Salvation's Reach

‘What?’ asked Gaunt, turning to start walking again.

  ‘What did you do to get noticed?’

  ‘Just enough,’ said Gaunt and walked away.

  ‘Balhaut,’ said Fazekiel. The others looked at her. ‘The Tower of the Plutocrat. The Oligarchy Gate. The infamous Ninth Day,’ she said. ‘Gaunt’s Hyrkans stood alongside the Silver Guard at the height of the battle. He certainly would have had dealings with them, possibly with Veegum himself. His achievements would have brought him to their attention. Perhaps even won their respect. Certainly, made enough of a mark so that years later, when he asked them for help, they would bother considering it.’

  She looked at Ludd. She was only a few years his senior, but there seemed a gulf of maturity between them.

  ‘It’s all in his case file,’ she said. ‘Standard biographic data. There’s more detail, some of it classified, but not hard for someone with Commissariat clearance to get if they’re prepared to dig.’

  ‘You’ve made a study of him?’ asked Ludd.

  ‘You seem surprised,’ said Fazekiel. ‘I am going to serve under him. I want to know about him so I know what to expect and how best to perform my duty. Any commissar would do the same before attachment to a new command. The surprise, really, would be that you haven’t.’

  ‘I don’t know why I would,’ said Ludd, blushing slightly.

  ‘So you don’t ask stupid questions at the wrong moment?’ Fazekiel suggested.

  ‘I think Nahum is probably a more intuitive servant of the Throne than you, Luna,’ said Edur gently.

  ‘It’s not a matter of intuition,’ she replied. ‘It’s not a privacy issue, either. It is in no way invasive to study and understand the career record of an officer you’re serving. It improves your performance. It’s common sense.’

  A despatch officer ran up, saluted, and handed Hark a message wafer. Hark acknowledged receipt with a press of his biocoded signet ring. He read the wafer, and then put it in his pocket.

  ‘We should get to work,’ he said. ‘There are newcomers to accommodate, and final arrangements to be made. Here’s something for you to ponder, Ludd. Fazekiel has accounted for the Silver Guard’s presence. But the other two. An Iron Snake and a White Scar. Why three Chapters?’

  ‘I’ll find out,’ said Ludd. ‘Meanwhile, when do the rest arrive?’

  ‘The rest of what?’

  ‘The Space Marines?’

  Hark smiled. ‘We get three Space Marines, Ludd. Just three. They are rare and they are precious. Long gone are the ages when they marched across the stars in their hundreds or thousands. We’re lucky to have three.’

  ‘Under most circumstances,’ said Edur, ‘three is more than enough.’

  ‘Let’s hope this is one of those circumstances,’ replied Hark.

  ‘How will you find out, Ludd?’ Fazekiel asked.

  ‘I’ll ask them,’ Ludd replied.

  ‘Why is that funny?’ he added.

  Crowds had gathered around the infirmary, forming queues. Most of the regimental community wanted to get out and enjoy the last few hours of the Revels or, if they were permitted, join the influx reception in the barracks hall. They could hear the band music all the way from the infirmary. But there were certificates to get, and that meant getting your shots.

  Elodie joined the queue. The regiment’s medicaes were administering inoculations to all members of the retinue. The shots were a mix of anti-virals and counterbiotics, and emperythetical electrolytes, intended to protect them from foreign infection and cushion some of the traumas of shift travel. If you didn’t have a certificate from the medicaes proving you’d had your shots, you couldn’t embark. This time around, Elodie had been told, you also needed a bond.

  They were all talking about it in the queue around her. An accompany bond was a document of disclaimer issued by the Munitorum that showed the bearer understood that he or she was transiting into a warzone. Regimental retinues usually followed their units to reserve line camps or waystations adjacent to the battlefield. For a bond to be necessary this time, it indicated that, for whatever reason, the retinue would be following the Tanith First directly into the line of danger. They would be at risk. Their safety could not be guaranteed. They had to sign a bond to say they understood and accepted this jeopardy, or they could elect to remain behind. The Munitorum hadn’t required the Tanith retinue to be bonded since Ouranberg in 771.

  It was a hard choice, because remaining behind was a tricky option. For a spouse or a child, or for a tradesman whose livelihood had come to depend on a regiment, remaining behind meant risking never being able to reconnect with the unit. If you missed the shift, you might never get passage to wherever the regiment got posted next. You could spend months or even years trying to catch up with a unit on the move, like that ridiculous band had, so she understood.

  For Elodie, it was no choice at all.

  ‘Are you quite well, Mamzel Dutana?’ the old doctor, Dorden, asked her when her turn came. He swabbed the crook of her elbow with rubbing alcohol while his orderly prepared a syringe.

  ‘I am, doctor. But there are things on my mind.’

  ‘You are anxious, no doubt, about what awaits us. War wounds us with anxiety from beyond the range of any weapon.’

  She nodded.

  ‘You seem untroubled, if I may say so,’ she said to the old man. He seemed very frail, but his hands were rock steady, and she felt only a tiny pinch as the needle went in. ‘I can only suppose it is because you have done this before?’

  ‘You’re not my first patient, Mamzel Dutana.’

  ‘I meant war, doctor.’

  ‘Ah. No, you never get used to that. But you’re right, I can’t for the life of me recall where I’ve left my trepidation.’

  Elodie went back along the shore, through the revel crowds, a small wad of cotton pressed to her needle mark. She went to the hab shelters that stood in a row behind the laundry tents. It seemed actually to be getting dark, as though true evening was extending through the murky smog.

  ‘Juniper?’ she called. ‘Juniper?’

  The tents smelled strongly of carbolic soap and damp rockcrete.

  ‘Juniper? Are you here?’

  She ducked into Juniper’s hab and came up short. The woman fuelling the small stove inside wasn’t Juniper.

  She was a soldier, a sergeant, lean and powerful with cropped white-blonde hair.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Elodie.

  ‘You looking for Juniper?’ asked Tona Criid.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She just stepped away to get bonded,’ said Criid. ‘I’d come to see Yoncy, so I said I’d stay while she got sorted.’

  The little girl that Elodie had seen in the crowd earlier was in the corner of the hab, eating beans from a bowl. She had the medal of the Saint on its ribbon around her neck. Elodie could see that Yoncy wasn’t going to be a child for much longer. She was small for her age, and appeared no older than a seven- or eight-year old, but she had to be eleven or twelve at least. Perhaps a life of slab and Guard rations had stunted her growth a bit. Perhaps she was one of those children who would suddenly become a young woman in one adolescent explosion. There was something quite knowing about her, Elodie felt. She still wore her hair in bunches, and swung her feet when she sat on an adult chair to emphasise her size. But it was as though she was slightly playing up the childlike effect, as if she knew it got her treats and favours. Everyone was her uncle or her aunt.

  ‘I wanted to ask her something,’ said Elodie. ‘I’ll come back.’

  Criid shrugged as if that was good enough. There was a slight awkwardness, as if they didn’t know what to say to each other.

  ‘Actually,’ said Elodie, ‘can I ask you something?’

  Criid closed the stove door, took a look at Yoncy to make sure she was tucking into her food, and then walked over to Elodie.

  ‘For what reason would a soldier take a wife?’

  ‘Apart from the obvious, you mean?’ asked Criid.

>   ‘Yes, apart from that.’

  ‘There’s no better reason than that,’ said Criid. ‘None of my business, I’m sure, but how you feel is the only important reason.’

  Elodie nodded.

  ‘Has Ban asked you a question?’ Criid asked.

  Elodie shook her head.

  Criid shrugged.

  ‘Like I said, not any of my business.’

  Elodie took the small fold of papers out of her dress pocket.

  ‘Look at this,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Petition for allowance,’ said Criid, reading.

  ‘He hasn’t said anything. Nothing. But he’s got the paperwork. He’s filled it in.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ asked Criid, handing the papers back. ‘Too fast? You going to say no?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. It’d be bad in all sorts of ways if we go into this with a senior captain nursing a broken heart. Wait, is this about the accompany bond? You don’t want to be bonded? Are you staying here?’

  ‘No, no. That’s fine. I’ve got mine.’

  ‘So?’ Criid asked.

  ‘I don’t know why he hasn’t told me.’

  ‘We’re moving out in a hurry. It’s not romantic, but he wants to get it squared away before we dig in.’

  ‘It just feels like there’s another reason,’ said Elodie. ‘Another reason why he wants to.’

  ‘Is it because he might die?’ said the little girl from the other side of the room. They both looked at her. Yoncy had lowered her spoon and was staring at them, half a smile on her face.

  ‘Is it because he might die?’ Yoncy repeated. ‘He wants to get married in case he dies.’

  ‘Go wash your face,’ said Criid. ‘You’ve got gravy all round your mouth.’

  Yoncy laughed, and slid down off her chair. She ran into the washroom at the back of the little hab.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Criid.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I should have thought about what I was saying. It was insensitive.’

  Criid frowned.

  ‘Insensitive? What? Oh, you mean because of Caffran?’

  She shrugged as if it was nothing.

  ‘It hurts me he died, not that I didn’t get to marry him first. It wouldn’t have made a difference to us, a piece of paper. Though it does to some. Some marry, you know, to provide.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Elodie.

  ‘If you’re not actually married, with a piece of paper to show for it,’ said Criid, ‘then the Munitorum doesn’t recognise you as a widow. So some lasmen marry just to qualify for the viduity benefit. It’s not much. Just a few crowns a year, I think, a widow’s pension. But it matters to some people.’

  ‘Not to me,’ said Elodie. ‘Do you think that’s why he wants to do this?’

  ‘I don’t know. It might matter to him to know that you’d be provided for. A captain’s widow probably gets a better allowance.’

  Elodie folded up the papers and put them away.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Criid.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘You look pale. I’ve said too much.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You haven’t really thought about any of this, have you?’ asked Criid.

  ‘I thought I had. It seems I hadn’t.’

  ‘Then you’d better,’ said Criid. ‘He’s a soldier. Soldiers die.’

  ‘We all die,’ said Elodie.

  ‘Yes,’ Criid nodded. ‘But not as fast as soldiers.’

  Gaunt walked up the steps towards the entrance of the barracks hall. Smog and approaching evening had combined to create a gloom like twilight. The hall windows shone with lamplight.

  Beltayn was waiting for him in the entrance way.

  ‘Something’s awry,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘It’s a band, sir,’ said Beltayn.

  ‘I can hear what it is, I just couldn’t for the life of me explain why.’

  ‘I’ll leave that pleasure to Major Baskevyl, sir,’ said the adjutant.

  ‘Anything else?’ asked Gaunt.

  ‘The new seniors are keen to meet you.’

  ‘Of course. You explained that I was unavoidably detained?’

  ‘I did, sir. Some took it better than others.’

  ‘Anything else?’ asked Gaunt.

  ‘Transfers behind just before midnight local,’ said Beltayn. He handed Gaunt a data-slate. ‘Our transport has been confirmed as the Highness Ser Armaduke. It’s a frigate, Tempest-class. Whatever that means.’

  ‘So the Fleet couldn’t spare a battle cruiser after all.’

  ‘No, sir. Actually, the Fleet didn’t spare this either. As I understand it, the Highness Ser Armaduke was substantially damaged during the Khulan Wars and has been in the depot reserve for the last twenty-seven years. It’s had what I’ve been told is called “modification refit”, but its performance still doesn’t allow it to be fully Fleet certified.’

  ‘You’re saying it’s a piece of scrap that would otherwise have gone to the breakers?’

  ‘I’m not saying that, sir,’ said Beltayn, ‘because I know nothing about the Navy or shiftship doings. I’m just a common lasman, sir.’

  Gaunt looked at the documents on the slate.

  ‘Oh, the faith they show in us. Giving us a ship they don’t mind losing because they’re pretty certain it’s going to be lost.’

  ‘I’ll remember to keep that insight to myself, shall I?’ asked Beltayn.

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Gaunt handing the slate back. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Gaunt gestured up in the direction of the double-headed eagle that was perched on the head of a large statue of Saint Kiodrus nearby. The eagle ruffled its wings and shuffled on its marble perch.

  ‘Not even that?’

  ‘Doesn’t belong to me, sir,’ said Beltayn, ‘and I didn’t put it there.’

  Gaunt went into the hall. Long, candle-lit tables were set for dinner, but the assembled guests were generally standing, talking in groups, drinks in their hands. Servitors whirred through the press. Regimental colours – Tanith, Verghastite and Belladon – were in abundant display. On a low stage to one side, the band was playing vigorously.

  ‘Where have you been?’ asked Blenner, intercepting him almost at once.

  ‘Oh, you know, colonel-ing and stuff,’ said Gaunt.

  Blenner had a drink in his hand.

  ‘I hate bashes like this,’ he said, leaning close to Gaunt so he could whisper and still be heard over the band.

  ‘The band wasn’t your idea, was it?’ asked Gaunt.

  ‘Why would you think that?’ asked Blenner, looking wounded.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Gaunt. ‘There’s something about it that feels like an elaborate practical joke.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ said Blenner. He took what appeared to be a pill from his stormcoat pocket and knocked it back with a sip of amasec. He saw Gaunt looking at him.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘I’ve got a headache.’

  Kolea was approaching with several officers Gaunt didn’t recognise.

  ‘Commander,’ said Kolea, ‘it’s my honour to introduce the senior officers of the new Verghastite influx. Major Pasha Petrushkevskaya and Captain Ornella Zhukova.’

  Gaunt saluted them both.

  ‘It’s my shame,’ he said, ‘that I wasn’t here to greet you. You’ve come a long way and you’re contributing a great deal.’

  ‘We understand,’ said Petrushkevskaya. ‘Major Kolea was good enough to explain that you were detained by an important strategic briefing.’

  ‘I was. I am still sorry. Vervunhive has a very, very important place in this regiment. It is an honour to receive reinforcements from Verghast.’

  ‘It is an honour to serve under the People’s Hero,’ said Zhukova.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Zhukova, bright-eyed. ‘To this day, your name is spoken with honour and respect at ev
ery level of hive life. Did you know that in Hess West Sector alone, there are four public statues of you? I have picts, if you would like to see them.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’m confident I know what I look like,’ said Gaunt.

  Zhukova laughed.

  ‘You are certainly more handsome in person,’ she said.

  ‘Now, I really like her already,’ said Blenner, stepping forwards. ‘Don’t you, Ibram? I really like you, Captain Zhukova. The colonel-commissar is a terrible old bore, and pretends he doesn’t like people going on about his heroism, or how handsome he is. But we can all see that for ourselves, can’t we? Between you and me, he secretly loves it, and I recommend you do it as often as possible, no matter how much he protests.’

  ‘Blenner,’ Gaunt hissed.

  ‘In fact,’ Blenner went on, ‘the more he protests, the more he secretly likes it.’

  ‘Really?’ laughed Zhukova.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Blenner. ‘I should know. I’ve known him all my life.’

  ‘Have you?’ asked Zhukova. This seemed to impress her. ‘That must be wonderful. What an example he must have set.’

  ‘I can’t begin to tell you,’ said Blenner, placing one hand on his heart and tilting his head to the side. ‘He’s quite inspiring. Although, and few know it…’ he dropped his voice and leaned forwards. Zhukova bent forwards to listen, her eyes even wider.

  ‘…I taught him a great deal about life and the deportment of an officer,’ said Blenner.

  ‘Did you?’ exclaimed Zhukova.

  ‘I don’t like to talk about it. It’s not as if I’m looking for credit or recognition. It’s enough to know that I’ve helped to shape the character of an Imperial hero.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Zhukova agreed.

  ‘Blenner!’ Gaunt hissed, rather more emphatically.

  ‘You’re very comely, Captain Zhukova,’ said Blenner. ‘May I say that? I don’t mean to speak out of turn, and I certainly mean nothing inappropriate by it. I speak only as a commissar, in a purely professional regard. My business is the morale and discipline of the fighting lasman, and in that regard, your captivating looks are quite a potent weapon to have in our arsenal. I mean this purely analytically! The men will follow you, obey you. They will be devoted to you, and–’

  ‘Captain Zhukova is well aware of the effect of her looks on the male soldier,’ said Petrushkevskaya. She was not smiling. ‘Indeed, we have had conversations about it.’