermaster, the major domo, and many of the serving men. A host of people, in fact.”

  “In future, we will share the same chamber,” She considered this for a moment.

  “As you wish.”

  “Now let us call your security people, and see if we can get to the bottom of this.”

  Ragnar cursed. A body had been found in an equipment locker near to the stateroom. Controls for the spider were with it. The man had taken poison, from a hollow tooth. It appeared he had been prepared for failure. Ragnar was surprised. This spoke of a level of preparation and fanaticism he had not expected.

  “It does not surprise me,” said Gabriella when he told her. “This sort of thing has happened before.”

  “The man must have been a fanatic,” said Ragnar. To his surprise, she laughed.

  “What is so funny?”

  “That a Space Marine should accuse someone else of fanaticism,” Her face was suddenly serious. “But maybe you are right.”

  “The man must have been one, to give his life up so easily.”

  “Perhaps he hated my family. Perhaps he belonged to one of the cults that hate Navigators. Or perhaps he had no motive at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps he was hypno-conditioned or psychically brainwashed to perform this action. There are many ways it can be done.”

  “We should check the body for marks. Sometimes cultists have tattoos or the stigmata of Chaos on them.”

  “I doubt you will find anything,” said Gabriella, “but go ahead. I must go now to guide the ship. We are less than an hour away from warp insertion.”

  “I will come with you to the command deck,” As he spoke, Ragnar stripped the corpse.

  “I doubt anyone would attack me while we are in the warp. You know as well as I do that the ship would founder and all of us would be lost.”

  The girl was right. There were no tattoos, no stigmata of any sort. Even the scent was perfectly normal for a corpse, save for the faint acrid hint of poison.

  “If the assassin is under some sort of mind control why should he care?”

  “A fair point. But once we are warp-bound, I will be sealed in a life support throne, alone in the command blister. The place is secure as a fortress. It has to be.”

  “Why?”

  “It must be able to shield me from anything we might encounter in the warp. I can say no more than that.”

  “There is no need to say more,” He gestured for the security men to take the body away and dispose of it. They obeyed. Some of them stuck close by. They seemed embarrassed and ashamed that a Navigator had almost been assassinated while she was in their care. Ragnar understood how they felt.

  “How difficult would it be for an enemy to place an agent on one of your ships?” he asked as they strode towards the command deck.

  “All our people are carefully screened, particularly those who serve on House ships like this one. Still, no system is foolproof. I would imagine that a truly determined enemy could get someone aboard. Or could corrupt someone who was already screened.”

  “That’s a worrying thought,” said Ragnar. He was a taken aback by how calmly the Navigator was taking this. She seemed to be treating it as part of every day life.

  “It is also possible that someone in my own House wants
me dead,” she said. “It would be much easier for an insider to achieve, than an outsider.”

  Someone had already got to the head of the House, Ragnar thought. And he was presumably more securely guarded than Gabriella would ever be. As they entered the command deck, he reflected that this assignment was turning out to be a lot more interesting than he had anticipated, and they had not even reached Terra yet.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ragnar looked down upon the strange globe beneath him. The hemisphere glittered metallic silver in the daylight. There were patches of red upon it that might have been seas of rust. The lines of the ancient continents were gone. All that was left to suggest them were vague outlines where the density of buildings became even more intense along what had once been shorelines. Now the world wore metallic armour over its entire surface. It seemed fitting somehow.

  Ragnar smiled; it was an astonishing feeling. The image was a familiar one. This was the birth world of humanity. He had seen the likeness so often that it was strange knowing that the planet was actually below him now, a glittering jewel set against the black velvet of space. Ragnar felt excitement build up in him.

  This was where humanity had first reached for the stars, where the Emperor of Mankind was born and from where he had launched his great crusade. Where Horus had besieged the Imperial Palace and the future history of the galaxy had been decided. This was the hub of the greatest Empire that had ever existed, a seat of government of incalculable power.

  Somewhere down there the Lords of the Administratum decided the fate of countless billions. Somewhere down there the Emperor lay half-alive within his golden throne. The primarchs had walked there amid the gardens and plasteel starscrapers. Russ had led the distant forebearers of the Chapter into battle on its soil. This was Earth, old and weighted with millennia of history. Soon he would join the countless trillions who had made the pilgrimage to its surface. Soon he would be part of everyday life down there.

  He considered their approach. He knew that they had passed countless fortresses and fleets as they had swung in from the ultra-solar jump points. They had passed the armoured moons of Jupiter and the forge world of Mars. They had been subjected to hundreds of challenges and scans and they had been boarded twice. It had been a long drawn out process but it was only to be expected.