The Emperor's Finest

THREE

DUPANYA AND HIS bodyguard led us through the palace at a rapid pace, down carpeted corridors lined with tapestries and through wooden-floored galleries whose polished surface fared badly under the heavy stride of the Space Marines, the rich, warm sheen of generations of waxing scuffing and splintering wherever they set foot. The deathmasked faces of the governor's ancestors stared down disapprovingly from the walls at this casual vandalism, although DuPanya didn't seem to mind much, or even notice; after all, the damage was slight enough, compared to the devastation the rebel artillery had already wrought on his home.

The Astartes seemed equally indifferent, walking in the same synchronised fashion I'd noticed before among their comrades, each left foot striking the floor at exactly the same time, then the right, with the precision of servitors. Every time they took a step the floor shuddered under the combined impact, and I felt the shock of it travelling up my legs, to the point where I began to feel as though I was aboard some slightly unstable watercraft. Fortunately the sensation was relatively short-lived, as, before long, the wooden floor gave way to bare rockcrete, the walls roughly finished in the same material, and I realised we were now in a bunker beneath the palace itself. As we descended several levels, I found my unease diminishing; this hidden redoubt had survived innumerable artillery bombardments unscathed, and would undoubtedly continue to do so. It was, therefore, with something approaching a light heart that I stepped through a pair of reinforced blast doors, currently propped open by a brace of guards in the same comic opera uniforms as their compatriots, who at least had the grace to pull themselves into a semblance of attention as we passed them, to find myself in a reasonably well-equipped command centre.

Dragging my attention from the solid buttresses and thick ceiling protecting us, I caught intermittent glimpses of pict screens and data lecterns between the towering figures in power armour which blocked most of my view, but could make out little until they fanned out, indicating that we'd reached the operational area at last.

'Governor.' A middle-aged man in a rather more practical uniform than the ones we'd seen so far, resembling standard Imperial Guard fatigues, mottled in greys and mid-blues[12], looked up from the hololith which dominated the centre of the space. A faintly flickering image of the city was being projected in it, spattered with icons I was fairly certain marked the positions of friendly and enemy troops. 'The Astartes are assaulting the enemy outside the east and north-western gates.' If he was surprised to see me or my companions, he gave no sign of the fact, merely nodding a preoccupied greeting in our direction, and I decided I liked him, whoever he was. Either he was keeping his mind on the business of defending our enclave, or he'd simply decided he was damned if he was going to look impressed by us, a game I knew well, and always enjoyed playing myself.

Gries nodded, no doubt being kept up to date with his men's progress by monitoring systems built into his armour, and I began to regret discarding the bulky headset I'd been wearing before we left the Thunderhawk. It had been heavy and awkward, true, having been designed for a head far larger than mine, but I'd got so used to following the progress of a battle through the comm-bead I habitually wore that I found myself feeling cut off from events without it - a sensation no member of the Commissariat ever feels comfortable with, particularly one as paranoid as me. Well, I'd just have to make do with the hololith to follow what was going on. 'They are,' the Reclaimers captain confirmed, 'and proceeding to their objectives. Resistance is light.'

From where I was standing it looked like the enemy were throwing everything they could at the two combat squads, but I suppose from Gries's point of view, having just seen off a tomb world full of necrons, a rabble of rebellious PDF troopers afforded little more than a handy bit of target practice.

'Thank you, general.' DuPanya discarded his robe with evident relief, turning out, to my surprise, to be wearing a uniform similar to the officer who'd greeted him beneath it, but without the rank pins at the collar. 'That's better.' He handed the richly patterned material to the nearest guard, and smiled at me, in the manner of a man imparting a confidence. 'Can't stand the blasted thing,' he said. 'Makes me look like a sofa.'

I couldn't really argue with that, so I didn't try. Instead, I turned to the hololith and addressed the general. 'You no doubt know who we are,' I said, 'so I won't waste time with introductions.' Especially since I didn't have a clue who three of Gries's companions were in any case; with their helmets on they all looked alike to me, and I doubted that removing them would have left me much the wiser. 'What are we looking at here?'

'The dispositions of all the units we're currently aware of,' the man in blue and grey replied, apparently just as happy to dispense with the formalities as I was. 'Blue for loyalist, yellow, green and red for the different enemy factions. They've been gunning for one another as much as us, so we're happy to let them get on with it while we wait for the relief force to arrive.'

'It has arrived,' Gries reminded him, looming suddenly at my elbow and staring at the display with a thoughtful expression on his face. 'These deployments make no sense.'

I looked at the display more carefully, trying to see what he meant. The red, yellow and green icons were clustered around the blue enclaves like scum round an outfall, each encircling whichever Imperial redoubt fell in the sector of the city they controlled. One each, plus the palace, which seemed to be on the cusp of their zones of influence, and which was bordered on the south and east by red, yellow to the north, and green to the west.

'You're right,' I said after a moment. There were concentrations of colour along their mutual borders, but they weren't contiguous. This wasn't entirely unexpected, since the squabbling factions would need far more manpower to fortify an arbitrary line several kilometres long than any could conceivably bring to bear, but the positions they had dug in at didn't seem particularly strategic, and several potential weak points had been left completely undefended.

Gries reached for the control lectern, muttering the litanies the enginseers who maintained similar systems for the Guard seemed to employ while fiddling with the knobs. He must have hit on the right ones, because the three colours suddenly turned a uniform sickly purple, and the whole pattern fell into place.

'Throne on Earth,' I said, horrified. 'The whole city's a trap!'

'Clearly,' Gries said, as though it should have been obvious from the start - which, I suppose to him, it may well have been.

Only DuPanya looked confused. 'General Orten?' he asked, which at least answered the lingering question of the fellow's name. 'What does he mean?'

'He means we've been idiots,' Orten replied, looking about as happy as anyone would be after just being struck by that uncomfortable realisation. 'The internecine squabbling we've been counting on to whittle them down for us was just for show.' He sighed heavily. 'I'll remain in my quarters until you can convene the court martial.'

'You'll do no such thing,' I snapped. 'If this mess really is your fault, I'm damned if I'm going to let you weasel your way out of cleaning it up by jumping in front of a firing squad.' Orten and DuPanya gaped at me, and although the Astartes remained as impassive as ever, something about their attitude managed to convey a degree of surprise as well[13].

'Commissar Cain is correct,' Gries agreed. 'This is no time to deprive ourselves of the most senior PDF officer.'

I nodded, following up on the unexpected show of support. 'Right now, we need your local knowledge. We can determine whose fault this all is once the rebels have been brought to heel.'

'I'm at your disposal, of course,' Orten said, with something of the air of a spirejack who's just hopped casually over a vent in the hive skin, before glancing back and realising it goes down to the sump.

'I'm afraid I still don't follow,' DuPanya said, a trifle apologetically, and Gries gestured at the hololith with a yellow-gauntleted hand.

'These troop dispositions make perfect sense if the rebels are acting as a single unified force. They can defend the city from outside attack extremely effectively, and hamper the movements of any Imperial assets attempting to deploy within it.'

'An Imperial Guard landing would have to take place at the aerodrome,' I added, pointing out the landing field on the outskirts of Fidelis where, in happier times, aircraft and orbital shuttles would arrive and depart. 'It's the only open area large enough to establish a beachhead. But once they're down, they'd be sitting waterfowl for a coordinated bombardment, from these Basilisk and Manticore units.'

Orten nodded. 'Which have been targeting one another up till now, or so we've been led to believe.'

'They can be neutralised,' Gries said calmly. 'Now we're aware of the scale of the deception, the stratagem will not succeed.'

'Not while the rebels think we're still fooled, anyway,' I said, wondering how they'd managed to pull off so huge a piece of sleight-of-hand. The degree of coordination required would have been immense, taxing the skills of even an experienced high command, let alone a rabble of disaffected militia. My palms were itching again, but this time no sudden flood of insight made sense of my nagging disquiet, so I turned my mind to more immediate concerns. 'The trouble is, the moment we make a move to take out those positions, they'll realise we're on to them.'

'My assessment as well,' Gries agreed. 'Redirecting our combat squads would reveal our intention at once, as the enemy will certainly be aware of their intended destinations by now.' He studied the hololith again. 'The Manticore battery is close to the line of advance we would take to relieve the defenders of the Administratum cloister, however. If my battle-brothers and I make a third sally, the rebels should assume it to be our objective until it's too late.'

'Which only leaves the Basilisks,' I agreed, unable to fault his logic.

'Can the Thunderhawk take them out?' Orten asked, and I shook my head.

'I doubt it,' I told him. 'I've served with an artillery unit, and they're always prepared for an aerial attack. The minute it appears on their auspexes, the Basilisks will scatter. We'd get some, but there's no guarantee enough wouldn't survive to mount an effective bombardment of the aerodrome.'

'Then you'll just have to sneak up on them, won't you?' a new voice cut in, and I turned to find myself facing a young woman in an even more absurd version of the elaborate uniform most of the troopers in the bunker were wearing. The crimson fabric was festooned with silver braid, and the regimental crest was worked into her epaulettes in gold thread, which glittered under the luminators almost as brightly as the buttons on her tunic, the top couple of which had been left undone to expose a generous helping of cleavage. The whole ensemble had clearly come from a couturier rather than a quartermaster, although the laspistol holstered at her waist looked functional, even if nothing else did.

'Commissar, honoured Astartes, my daughter Mira,' DuPanya said, although the resemblance was so strong I'd already deduced that for myself. Mira DuPanya had obviously inherited her father's build, although so far the genetic tendency to chubbiness had got no further than a hint of lush ripeness around the face, and imparting a well-filled look to her tunic and trouser seat, which I would certainly have taken the time to appreciate under more relaxed circumstances. Her hair was blonde and elaborately tressed, green eyes gazing in our direction as though somehow faintly disappointed not to find us more entertaining.

'That might be a little easier said than done,' I replied, addressing her directly, in a tone which, although formally polite, managed to convey the unspoken suffix so run along and leave the soldiering to the professionals. Unfortunately, Mira, as I was soon to discover, wouldn't recognise a hint if it was presented to her gift-wrapped, with a label saying ''Hint'' around its neck.

'Only if you're stupid enough to stay on the surface, where they can see you coming,' she said dismissively, and went to stand next to her father, who was beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable. I couldn't say I blamed him either, as he obviously had a much better idea of who we were and what we represented.

To my surprise, though, Orten was nodding thoughtfully. 'You mean go underground?' he asked, and Mira echoed the gesture.

'Of course I do,' she said, scorn and self-confidence mingling in her voice in a manner I was beginning to find quite irksome. 'We spent enough time booby-trapping the service tunnels to stop the rebels getting in, didn't we? Why can't your people get out the same way?'

'It sounds plausible,' I said, having spent enough time running around the undercities of various worlds to be well aware of the sprawling nature of the infrastructure almost certainly underpinning Fidelis. 'Are there any maps we can consult down here?'

'There should be,' Orten said, and went off to converse with a nearby aide.

I turned to Gries. 'I've been down service tunnels before,' I said, 'and they tend to be a bit on the cramped side.' I tried to picture him and his men squeezing through the conduits I used to play in as a child[14], and failed dismally. 'Perhaps you'd better stick to your original proposal, and leave the Basilisks to a local strike.'

'Indeed,' Gries agreed. 'A two-pronged assault, underground and overground, would seem to be the best strategy. Once our forces are committed, the combat squads and the Thunderhawk can divert to back us up.'

'Sounds good,' I agreed.

'Then we can begin as soon as you've selected a team to accompany you,' Gries said, and I realised too late what I'd backed myself into. It goes without saying I'd never intended to lead the assault on the Basilisks in person, but knowing what Gries believed about me, which was essentially that my inflated reputation was justified, I could belatedly see why he'd made that assumption. Of course now I couldn't back out without alienating the Astartes I was supposed to be liaising with, and undermining my authority in front of the governor, so I'd just have to make the best of it. At least, I thought, things couldn't get any worse.

'I'll take care of that,' Mira said, butting in again with all the casual arrogance of a rich brat born to rule a planet. She nodded coolly at the Astartes captain. 'We'll be ready to move in half an hour.'

IN THE EVENT it was closer to an hour before the PDF were able to get themselves organised, by which time we'd received the encouraging news that both combat squads had reached their objectives without taking any casualties, and that the prowling Thunderhawk had got the rebels stirred up like a stick in an ants' nest. At which point I found myself in a thoroughly unwelcome conversation with the governor's daughter, who seemed unable to grasp the idea that anyone else's authority could exceed her own.

'I'm sorry, my lady,' I said, exerting all the diplomatic skills I possessed to suppress the impulse to say something far more direct, 'but I cannot in all conscience permit you to accompany us.'

Mira looked at me with the sort of expression I imagine she normally reserved for a ladies' maid who'd run her bath at the wrong temperature. 'I'm leading this expedition,' she said tartly. 'Live with it.'

'It's you continuing to live at all which concerns me,' I said, deciding that subtlety was clearly wasted on her. 'The battlefield is no place for a civilian.' Especially if their presence was liable to put me in any danger, which hers almost certainly would.

The governor's daughter drew herself up to her full height, which was roughly level with my chin, while still somehow contriving to look down her nose at me. 'I happen to be colonel-in-chief of the Household Regiment,' she said, waving a hand in the general direction of her embonpoint, which was jutting determinedly in my direction. 'Or can't you recognise a military uniform when you see one?'

'As a rule,' I said, biting back the obvious rejoinder about her garish costume. 'But the title of colonel-in-chief is generally considered an honorary one.'

A faint flush began to spread across her cheek, followed by a petulant frown. No doubt the sensation of not getting her own way without question was an unwelcome novelty. 'How much actual military training have you done?' I asked.

'My usual duties don't leave time for that sort of thing,' the girl admitted reluctantly. 'But I've been out on the walls a few times.' She hefted the lasgun she'd picked up from somewhere, with more confidence than I'd normally expect to see in a civilian, and I had to concede she handled it as though she knew what she was doing. 'And I've been using guns on hunting trips since I was a child.'

'In very few of which, I imagine, the game shot back,' I replied sarcastically. I turned to DuPanya, who was hovering nearby with the squad of troopers who'd escorted him to meet the Thunderhawk. Despite their ridiculous getup, they all looked as though they could handle themselves well enough, which was no more than I'd have expected: on most worlds, the household troops guarding the governor tend to be the cream of the PDF, or at least the curds left behind after the Guard tithes have been met. I'd have felt a lot happier undertaking this fool's errand with proper Guardsmen to hide behind, but at least this lot would be the best available. The majority were keeping their expressions studiedly neutral, but a few were making no secret of how much they were enjoying the spectacle of their colonel-in-chief meeting unexpected resistance. 'Can't you talk some sense into her?'

'Not often,' DuPanya admitted, sounding almost proud of the fact. 'And her rank might be honorary, as you say, but she does take it seriously. After all, it makes her the most senior officer in the regiment.'

'Fine,' I said, greatly cheered by the realisation that in that case I could legitimately shoot her if she got too annoying. 'But we're running out of time to debate this.' Gries and his Astartes had already left the command bunker, and would be halfway to the gate by now. If we were going to be in position before the enemy realised their artillery batteries were the Reclaimers' real objective, and be ready to launch our own assault at the same time, we'd have to get moving; otherwise we'd arrive to find our target on high alert, instead of having the advantage of surprise.

'Then stop wasting it,' Mira said. She turned and gestured to the troopers, most of whom were carrying satchel charges in addition to their usual weapons. 'Move out.'

'Stay where you are,' I snapped, freezing the squad's first shuffle of movement to instant immobility. I turned back to Mira, with my most intimidating commissarial expression on my face. 'You're staying behind. Live with it.' As I'd anticipated, having her own words thrown back at her didn't go down at all well.

'Correct me if I'm wrong, commissar,' she replied, pronouncing my title in tones which would have frozen helium, 'but I was under the impression that your position is purely an advisory one, outside the normal chain of command.'

'Technically, that's the case,' I admitted, masking my sudden unease.

'But our advice is generally heeded by the officers receiving it.' Because if it isn't we're entitled to shoot them, which inclines them to listen.

'Then consider me advised,' Mira said, turning to beckon to the soldiers once more. 'Move out.'

Well, I could hardly gun her down in front of her father and hope to continue a productive working relationship, and there seemed to be every possibility that the enemy would do the job for me in any case, so I simply shrugged with what I hoped looked like casual indifference. 'Duly noted, colonel,' I said dryly.