Salvation's Reach

  Kolding was nearby, washing Cant’s blood off his hands in a metal sink in preparation for the next patient.

  Rawne walked over to him.

  ‘I understand the technique that saved him was your idea,’ he said.

  Kolding stared at Rawne. He wasn’t used to being spoken to or even acknowledged by many of the regiment.

  ‘It seemed expedient,’ he managed to say.

  Rawne nodded. He held out his hand. Kolding blinked. He hesitated for a moment, because he’d only just got his hands scrubbed ready again. The hesitation was too long. Rawne lowered his hand, and nodded.

  ‘It’s appreciated,’ he said, and walked away.

  Ban Daur entered the medicae suite, squeezing past the walking casualties queuing for treatment.

  ‘Where is she?’ he asked the orderly Chayker.

  Chayker pointed.

  Elodie was sitting on a cot in the corner, her arm in a tight, packed sling, a compress against the back of her head. Rawne watched Daur cross to her, kneel beside her, embrace her gently. Dorden had said that the woman had torn shoulder muscles and taken a mild concussion catching the child. Brave. Selfless. There were more reasons than just good looks to admire Elodie Dutana. Rawne kept watching as they spoke quietly. He assumed she was telling Daur what happened. Rawne tried to remember the last time anyone had looked him in the eyes the way she was looking at Daur.

  Down the far end of the infirmary unit, where it was quieter, Criid and Juniper were sitting with Yoncy while Curth checked the child over. The little girl was perched on a cot and seemed to be enjoying the attention. There was no indication she had been remotely upset by her adventure.

  ‘I owe you,’ said Kolea, coming up beside Rawne quietly to stare at Yoncy.

  Rawne shrugged.

  ‘I was protecting the Archenemy feth-head, not the little girl,’ said Rawne.

  ‘Right.’

  They both tensed. Meryn had just walked out of the side ward where he’d been checking on Costin’s graze wound. Criid had crossed to Elodie and Daur to murmur a few words, and she turned as she saw Meryn.

  ‘Ah shit,’ said Kolea.

  Criid walked right up into Meryn’s face. They could feel the hatred radiating off her.

  ‘You didn’t take the shot,’ she hissed.

  ‘What? Tona?’

  ‘Don’t give me Tona, you spineless idiot. You had a shot and you didn’t take it.’

  ‘What? That bitch tell you that?’ Meryn sneered back, jerked his head in Elodie’s direction.

  ‘No,’ said Criid. ‘Juniper told me. Juniper said you just kept your coward head down.’

  ‘She’s a fething liar.’

  Criid went for his throat. They crashed into an instrument stand and scattered a stack of steel bowls. The bowls clattered across the deck. Some of the civilian casualties started to wail in alarm.

  ‘Not in here!’ Curth roared.

  Kolea and Rawne stormed forwards and got hold of Criid. She fought back in a frenzy of arms and legs as they pulled her away from Meryn.

  ‘Get off me!’ she shrieked.

  ‘He’s not worth ten hours in the tank, Criid,’ Rawne growled.

  ‘He’s not,’ agreed Kolea.

  Criid stopped thrashing and shrugged Kolea and Rawne off as they relaxed their grip. She glared at Meryn.

  ‘You saw what she did!’ Meryn cried. ‘I want her charged!’

  ‘Grow some testicles and shut the feth up, Meryn,’ replied Rawne.

  Meryn pointed angrily at Kolea.

  ‘He didn’t care! He’s the fething blood-father. He didn’t attack me!’

  ‘I was just pulling Criid out of the way,’ said Kolea.

  ‘What?’ asked Meryn, puzzled.

  Kolea’s axe-rake of a fist slammed Meryn into the infirmary wall. The impact demolished a wire shelf and smashed a row of glass bottles.

  ‘Have you all lost your minds?’ Curth yelled. ‘This is a sick bay. Stop it!’

  Working together, Criid and Rawne managed to pull Kolea’s muscle-dense bulk off Meryn. Meryn had his arms over his head and face. Blood was squirting out of his nose. When he realised the fists were no longer raining down, he began to get up, slipped, and then rose to his feet. Kolea lunged at him again, but Daur had joined Criid and Rawne to act as anchors, and they wrenched Kolea back between them.

  ‘What in Throne’s name is going on in here?’ Hark demanded as he pushed into the infirmary.

  ‘It’s just a misunderstanding,’ said Rawne, hauling Kolea back.

  ‘Yes,’ Criid agreed. ‘We thought Meryn was a human gakking being, but we misunderstood.’

  ‘They were attacking me!’ Meryn squawked. ‘There are witnesses. Charge them!’

  ‘It won’t happen again,’ Rawne said.

  ‘There are witnesses!’ Meryn insisted, outraged.

  ‘Show me one,’ said Rawne. He looked around the room, at the shocked faces of those present. ‘Anyone?’ he caught Curth’s eye.

  Curth shook her head.

  Hark frowned.

  ‘Will this happen again?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Kolea.

  ‘No,’ said Criid. ‘We’re done.’

  Daur punched Meryn square in the face and laid him out on the deck.

  ‘Call her a bitch again and I’ll gut you, you Tanith bastard,’ he said. He looked at Hark.

  ‘Now we’re done,’ he said.

  With the fight finished, the Armaduke had closed with the fleet. Packet and cargo exchanges were underway, with lighters ferrying supply loads across. Small ships were also attending the two wrecked Imperial ships in search of survivors.

  Gaunt went to the ship’s communication chamber. Spika was in attendance, along with Eadwine. Hololithic generation sockets built into the deck manufactured crackling full-size images of Lord Militant Cybon, Fleetmaster Cragoe, and several senior Navy and Munitorum worthies from the fleet complement.

  ‘I am gratified to see that you survived the transfer,’ Gaunt said to the image of Cybon.

  ‘The Emperor protects,’ Cybon replied without enthusiasm.

  ‘The question is,’ said Cragoe, an immense being whose biological bulk appeared to have been reinforced and supported by massive augmetic armatures and plates, ‘will this mission survive? Is your assignment still viable?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eadwine simply.

  Cragoe snorted.

  ‘I believe you should abort and turn around.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Your vessel was compromised and attacked from within. The conjunction was tracked and discovered. We took significant losses.’

  ‘But we won,’ said Gaunt. ‘We drove them off. There is no reason to suspect that the fleeing enemy has any intelligence about our target.’

  ‘And if they do?’ asked Cragoe. ‘If they have other agents aboard your ship?’

  ‘Then we ride to our deaths, not you,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘It would be patently ridiculous to get this far and then turn around without solid evidence of compromise,’ said Spika. ‘We identified the means by which they detected us and tracked our position during shift. We will be alert for it in future.’

  ‘Is there another issue here?’ asked Eadwine.

  ‘We must consider the obvious,’ said Cybon. ‘Why did their capital ship spare you when it had you cold?’

  ‘It had exhausted its present charge on the poor Libertus,’ said Spika.

  ‘The answer is more obvious than that,’ said Eadwine. ‘I have replayed the data feeds of the fight’s closing moments. Your gunline was eight seconds from range. The Archenemy capital ship had no wish to measure its worth against the Sepiterna and her warp escorts. The daemon ship ran rather than fight you. If it had stayed long enough to murder us, you would have achieved status effective and atomised her.’

  ‘We would have tried,’ said Cragoe.

  ‘The Adeptus Astartes is paying the Navy a compliment, Fleetmaster,’ said Cybon. ‘I recommend you
take it gracefully.’

  Cragoe nodded his mountain peak of a head. The pict feed crackled and jumped slightly.

  ‘It was no false flattery,’ said Eadwine. ‘I believe it perfectly explains the Archenemy ship’s decision.’

  ‘Then I approve the continuance of the assigned mission,’ said Cragoe.

  ‘Did all the specialist equipment survive?’ asked Spika. ‘I trust no part of the requisition order was aboard the Domino or the Libertus?’

  ‘It is all intact,’ said Cybon. ‘We are transferring it now to your outer bays.’

  ‘You’ll need to clear a primary bay to take the Adeptus Astartes vehicle,’ Cragoe told Spika. ‘It’s no bigger than a gun cutter, but it is massively armoured, and it will need a station of its own or your inertials and gravitics will suffer.’

  ‘I’ll redistribute the launch bay load,’ said Spika.

  ‘How long before you can make shift?’ asked Cybon.

  ‘We’re running repairs now,’ said Spika. ‘The materiel transfer should take another five hours or so. We’ll be ready then.’

  When the hololithic presences blinked and dissolved away, Gaunt turned to Spika.

  ‘My compliments on your combat command,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you for not getting in the way,’ said Spika. He looked at the huge Silver Guard warrior.

  ‘That was just flattery, wasn’t it?’ he asked. ‘That bastard ship should have killed us dead.’

  Eadwine shook his head.

  ‘It was the truth as I saw it. I suppose it is possible that the enemy capital ship detected something or someone aboard this ship that it decided it did not want to kill.’

  ‘If that’s true, we’ll find whatever they were sparing,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘Has it occurred to you it could be your prisoner?’ asked Spika.

  ‘The one they were trying to assassinate, you mean?’ Gaunt replied.

  ‘Were they?’

  Gaunt laughed.

  ‘What are you saying, shipmaster? This whole business was an elaborate ruse to make the pheguth’s story more credible?’

  ‘It is possible,’ said Eadwine. He glanced at Gaunt. ‘But I think they were running for their lives.’

  The central landing deck had been cleared. Launch Artificer Goodchild, the senior flight deck officer aboard the Armaduke, saw the deck lamps begin to rotate and flash as the inbound craft approached. Pressure trembled as the environmental envelope adjusted. He signalled to his servitor crews to stand ready for landing attendance.

  The craft sailed into the primary landing backlit by the local star, which was glowering outside the mouth of the bay. Goodchild had heard other flight artificers describe such vehicles, and he had reviewed the archived data, but he’d never seen one in the flesh before. Robust, like a flying tank, it was finished in the Chapter colours and insignia of the Silver Guard: silver-grey, white, and Imperial yellow.

  ‘We used to go to war,’ a voice said from beside him, ‘and launch a thousand of these into the void, a hundred thousand, to demolish a fleet.’

  Goodchild turned to find the massive Iron Snakes Space Marine standing beside him. He made to bow.

  ‘Do not bother,’ said Holofurnace.

  They watched the Adeptus Astartes warcraft settle in to land on the arrestor clamps.

  ‘But there are not many left,’ Holofurnace said, uttering what seemed like a heartfelt sigh as he gazed at the craft. ‘Like us, I suppose. I miss those days. The Great Wars. Can you imagine, ten thousand of those launching from a supermassive?’

  ‘I cannot, sir,’ Goodchild admitted.

  ‘No,’ agreed Holofurnace. ‘Even the thought is too terrifying.’

  ‘How old are you?’ asked Goodchild.

  ‘Old enough to remember,’ replied the Iron Snake, ‘and young enough not to care.’

  ‘You sent for me?’ asked Felyx.

  Gaunt looked up from his desk.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I sent for her.’ He pointed at Maddalena.

  ‘You can wait outside,’ he added. ‘Shut the door.’

  Felyx half-saluted, and backed out of Gaunt’s quarters, closing the door. The lifeward was left alone, standing to attention, staring at Gaunt.

  ‘And?’ she asked.

  Gaunt got up.

  ‘There’s something about you I can’t–’ he began.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing. I was thinking aloud and it wasn’t appropriate.’

  ‘Not appropriate?’

  ‘No,’ said Gaunt. ‘Do you want a drink?’

  ‘No,’ said Maddalena.

  Gaunt poured himself a small sacra.

  ‘Do you at least want to stand easy?’

  Maddalena relaxed her pose slightly.

  ‘Why did you want to speak to me?’ she asked.

  Gaunt looked thoughtfully at the untouched drink in his hand.

  ‘He will ruin me,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The boy will ruin me. I want him gone. Pack your things and escort him off this ship. Transfer to the fleet and passage will be arranged back to Verghast. It will take some time, I’m afraid. The Battlefleet isn’t in the business of passenger shifts.’

  ‘Not acceptable,’ said Maddalena.

  ‘He will ruin me,’ Gaunt repeated, ‘so I hardly care for your opinion. That fight began and suddenly all I could think of was that my son – my son! – might be in danger! The thought unmanned me. I came to find him. I–’

  ‘It’s understandable,’ said Maddalena.

  ‘I know it is,’ Gaunt snapped. ‘That’s the point. He’s my son and I’m going to care about him, even though I barely know him, and didn’t know he even existed until this voyage began. He’s my flesh and blood, and having him here damages me.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Oh, please. Try imagining.’

  Maddalena licked her lips with the tip of her tongue as she thought.

  ‘Your concern for him will compromise your ability to lead. It will undermine your confidence. It will make you fallible and perhaps force command or tactical decisions that are unwise. It could weaken you, and soften you, and take your edge away.’

  ‘There,’ said Gaunt. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it? So get him off my ship and take him home. I cannot have him on this mission.’

  ‘Many of your men, your officers… they have brought family and loved ones with them. It is a calculated risk. The accompany bond indemnifies personal loyalty over personal safety and–’

  ‘My men don’t have to lead this mission.’

  ‘True,’ she said, ‘though I think the issue is the same.’

  ‘Thank you for your perspective. Now get the boy off this ship in the next three hours.’

  ‘You will care about him wherever he goes,’ said Maddalena.

  ‘What?’ asked Gaunt.

  ‘Will he get home safely?’ she said, shrugging. ‘Will the fleet ship transporting him be attacked? If he returns to Vervunhive, will he survive the shame of being sent away by his famous father rather than being allowed to serve at his side? Will his chances for political advancement be forever undermined?’

  ‘Be quiet,’ said Gaunt. ‘I don’t need to hear that. Damn you. I didn’t ask to know him. I didn’t ask for him to be sent here.’

  He shot his drink in one swallow. She walked over to him, took the empty glass from his hand, filled it, and took a sip.

  ‘The point is, you do know him,’ she said. ‘Now you’re aware he exists, you can’t not know him again. Sending him away won’t help. The humiliation certainly won’t help him, personally or politically. Banishing him won’t help you. This cannot be undone.’

  ‘Yes, it–’

  ‘No, colonel-commissar, it cannot. You know him. You know he exists. Whether he’s at your side or a sector away, you will be concerned for his welfare. He’s your son.’

  Gaunt took the glass from her hand and knocked back the rest of it.

  ‘So what you’r
e saying is, you’ve ruined me anyway?’

  Maddalena laughed. She took back the glass and refilled it, taking more of a sip for herself this time.

  ‘I suppose so. It wasn’t my decision, and I’m sorry for it. It wouldn’t have been my choice to send him to you unannounced.’

  She stared into his eyes.

  ‘Better you keep him at your side than wonder where he is. Better he stays and learns something from you before you die. Better you fight for his life than anyone else’s.’

  Gaunt hesitated. There was an anger or a frustration he could barely articulate.

  ‘I take it he’ll be staying?’ she asked.

  Gaunt shook his head sadly.

  ‘This stuff,’ said Maddalena, holding up the glass and squinting at it. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Sacra.’

  ‘It’s not bad,’ she said.

  ‘There’s something–’ Gaunt began.

  ‘About me? So you said. And I believe you said such thoughts were inappropriate.’

  ‘They are,’ said Gaunt. He kissed her mouth. She did not pull away.

  ‘That’s definitely inappropriate,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t give a damn,’ he replied.

  FOURTEEN

  Final Shift

  Tavis Sun was a memory four days behind the Armaduke when Dorden died.

  Supplied and stocked with the last pieces of specialist equipment from the fleet group, the frigate had turned and translated away, running out through the murk of the warp towards the cold distances of the Rimworld Marginals.

  Lord Militant Cybon had delivered a final broadcast from the Sepiterna, a valedictory address to the entire regiment. Zweil and the ship’s cleric had held services of constancy and deliverance, but the mood on the ship had changed.

  They were heading into the dark, into the bleak and underpopulated regions of the Sabbat Worlds, into dead space and zones of risk, into hazardous climes and marginal fields. Though they were thousands strong, together on the ship, they felt the isolation.

  Blenner was observing the specialism rehearsals that were being conducted around the clock on several of the main hold decks. The large areas had been cleared, and floor plans had been marked out on the deck in paint. In places, the layouts resembled basic obstacle courses. Squads moved through the areas, reset the obstacles, and then ran the drills again. Most of them were chamber clearance exercises. Ranges had been set up for practice-firing breaching rounds, and the ship’s artificers had rigged up a number of standard template door locks and hatch seals for teams to practise cutting. There was a lot of sweeper training going on too, and when he wasn’t supervising that, Domor was in hold six with his best demolition men, running through methods for making safe explosive devices and triggers. Major Pasha was lecturing the regiment, one company at a time, on improvised explosives and booby traps, and the finer points of pressure pads. She knew her subjects. It seemed to Blenner that Major Pasha had learned a lot of dirty tricks in the scratch war at Vervunhive.