Nemesis

finally giving Tariel a wan look. “I’ll take these,” she said, snatching the box from

his hand.

“What do you have for the rest of us in your delightful toy box?” Koyne asked

lightly, playing with a pair of memory swords. They had curved, graceful blades that

shifted angles in mid-flight as the Callidus cut the air with them.

“Toxin cordes.” The Vanus pressed a control and a belt threaded with glassy

stilettos extended from a sealed dram marked with biohazard trefoils.

Koyne put up the swords and reached for them, only to see that Soalm was doing

the same. The Callidus gave a small bow. “Oh, pardon me, cousin. Poisons are of

course your domain.”

Soalm gave a tight, humourless smile. “No. After you. Take what you wish.”

Koyne held up a hand. “No, no. After you. Please. I insist.”

“As you wish.” The Venenum carefully retrieved one of the daggers and turned it

in her fingers. She held it up to the light, turning it this way and that so the coloured

fluids inside the glass poison blade flowed back and forth. At length, she sniffed.

“These are of fair quality. They’ll work well enough on any man who stands between

us and Horus.”

The Callidus picked out a few blades. “But what about those who are not men?

What about Horus himself?”

Soalm’s lips thinned. “This would be the bite of a gnat to the Warmaster.” She

gave Tariel a look: “I will prepare my own weapons.”

“There’s also this,” offered the Vanus, passing her a pistol. The weapon was a

spindly collection of brass pipes with a crystalline bulb where a normal firearm might

have had an ammunition magazine. Soalm took it and peered at the mesh grille where

the muzzle should have been.

“A bact-gun,” she said, weighing it in her hand. “This may be useful.”

“The dispersal can be set from a fine mist to a gel-plug round,” noted Tariel.

“Are you certain you know how to use that?” said Kell.

Soalm’s arm snapped up into aiming position, the barrel of the weapon pointed

directly at the Vindicare’s face. “I think I can recall,” she said. Then she wandered

away, turning the pistol over in her delicate, pale hands.

110

Meanwhile, Koyne had discovered a case that was totally out of place among all

the others. It resembled a whorled shell more than anything else, and the only

mechanism to unlock it was the sketch of a handprint etched into the bony matter of

the latch—a handprint of three overlong digits and a dual thumb.

“I have no idea what that may be,” Tariel admitted. “The container, I mean, it

looks almost as if it is—”

“Xenos?” said Koyne, with deceptive lightness. “But that would be prohibited,

Vanus. Perish the thought.” There was a quiet cracking sound as the Callidus’ right

hand stretched and shifted in shape, the human digits reformed and merging until

they became something more approximate to the alien handprint. Koyne pressed

home on the case and it sighed open, drooling droplets of purple liquid on to the

decking. Inside the container, the organic look was even more disturbing; on a bed of

fleshy material wet with more of the liquid rested a weapon made of blackened,

tooth-like ceramics. It was large and off-balance in shape, the front of it grasping a

faceted teardrop crystal the sea-green colour of ancient jade.

“What is it?” Tariel asked, his disgust evident.

“In my clade it has many names,” said Koyne. “It rips open minds, tears intellect

and thought to shreds. Those it touches remain empty husks.” The Callidus held it out

to the Vanus, who backed away. “Do you wish to take a closer look?”

“Not in this lifetime,” Tariel insisted.

A pale tongue flickered out and licked Koyne’s lips as the assassin returned the

weapon to the shell. Gathering it up, the Callidus bowed to the others. “I will take my

leave of you.”

As Koyne left, Kell glanced back at the Vanus. “What about you? Or do those of

your clade choose not to carry a weapon?”

Tariel shook his head, colour returning to his cheeks. “I have weapons of my

own, just not as obvious as yours. An electropulse projector, built into my cogitator

gauntlet. And I have my menagerie. The psyber eagles, the eyerats and netfly

swarms.”

Kell thought of the pods he had seen elsewhere aboard the Ultio, where Tariel’s

cybernetically-modified rodents and preybirds and other animals slept out the voyage

in dormancy, waiting for his word of command to awaken them. “Those things won’t

keep you alive.”

The Vanus shook his head. “Ah, believe me, I will make sure that nothing ever

gets close enough to kill me.” He sighed. “And in that vein… There are also weapons

for you.”

“My weapon was lost,” Kell said, with no little venom. “Thanks to the Eversor.”

“It has been renewed,” said Tariel, opening a lengthy box. “See.”

Every Vindicare used a longrifle that was uniquely configured for their biomass,

shooting style, body kinestics, even tailored to work with the rhythm in which they