[33]

227.738.M41

Velgrad, Arsenal ruins

12:30 Local Time

The long block from 51st Street and Dorn to 49th and Pious was still depopulated. The Arsenal fire had spread and consumed nearby buildings, turned a park to ashes, killed hundreds of people, and coated everything in layers of toxic ash. The city had redirected water runoff through overworked purificators, and teams in hazard gear had retrieved what human remains could still be distinguished from the ash. Now, a month later, rain had washed away enough of the ash for the streets to open and for cleansing and reconstruction to begin.

Grendel halted it and ordered the block re-closed. The enemy's works would be our training asset. Armed with soft wax or washable paint instead of armor-piercing explosive shells, we fought our way through burnt-out habs and the still-toxic ruins of the Arsenal itself, "killing" and occasionally "dying" against Grendel's other personnel. It was at once immensely sad and as joyously fun as the best training days at the convent.

This time, I had been shot in the gun and the left hand, and both were splashed with pink, "armor-piercing" paint. I had a light machinegun instead, loaned to me reluctantly by an armsman whose head and chest were a cheerful pink and yellow ruin. I was still in the fight, bracing the gun one-handed against a corner, suppressing a long, blackened hallway. Verity and Tara would hit the enemy soon, doubling back through side rooms to outflank and destroy them. The opposing team was simulating a response force that had pinned us on our way out from a bad-intel raid.

"Ten seconds," said Verity on the vox. Then Wessex's voice cut in: "Amasec, amasec, amasec."

I thought, Ahh! Why not twenty seconds later? Amasec was the simulation abort code.

I wondered if someone was hurt, but I was quickly reassured: Grendel wanted us, all seven, to return to the transport. We could clean ourselves up first. It wasn't urgent.

Wessex then made me slightly less assured: Grendel wanted us to bring our weapons. With real rounds.

Grendel's choice of air transport for us was an Arvus lander. It was almost unarmed, though its stubby wings carried four 100kg bombs. Inside, it was the standard Arvus box. We had the innermost seats on each side folded up, and had packed that space solid with medical gear, vox equipment, and munitions. This blocked the sliding hatch to the cockpit, but since the only way to move between compartments was to remove the entire back of the pilot's seat with power tools, it didn't concern the pilot or us.

Webbing under the seats restrained more gear. Air pack rechargers were mounted on the overhead rails. An incense thurible smoked gently from over the rear hatch. If we all kept our knees together and our elbows in, there was enough space left over to fit the seven of us, Wessex, and two seats held open.

Verity and Hana were still fuming. Tara had a sullen little pout, which almost certainly meant that I had the same sullen little pout.

Verity had shared our frustration about our stolen victory with the support element as we went through the purification showers. Now we were on the squad vox inside the roaring Arvus, and the complaining was really getting started.

"You don't know the half of it," said Castor. "You don't barracks with the sods. They'll be crowing about it all night—about how they had us separated and were about to finish us off."

I thought he was right, but I comforted myself: at least the men playing our enemy force wouldn't expect the flanking maneuver if something like that happened again.

Then I stopped pouting, and said, "Counterintelligence."

"Marisa?" said Verity.

"Counterintelligence. We know we crushed them. They don't know what really happened. Therefore we won twice."

"Still going to hear about it all night," Adem grumbled.

"Yes, and you won't correct them. Then tomorrow they'll still forget that we can push through side rooms or switch floors to outflank them. And we win again."

"Ah," said Castor. "And that's when we educate them about this first time, too. As a kindness, yeah?"

Verity smirked and bumped me with her shoulder and leg. "Hmm?"

"A great kindness," I said.

❖ ❖ ❖

​

The Arvus took us to a small rocky island. The smudge of smog and glint of sun on glass and metal that was Ostport could just be seen on the horizon. I couldn't believe we had gone so far in fifteen minutes, but when I divided the distance by the Arvus' standard airspeed, the number matched.

It was a warm, beautiful day and the air smelled of clean ocean crashing on rocks, but something felt wrong. Tech-adepts and Ecclesiarchy clerics were ringing the center of the island with banners, scripture-cloths, and shrouds, hanging them from lines bound about boulders and trees. Inside that curtain-like perimeter, the feeling grew worse. It wasn't like the Fear—no malaise about reality and truth, just a creeping sense that danger was close at hand.

Inquisitor Grendel was waiting there near a circle of tech-adepts. He wore armor and a Guard-pattern bolt-pistol. I wondered if he had chosen it for ammunition compatibility with our weapons. The tech-priests were chanting, censing, and laying out circuit-runes with cables and insulated rods on a flat section of stone. Kneeling at the center, facing one another at the points of a star, there were five elderly people in green robes: two men and three women, blindfolded. Each wore a half-cape in a different hue. White, black, gold, red, blue.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"Astropaths," said Grendel. "Sanctioned psykers. Powerful, terribly powerful. But bound as they are to the Emperor's grace, strong enough to bear their power. Cursed and blessed in equal measure. Can you imagine what it is, to have been born a monster, and yet to have been taken across the expanse of stars, to Holy Terra itself, and gaze in person upon the very face of God?"

I do not think it was the sort of question one is meant to answer. I felt cold.

"The Drukhari—the Eldar—have a way of traveling which we call the Webway. It works for them something like a network of tunnels, which they may enter and exit without detectable perturbations of the Aether. Entrances are rare. The nearest is likely farther away than the nearest foreign star. But temporary ones, hidden on planets, can sometimes be made. Today, if we are successful, we will know whether they have one on this world. We may even know where it is, within a few thousand kilometers."

Castor and Mak'ti nodded, as though they had expected something like this. Adem looked as troubled as the four of us. Grendel looked us over.

"You, Sisters, are to tell no one about this if it fails. But if it succeeds, you will tell your masters. If useful once, it may be useful again. Any master-sage could reproduce the geometries once shown the principle. The same psy-sensoria used for locating psykers before they may become gateways to the realm of daemons are dispersed at precise points about the globe. A powerful psychic pulse is generated at a position that can be destroyed, if needed, without undue loss. The machine-spirits record. Then… come."

He turned and strode to a puddle left by recent rain. "Find me a rock. The size of my fist will do."

A few seconds later Verity had a rock for him. He placed it in the puddle, moving it around until it was just submerged, the ripples lapping up over its highest point. He stood back and let the ripples still.

"The rock is the Webway gate. Reaching to the surface of reality. Now, watch the ripples near the edge of the water. We cause a disturbance." He tapped the water with his gloved hand.

"Invisible from above the surface. Too perilous to search for, beneath it. But its presence is clear in the disturbance, in the shape of things not seen. Do you comprehend? Not the mathematics, but the concept. Can you pass it on, if we succeed?"

One by one we agreed.

"Good. You four will take up close positions aiming at the Astropaths. Your support element will withdraw to the Arvus, which will hover at a distance, with the back hatch for a firing position.

"Sisters. Your first task: watch the Astropaths. If one of them seems to distort in shape; to move in a way no human could survive; or to reshape the surrounding world—then you shall prepare to fire and call the color. If any two of you call the same color, kill that astropath. Aim for the head. Do not think of mercy. The killing will be the most merciful thing you could do.

"Your second task: if you feel your mind slipping, hear voices that are not real, or perceive yourself under psychic or daemonic attack, you will attempt to raise both hands above your head, dropping your gun. You will scream if you are able. You will kneel or fall to the ground. Do this without hesitation. There will be cables tied to your backpacks. Should any such sign be seen, you will be dragged away. What aid can be given you will be rendered at once."

We were all wide-eyed with horror, but he turned without pausing and addressed the support element.

"Castor, Adem, Mak'ti. Should all four Sisters be pulled back, or should I give the command, you will kill everyone and everything that remains inside the curtain ring. If your fire is insufficient, direct the pilot to use the bombs. Should you fail, it will be upon the warship overhead to destroy the island with its laser battery, and all of us with it. Questions?"

"Inquisitor," I whispered. "Have you commanded us to aid a working of sorcery?"

"No. I have not and I will not. This is an ordinary working of the sanctioned art by which the Astropathic choir sends messages across the void. Performed with greater power, with fewer limits, and without a target, but the same."

I made the sign of the Aquila. I bowed my head.

Castor spoke. "Inquisitor, will the enemy detect it?"

"He will! Which is why we are here executing a dangerous and evil witch, as all Ostport will know by now, and all Gaervalt by the end of day. A lie, of course."

I felt I should have had more questions, but I could not think of any. We prayed. We went to our places and made our preparations. All was checked and checked again. Prayers were chanted, censers swung, blessings bestowed.

The last of Grendel's personnel fell back.

The Astropaths began.