Secrets of the Tau Page 4

  For the Greater Good

  Zelia looked at her chrono and sighed. It had been two hours since Talen had stormed off, Meshwing bobbing after him.

  The ganger still hadn’t returned.

  They were alone on the ship, Amity having told them not to touch anything before heading back out into the station to make further inquiries… whatever that meant. They had no idea if the captain was tracking down information about the Emperor’s Seat or seeing to her own mysterious business.

  Zelia didn’t mind admitting that Amity made her uncomfortable. Everyone they met seemed to make jokes about the rogue trader.

  And then there was her crew… or rather, the lack of one. From what Erasmus had told Zelia, rogue traders never worked alone. Most captains came from noble families, awarded special warrants to travel beyond Imperial borders. Some of them pushed the limits of what was right and proper, but they were usually surrounded by those who wanted to share in their riches.

  Something had happened to Amity’s crew, something that everyone seemed to know about. Everyone but them.

  Left alone, Zelia had tried to find out more about the captain from the ship’s cogitator, but unsurprisingly most of the data was encrypted. Not even Mekki could persuade the Profiteer’s machine-spirit to give up Amity’s secrets. The Martian had admitted defeat and retreated to the ship’s empty mess hall to tinker with the exo-frame that supported his withered arm.

  Zelia stayed on the flight deck, accessing public files on the cogitator. She pulled up files on the Tau Empire, all too aware that Grunt was standing motionless on the far side of the bridge. The servitor wasn’t even looking at her, but instead stared unblinking at the viewport like a hound waiting for its owner to return. She glanced back at the cyborg, and tried to suppress the shudder she felt every time she saw his slack expression. She knew that he wasn’t real, that he had been grown in a vat, not raised as a child. Servitors were tools, nothing more, just like Mekki’s servo-sprites. But she had heard a rumour a long time ago, while sitting in a tavern with her mother. A wart-faced spacefarer had been talking about his grandson, a healthy boy who had refused to go and fight in one of the Emperor’s many wars.

  ‘They turned him into one of those servitor things,’ the toothless man had muttered, tears in his rheumy eyes. ‘Stuck machines into him. Took away his soul.’

  It was a story she’d heard a few times since, that criminals and deserters were converted into servitors, their minds wiped.

  No. She couldn’t believe it. Not even the Emperor would command that… would he?

  Zelia tried to concentrate on the datafiles, ignoring the nagging doubts in the back of her mind. Technically, Talen was a deserter. He’d run away instead of serving in the Imperial Guard. What if he was captured and tried for his crimes? Would he end up like Grunt, standing immobile on the bridge of a spaceship?

  She put the thought out of her head, focusing on what she had found in the computer.

  There wasn’t as much on the Tau as she’d hoped. Their empire was located on the Eastern Fringe of the galaxy, not far from Hinterland Outpost. According to one tract, the Tau believed in a philosophy they called ‘the Greater Good’. They claimed that other races could voluntarily join the Empire, in order to share the Tau’s superior technology. The writer of the tract obviously didn’t believe them. Passage after passage had outlined the Tau’s many heresies, including annexing numerous Imperial worlds and threatening to disintegrate the population unless they submitted to Tau rule.

  Zelia switched off the screen and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t know what to believe. The female in the market hadn’t seemed threatening, not like the Kroot that had stolen her omniscope. But according to the tract, the Kroot were members of the Tau Empire. How could something so barbaric be welcomed into such a progressive and technologically advanced society? It didn’t make any sense.

  She glanced at her chrono again. Another half hour had passed. Trying not to look at Grunt, she got up from the terminal and went to find Mekki. Sure enough the Martian was where she had left him, still working on his frame.

  ‘Is there any news?’

  Mekki looked up, confused. ‘About what?’

  ‘About Talen,’ she sighed. Who else would she be asking about?

  ‘Ah,’ Mekki said, his eyes slipping out of focus. Zelia watched his electoos flash, a sign that the Martian was communicating with Meshwing. Mekki wasn’t a psyker. The link between the servo-sprite and its creator was purely artificial, a means to share raw data.

  The Martian frowned.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have lost contact with Meshwing,’ he replied, looking up at her. ‘This is… worrying.’

  Zelia’s stomach clenched. ‘When did you last hear from her?’

  Mekki cocked his head. ‘An hour. Maybe more. I have been distracted by my work.’

  ‘Then where’s Talen?’

  ‘Here,’ said Amity, striding into the communal area. The captain had returned with Talen, who shuffled in behind her, hands thrust into his pockets.

  Zelia jumped up, wanting to throw her arms around the ganger and apologise, but could tell from his face that it would be a bad idea. Instead she just asked him if he was all right.

  ‘Of course I am,’ came the gruff reply.

  ‘It appears your friend is quite the detective,’ Amity said, walking over to a decanter to pour herself a drink. The sweet tang of fortified honey filled the small room, making Zelia wrinkle her nose.

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Talen muttered.

  ‘What does Captain Amity mean?’ Mekki asked.

  Talen rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I know where to find the Emperor’s Seat. Or at least the places that Karter mentioned.’

  Zelia clasped her hands together. ‘You found out? How?’

  ‘Karter told me.’

  ‘Why?’ Zelia asked.

  ‘We made a deal,’ he said, refusing to meet her gaze. ‘That’s all.’

  A chill passed over her as she realised what the ganger had done. ‘Talen, where’s Fleapit?’

  The boy finally looked her in the eye, ready for the argument he knew was coming. ‘Look, before you start–’

  ‘Start what?’ Mekki asked.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Zelia snapped. ‘He’s sold Fleapit.’

  ‘What?’

  Talen’s face darkened. ‘I got the information, didn’t I?’

  ‘But at what cost? After everything Fleapit has been through. After everything he’s done for us…’

  ‘I did what we needed to do,’ Talen snapped back as Mekki got to his feet, his pale face even more ashen than usual.

  ‘The Diadem,’ he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

  ‘What about it?’ Zelia asked.

  ‘Flegan-Pala has it.’

  Amity leant forwards in her chair, a glint of barely disguised avarice in her eyes. ‘What Diadem?’

  Now the colour had drained from Talen’s face as well. ‘But it’ll be safe,’ he stammered, realising his mistake. ‘It’s in Fleapit’s backpack thing.’

  ‘What are you all talking about?’ Amity asked, more forcibly this time.

  ‘It’s a Necron artefact,’ Zelia blurted out. ‘We found it on Targian.’

  Now Amity was on her feet. ‘It’s a what? You brought a Necron relic on board my ship?’

  ‘We’re taking it to my mum. She’ll know what to do with it.’

  ‘Destroy it,’ Amity said. ‘That’s what you do. You destroy it before the Necrons come looking for it.’ She set her glass down, her drink half-finished. ‘That’s why they sent a Hunter after you.’

  Zelia nodded. ‘We think so, yes.’

  ‘And that’s why they’ll come here. I knew answering your distress call was a mistake. I just knew it.’ She was pacing up and down, trying to process the news. ‘We need to warn Vetone. No… he’ll never believe me. We need to find it. Find it and smash it to pieces.’

  ‘No,’ Zelia said. ‘I made a promise that I’d deliver it to mum.’

  Amity stopped and stared at Zelia in disbelief. ‘You made a promise? Everyone on the outpost could die, but that’s okay because you made a promise?’

  ‘No. I didn’t mean that. I–’

  Amity covered her ears with her hands. ‘I don’t want to hear it. I tell you what… we’re done. It’s over.’

  Zelia’s chest tightened. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean you get off my ship, right now.’

  ‘No,’ Zelia pleaded with her. ‘We can fix this.’

  ‘Like you fixed everything else? You’re children, playing at being adults. I’ll send Grunt around to Karter, force him to hand back the monkey.’

  ‘Jokaero,’ Mekki chimed in.

  Amity jabbed a ringed finger at the Martian. ‘Not helpful.’

  ‘And what if he won’t do it? What if he won’t give up Fleapit?’

  Amity’s hand went to her beamer. ‘Then, I’ll just have to get the damned thing back myself.’

  ‘No, captain, please,’ Zelia begged. ‘If you go in shooting, Fleapit could get hurt. Let me at least try to get him back, without servitors or guns. Then, if that doesn’t work…’

  Her sentence died in her throat. She didn’t want to think about the alternative.

  Amity stared at her, looking deep into her eyes. Zelia held her breath, half expecting the rogue trader to draw her pistol and march them off the Profiteer.

  Instead, Amity sighed, closing her eyes and breathing heavily through her nose. ‘I must be mad.’ She raised a single finger. ‘One hour, Zelia. You have one hour.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Zelia said, wringing her hands. ‘We won’t let you down. Isn’t that right, Talen?’

  But when Zelia looked for the ganger, he was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Inquisitor Jeremias

  The sleek, black ship swooped down through snow-filled clouds to land near the abandoned camp.

  Jeremias of the Imperial Inquisition’s Ordo Xenos strutted down the ramp, a large mechanical beast at his heels. The cyber-mastiff sniffed the cold air, an electronic growl rumbling at the back of the construct’s vat-grown throat.

  ‘What is it?’ the inquisitor asked the armour-plated hound. ‘The survivors?’ His mouth curled into a distasteful snarl. ‘Xenos?’

  The mastiff’s growl intensified at the accursed word. The hairs on the back of Jeremias’s neck bristled. They would have to tread carefully if there were aliens here.

  The inquisitor’s faithful servo-skull swept down from the ship, its sensors scanning the site for evidence. The camp was deserted, a wreck of a shelter half buried in a snowdrift.

  ‘This is intriguing,’ Jeremias said as he approached the broken-down structure, his boots crunching in the snow. ‘Have you ever seen the like, Corlak?’ The servo-skull glided over to him, mechanical tentacles twitching.

  ‘Nothing in records,’ the skull responded in its stilted artificial voice.

  Jeremias indicated the sloped walls. ‘If I didn’t know better, I would say the materials came from an escape pod, but it is far too large, not to mention completely the wrong shape.’

  Behind them the cyber-mastiff was churning up the snow with its snout.

  ‘What have you found?’ Jeremias asked, walking over to the hound.

  The mechanical dog bit into the snow with powerful hydraulic jaws and pulled out a long metal mast, dropping the pole at its master’s feet.

  Jeremias bent down, probing the mast’s exposed circuitry with a gloved finger and frowned. He was no tech-cultist, but even he knew that was the work of no human.

  ‘Sire,’ Corlak called over to him.

  Jeremias returned to the servo-skull. There was no mistaking the claw marks his familiar had discovered. The cuts were deep, made by curved talons.

  ‘Genestealers,’ Jeremias growled.

  He pulled aside the section of wall, peering into the dome’s interior. ‘Corlak, send a report. Evidence of Tyranid infestation. Planet is to be placed under quarantine. Recommend immediate Exterminatus.’

  ‘Complying, sire.’

  Telling the skull to wait outside, Jeremias stepped into the dome, having to stoop to stand beneath the partially collapsed roof. A pouch lay in the middle of the shelter. Jeremias crouched down to pick it up, noticing the Munitorum stamp on the leather.

  ‘Property of the Imperial Guard. Fascinating.’

  He stood, flipping open the pouch. It was empty, save for a small wooden figure. A Guardsman, crouched on one knee, lasrifle extended.

  A child’s toy.

  Removing one of his gloves, he dropped the figure into his palm, curling his fingers around the soldier.

  Concentrating, he closed his eyes and waited for the images to flood his mind. When they came, they took his breath away, discordant memories that weren’t his own.

  Emerald lightning, crackling through the sky.

  A mighty hive crashing down into the ground. Clouds of dust billowing out across a poisoned landscape.

  Ships ripped apart. Ships full of survivors. Of refugees.

  Then, fear. Fear unlike anything he’d experienced before.

  An escape pod flung across the stars.

  Impossible lights squirming through the void.

  A crash, the pod rolling over and over.

  Being chased through a forest, cold fingers grasping for his flesh.

  The sound of a disintegrator cannon.

  A rictus grin.

  A ring of metal etched with strange inhuman glyphs.

  Jeremias let out a ragged breath and lurched forwards. Corlak shot into the shelter, telescopic fronds ready to assist. Jeremias raised a shaking hand. ‘All is well.’

  Outside the ramshackle dome, the cyber-mastiff growled.

  Jeremias locked eyes with the hound, all too aware that the beast had hunched its powerful shoulders and was ready to pounce.

  ‘Heel,’ he warned, ignoring the squirming sensation at the back of his mind. It was always the same when he used his powers, each experience more unsettling than the last.

  The hound snarled, but its sprung limbs relaxed.

  Jeremias returned the figurine to the pouch and staggered out of the dome. He passed the bag to Corlak and pulled on his glove.

  His mind raced as he marched back to his ship, the hound skulking behind him.

  Now he knew who they were looking for, faces glimpsed in the maelstrom of images that had invaded his mind.

  A dark-skinned girl, a blond-haired boy and a pale-skinned Martian.

  Children. Lost and alone. Jeremias imagined how scared they would be, how vulnerable.

  As the ship took off, Corlak at the controls, Jeremias sank back into his command chair.

  ‘Help me find them, Emperor of Mankind,’ he muttered, hands clasped around his Inquisitorial seal. ‘Help me find them before it is too late.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Abominable Intelligence

  Hinterland’s marketplace seemed busier than ever. The lume-globes in the arched ceilings had dimmed to plunge the station into an artificial night, but no one seemed to be heading for bed. The atmosphere seemed charged, somehow even more dangerous.

  Zelia clutched her omniscope to her, just in case another opportunist took a fancy to the device. Mekki stayed close as they made their way through the stalls and she wondered if he felt the same. Like they were being watched.

  They passed a tavern, harsh music filtering through the flimsy swing doors. Someone was hammering out a raucous star shanty on a synthi-chord, drunken patrons singing along with gusto, whether they could follow the tune or not.

  ‘Hey hey, little ones,’ a gruff voice rang out from the shadows. ‘The market’s no place for you, not at this time of night. Come in. Warm your hands by the brazier. We’ll protect you.’

  Mekki hesitated and for one awful moment, Zelia thought he was going to take the heckler up on the offer. She grabbed his arm, and pulled him away from the grog-house.

  ‘Your loss, little ones,’ the voice shouted after them. ‘Stay safe, won’t ya?’

  Zelia shuddered. She wished Talen was with them. Yes, she was still furious with him, but at least she felt safer when he was around.

  Something small and bronze darted towards them. She ducked, before recognising the whirr of tiny wings.

  Mekki’s servo-sprite bobbed in the air in front of them.

  ‘Oh, look who it is,’ she said, scolding the construct, as if it was an errant child. ‘Where were you when Fleapit needed help?’

  Mekki cocked his head, his electoos flaring as he received information from the skittish robot. ‘You cannot blame Meshwing. Talen Stormweaver has spent years evading capture. If he managed to evade the Imperial Guard on Targian–’

  Zelia sighed. ‘Losing a servo-sprite on a busy space station wouldn’t be much of an issue. I know, I know.’

  She carried on, not wanting to linger in the marketplace. They hurried through the square, heading into the maze of alleyways that led to Karter’s store.

  It was even gloomier in the narrow passageways, steam rising from grates in the floor. Beggars huddled around broken thermo-heaters, holding out emaciated hands as they passed, but Zelia had nothing to give.

  Thankfully, Meshwing could remember the way. The sprite flew ahead, leading them back to Karter’s emporium. The old woman still stood outside the cartographer’s door, selling her mugs of scuzzy broth.

  Zelia pushed open the door to find the shop empty, lit only by flickering candles set on floating repulsor-pads.

  Her first instinct was to call out, but she held her tongue. The curtain at the back of the store was drawn back slightly, a warm glow coming from behind the thick fabric.