The Beast Arises

Vangorich walked over to the Assassin. ‘It’s my hope that you killed an idea today.’ He gestured at the rows of leather spines. ‘That’s a target you can appreciate, I would think.’

Reach snorted and closed the book. ‘I wouldn’t.’ After a moment, conscious that he might be pushing too far, he added, ‘Grand Master.’

Vangorich spread his hands, expressing regret. ‘I’m sorry, Ferren. The dodge was necessary.’

‘Why keep him alive? If he’s worth attacking, he’s worth killing.’

‘He isn’t worth a war. The balance is delicate. If we killed him, we could trigger a civil war in the Inquisition, or if and when they realised what we’d done, that would be just as bad. The agents of that institution, with Wienand in the ascendant, are the only useful allies we have right now. The goal today was to destabilise Veritus. Make him uncertain about his position and his attackers.’

Reach replaced his book. ‘Well, job done, sir.’ Somewhat mollified, he added, ‘Think it helped?’

‘I hope so.’ Vangorich moved to the window and looked out. The traffic on Proscription Way flowed in both directions, untroubled by the earlier violence or by the unseen ork presence beyond the vault. This region of the Imperial Palace had been the least touched by the great panic. Instead of rioting, the inhabitants had withdrawn further into their hermetic studies. They poured their consciousness into the mysteries of faith, and denied the upheavals of the world. It was a nice strategy. Though not one, he thought, that the orks would respect, once they came.

And was the game he was playing against Veritus any more practical? He had to believe it was. He had to believe that Wienand was moving towards a viable strategy to combat the orks.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ Reach said behind him, ‘but we’re putting a lot of faith into another party to solve the big problems.’

The irony made Vangorich grin. It was either that or curse. ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘We have to have faith.’ Another hard lesson from the hard days.

Eight

Mars — the Noctis Labyrinth

Sklera Verreaux was the first to see a possibility in Eldon Urquidex. She observed the magos biologis alight from one of the Subservius’ shuttles. He was part of a group of Mechanicus priests and monotask servitors. Draped in the shadows of her stealth suit, Verreaux watched the arrivals through a telescopic sight. Urquidex was speaking to the priest the Assassins had identified as Artisan Trajectorae Augus Van Auken. Urquidex was broader than his companion, to the point that he had a bodily presence unusual for the adepts of the Omnissiah. What caught her attention, though, was his manner of conversation. His right arm was up near his face, and his digitools extended and flexed to no visible purpose. Though the rest of his body had the same floating stillness typical of the Martian priests as he kept pace with Van Auken, the hand gesture looked a great deal like agitation.

When she passed on her observation to Clemetina Yendl, the Temple Vanus Assassin said, ‘A magos who is upset could be very useful to us. We should cultivate his acquaintance.’

So Yendl did.

It wasn’t difficult. Beneath her disguise of false augmentatia, she moved through the low-security zones of Mars easily enough. Urquidex was involved, as soon as he arrived, with the excavations beneath the Noctis Labyrinth, one of the veils Yendl’s team needed to pierce. Yendl spoke to Urquidex for the first time when he put in an appearance outside the Labyrinth. She played a hunch. She introduced some flaws into her camouflage. Very small ones, visible only in close proximity. Just enough so only Urquidex would be able to catch them, but enough for him to realise she was not what she appeared to be. There was a risk. The team could afford her loss, she reasoned.

‘Why are you speaking to me?’ Urquidex asked.

‘Because I think you would like to speak to me.’

There was a pause. The right arm raised again, the digits twitching with indecision. ‘You are attempting to suborn me.’

‘From a path you know to be false,’ she said. ‘It is the Fabricator General who is approaching treason.’

‘I am alone with my doubts.’

‘But you are being true to the Tenth Universal Law.’

‘The soul is the conscience of sentience,’ he recited.

‘You are listening to your conscience. The Fabricator General is ready to abandon Terra. That is sentience without soul.’

One of the priest’s telescopic eyes extended to examine Yendl, as if a study of her mask could reveal truths. ‘How much do you know?’

‘What the Fabricator General intends. Not what he can do.’

Urquidex’s eye withdrew. There were clicks and electronic chirps as if the collective of components that his body had become were in debate with each other. He said, ‘There is something that should be known.’