Deathwatch (8 page)

One arm went around her waist and lifted her clear off the floor. The other snaked over her shoulder, a big hand clapping tight over her mouth before she could call out.

Ordimas caught her as she was reaching for the handle on the inside of the front door. He wrestled her back to a doorway on the left of the hall that led into a dark main room. Two stained and rickety chairs sat before a smudge-screened pict-viewer. Lho-stick butts and empty bottles littered a table on the left.

With his hand still on her mouth, Ordimas dropped Mira, the dead miner’s woman, down into one of the chairs and, staying behind her, pressed his face close to her ear.

‘I’m not here for you, girl,’ he said softly. ‘But I can’t let you report what you’ve seen. Not until my business is done. We both know that man was cruel to you, Mira. It is Mira, right? We both know you’ll be better off without him, Mira. So what I propose is this. I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them. You’re going to help me. And then I’ll help you. I will have to tie you up when I leave, and gag you. But when my work is done, I’ll contact an associate of mine. She’ll come and free you. And if you do exactly as I say, and don’t interfere with my plans in any way, I’ll see to it you’re compensated. She’ll bring money, but only if you comply.’

When he told her the exact amount he would be paying her, she went rigid. Ordimas remained silent to let the significance of the amount sink in. The woman gradually relaxed.

‘Good girl,’ he told her. ‘We both know what that money could do for you, so keep that in mind. Because you won’t like the alternative. I’m good to my friends, Mira, but I’m a daemon to my enemies. I never forgive, and I never forget. Take my word on that.’

Mira nodded.

Slowly, Ordimas removed his hand from her mouth. She didn’t scream.

All the same, he made sure to stay behind her for now. Seeing him naked in front of her, an almost perfect likeness of her freshly slain partner, would most probably unhinge her. Ordimas didn’t need that. It was bad enough that he had to speak to her in Mykal’s voice. And it was the voice that he asked her about now.

‘Do I sound like him?’

Mira made to turn and face him.

‘No,’ said Ordimas. ‘Face forwards. It’ll be easier for you that way, at least for now.’

‘H-he spoke a bit rougher than you,’ she said. ‘More rasping, sort of. Something he did by choice. He put it on to sound meaner.’

Ordimas nodded and added more gravel to his tone.

‘Like this?’

Mira gave a shudder. ‘Saints! What… what in the nine hells
are
you?’

‘Just a man,’ said Ordimas. ‘A man with a job to do. If that improves your lot, so much the better, yes?’

Mira was silent. Seconds passed before she said, ‘He cursed a lot, Mykal did. Gacking this. Gacking that.’

‘Understood. Any physical habits? Anything other Rockheads would know him for?’

Mira nodded, still facing the wall. ‘He cracked his knuckles a lot. He thought it intimidated people. He chewed that fungal stuff from the mines, too. Greywort. You’ll find some in his pockets if you check. He was always spittin’ it in the sink. Foul stuff.’

Ordimas didn’t particularly want to mimic that habit – greywort was a mild psychotropic that induced euphoria in certain quantities – but he knew he could suppress the effect if he was careful with the dose. He wouldn’t take any unless offered. He needed to be sharp for this.

‘Right- or left-handed?’ he asked.

‘Right,’ said Mira.

‘Wait here,’ he told her.

He went back into the kitchen and put on the dead man’s clothes, conscious of how different that felt to the habitual, almost automatic act of putting on his own. Then he stuffed his discarded clothes into a stinking, half-filled garbage bag, tied it shut, and jammed it in a corner beneath five or six others already filled almost to bursting. Then he put his belt, with its dagger and injectibles, around his waist and cinched it. His new waist was three notches bigger than his true waist. ‘Lucky the damned thing still fits,’ he mumbled to himself and went back through to the main room.

‘Okay, listen, Mira. I’m going to move in front of you now. I need you to keep it together, all right? I need to know everything you can tell me about his shifts, his friends, what he does in the mines, what business he’s into with the Rockheads. I need everything you can give me, Mira. It’s important. Just keep thinking about that money. I can’t pay you if I don’t pull this off.’

‘I… I understand. I’ll help you, but you better not be lying about that money.’

‘I’m not,’ said Ordimas. ‘I’ll make sure you get what you’re due. Is there a quill and ink around here somewhere?’

She told him he’d find them on an old desk in the corner of the next room. Ordimas, having bound her tightly to the chair, fetched them and went to the kitchen where the miner’s dead body lay cooling on the floor. With his knife, he cut the tattooed flesh from Mykal’s neck, took the flesh, quill and ink to the couple’s dingy bathroom, and copied the design onto his own skin. It took six minutes. Like any agent worth his salt, Ordimas had an eye for detail. The replica was near flawless.

For the next two hours, Mira coached him. He dressed in Mykal’s overalls – a rough, orange one-piece thermasuit with I-8 printed on the back in big white letters. This was the man’s work-party allocation, and Ordimas’s primary concern was making sure the other men of I-8 sensed nothing out of the ordinary. By the end of his time with Mira, he had Mykal’s identity and mannerisms down so well that the woman suddenly began to weep. Ordimas thought she might be doubting her sanity. The scene she had returned to in the kitchen would have shaken anybody’s hold on reality. But it wasn’t that.

‘I won’t miss him,’ she sobbed, still tied to her chair. ‘I’m glad he’s dead, but I shouldn’t be. It seems wrong. Especially now that…’

‘Now that what?’

‘Now that I’m carrying his child. He could never manage it before. Children, I mean. Then suddenly he comes home from his shift one day and it’s the most important thing in the world. I never understood him.’

So there were two living beings tied to the chair – Mira and her unborn child. That was a complication, but only if Ordimas allowed it to be.

‘It’s not wrong to be glad, Mira,’ he told her. ‘No child should grow up with a man like that as a father. There’re things you don’t know about him. But it doesn’t matter now. He’s gone.’

There was a heavy knock at the front door and a gruff voice from outside, ‘Time to go, Myk. Get your arse out here, brother.’

Mira started. ‘That’s Nordam. He and Mykal go to work together.’

‘A Rockhead?’ asked Ordimas.

‘No. Just a co-worker.’

‘Okay,’ said Ordimas. ‘Last chance, Mira. If I blow this, we’re both gacked and you’ll never see that money. Is there anything you’ve forgotten?’

Mira thought hard, brow creasing. Then she found something.

‘The Rockheads have a hand-sign.’

‘I know it,’ said Ordimas. He’d seen gang-members greet each other with it. He clenched his right fist and rapped it against the side of his skull. ‘Right?’

Mira shook her head. ‘It used to be that,’ she told him. ‘For some of them, it still is, I think. But Mykal told me they changed it.’ She made a gesture with her hand – fingers splayed in twos with the thumb extended so that the hand looked like it had three digits instead of five.

‘Do this and put your hand over your heart,’ she told him.

Ordimas tried it. She nodded. ‘That’s it.’

He was suspicious. Had she changed her mind? Was this new hand-sign intended to give him away? No. Looking at her hard, using all his abilities to read people, he convinced himself that this woman was telling the truth. Mykal had abused her for Throne-knew-how-long. She wouldn’t miss him. The money she hoped to gain by aiding Ordimas would buy her a new life.

More thumping sounded at the door, angry and impatient.

‘Time’s up,’ said Ordimas, and he withdrew behind Mira’s chair.

She tensed. ‘You’ll remember the money?’ she said, voice desperate with thin hope. ‘You’ll remember your promise, right?’

By way of answer, Ordimas moved close behind her. He looped a powerful arm round her neck, locked his grip on his opposite shoulder, and quickly, quietly choked her to death. She barely struggled. Ultimately, she had known deep down her death was at hand. Her last thought was one of self-contempt; how could she have even remotely believed in a happy ending? When had life ever granted her a boon?

After checking for a pulse that was no longer there, Ordimas went to the front door and stepped out, greeting the broad-shouldered man on the step with a grunt. He closed the door behind himself and heard it lock, then the two men set off down the street.

There was little conversation, which suited Ordimas fine.

It was time to go to work.

Two hours ago, Karras had felt it. The pressure had eased. The voices died to a whisper, then to nothing at all. The rage and hate that had pricked the air inside the
Adonai
since it had entered the warp had finally ebbed away. The thrumming psychic resonance of the ship’s Geller fields no longer intruded on his enhanced awareness. He breathed easier. Warp transit was no smooth matter for a psyker, not even an experienced Codicier of the Librarius. For most of the journey, combat rituals and relentless training had helped to focus his mind. It was as Cordatus had said:
Arquemann
felt like a part of him now, an extension of his lethal will. He had never felt as deadly as he did wielding the rune-inscribed blade. Even so, as focused as he had been, he had nevertheless remained sharply aware of the attentions of the warp’s ravenous entities. They had been fixed on him for weeks as the ship sailed the tides of the immaterium.

It was only the
Adonai
’s powerful Geller fields that kept those on board safe. With the exception of the ship’s Navigator and astropaths – themselves powerful psykers – the rest of the crew were far less sensitive than Karras to the chilling daemonic howls and screams of frustration, if they were even aware of the warp entities at all. Crewmen got restless, of course. They had sleepless, torment filled nights. There were more instances of argument, even flashes of physical violence. But the Geller fields had held.

Now, in the austere, candlelit chamber that was his temporary quarters, Karras sat on the edge of his stone cot, glad that the worst part of the journey was over.

A junior crewman, barely out of boyhood it seemed, had brought provisions to him here in his quarters about half an hour ago: fruit and watered wine. He had been shaking so much when Karras bade him enter that he’d almost spilled the contents of the tray. Karras grinned, remembering the speed of the boy’s terrified retreat. He lifted the clay goblet to his lips.

The wine was cool and refreshing as it slid down his throat.

They were like skittish birds sometimes, these little humans. Their fear over such simple things was beyond his comprehension. A miracle they had ever set forth into space at all!

He ate some of the fruit – a platter of bright, fleshy segments, pre-skinned or peeled, from half a dozen worlds. Not exactly the right stuff to maintain a hard-training Space Marine, but it would be back to nutrient-dense amino-porridge and triglyceride gel soon enough.

He was about to reach for another slice of black pear when, from the vox-speaker in the corner of his chamber, the voice of Captain Paninus Orlesi rang out, tinny and riddled with low static.

‘My lord passenger,’ said Orlesi. ‘Our destination is now in visual range. If you’ll meet me in the forward observation gallery, upper deck, I thought we might view it together. I think you’ll find the sight more than worthy of your time, my lord. I shall be there in ten minutes, if you’d care to meet me.’

Twelve minutes later, Karras entered the viewing gallery. It was a broad, dimly lit space with deep, luxurious burgundy carpeting. In the centre of the carpet, a golden aquila, the two-headed eagle sigil of the Imperium of Man, had been woven into the fabric. Even at a cursory glance, Karras could see that it was beautiful and extremely expensive work. So too were the rich oil-paintings that lined the walls to left and right, each highlighted in the warm oval illumination of its own wall-mounted lamp. A chandelier of pale green crystal dominated the ceiling, so low, and Karras so tall, that its polished centre almost brushed his head as he strode beneath it.

Not realising he had company, the captain stood with hands clasped behind his back, gazing out through the wide armourglass window at the gallery’s far end. Karras continued towards him, announcing himself by clearing his throat.

Orlesi turned to greet him, a smile on his florid features, teeth bright under a thick, well-oiled black moustache. He bowed. ‘My lord, I’m heartened that you decided to come. We’re on final approach. I’m sure you won’t think your time wasted.’

‘Naturally, I’m curious about our destination, captain. I would not have missed this opportunity.’

Orlesi gestured towards the window, inviting Karras to enjoy the view.

Whatever Karras had been expecting – some smaller variation of a Ramilies star fort, perhaps – it was not this.

‘Watch Fortress Damaroth,’ said Orlesi with theatrical emphasis.

Damaroth. Centre of Deathwatch operations in the Centaurus Arm of the Ultima Segmentum.

The actual coordinates of Damaroth were classified at the very highest level, known only to those pledged to a lifetime of service. The Space Marines seconded here only temporarily were never told exactly where
here
was. They were brought on Deathwatch ships and they departed on Deathwatch ships. They did not need to know.

Shrouded in secrecy until now, Damaroth was at last revealed to Karras’s eyes. There it sat, hanging in space, rotating slowly in a wispy nebula of greenish blue. It was a striking sight.

A ring! A vast artificial ring around a glowing moon.

He was silent for long moments looking at that strange place. The ring structure was black on the nightward side, its shape a curving shadow against the backdrop of the gas cloud. Countless warning and docking lights blinked in waves of red and green respectively, still tiny at this distance. The sunward extent of the Watch fortress was lit in shades of silvery grey. The outer surface seemed smooth but for the telltale shadows of huge communications pylons and the kilometre-wide dishes of the advanced auspex arrays. Karras could see no edges where blocks joined other blocks. It was as if the ring was cast or carved from a single piece.

That’s not possible. Not at this size. Cast by whom? And when?

The inner surface of the ring, permanently facing the small bright moon in the centre, was, by contrast a study in complexity. At this range, it was hard even for gene-boosted eyes to make sense of the apparent jumble of structures there. But as Karras continued to stare in silence, and the
Adonai
crept closer, things began to resolve themselves.

‘About three-and-a-half thousand kilometres in diameter,’ said Orlesi. ‘With a circumference of some eleven thousand. Quite something, isn’t she?’

Karras had seen many wonders in a lifetime of warfare among the stars, and yet he was stunned. ‘We didn’t build that,’ he murmured. ‘Not human hands.’

Orlesi shook his head. ‘Not the basic structure, no. We don’t know who or what built it. We know it’s old. According to Mechanicus paleotechs, it’s older than any other artificial structure in the Imperium. Apart from the others, that is.’

‘The others?’ said Karras.

‘There are six ring-and-moon arrangements like this one – six that we know of so far – each sitting somewhere out on the dark, empty rimward edges of the galaxy. With the approval and cooperation of the High Lords of Terra and the Inquisition’s Ordo Xenos, Deathwatch High Command commissioned Watch fortresses to be established on all of them once the proper research was completed. Not that the tech-priests found much. As I say, the basic structure is ancient beyond human history, and it was only the basic structure that remained – no trace of the beings that made them, nor of the technologies they used. The facilities you see down there on the inner surface are all Imperial in origin. Impressive in their own right, I’d say. Gravity is a solid one-gee throughout, with a fully breathable atmosphere. The magnetosphere and ozone layer are generated by Mechanicus facilities at the moon’s poles, everything maintained at close to Terran standards. Ideal for human life. We may not have built the foundations, but I’d say we’ve done a damned fine job with the rest of it, what?’

Orlesi chuckled at his own understatement.

‘What else can you tell me?’ Karras asked, eyes fixed on the Watch fortress as it grew larger and larger in his vision.

‘Not much, I’m afraid,’ said Orlesi, humour giving way to thoughtfulness once more. ‘I’ve shuttled warriors like your honoured self back and forth for almost a century in real terms, and I know little more now than I did back then.’

Xenos hunters
, thought Karras,
living and training on a xenos structure. As will I.

He felt a twinge of revulsion. Like all Space Marines, he had been psycho-conditioned to loathe all things alien. Yet none fought mankind’s inhuman foes with more zeal than the Deathwatch. If they had deemed it right to utilise this structure in their interminable war, Karras could hardly argue.

‘Given its size, large sections of the ring’s inner surface remain unexploited. There are four massive docking facilities, each equidistant, all largely automated, equipped to rival any star port in Imperial space. Conveniently, each of the docks is named for a compass direction, giving the ring an artificial north, south, east and west. The
Adonai
has only ever dropped anchor, so to speak, in the South Dock. There are always ships coming and going, I know that much. I’ve seen everything from Cobra-class destroyers like this one to Overlord–class battlecruisers, all belonging to the Holy Inquisition, the Adeptus Mechanicus, or to the Watch itself. As far as the Watch’s own fleet goes, I’ve no idea of its exact strength. At any given time, most of its ships are deployed to conflict zones or sent to serve at various Watch stations, as I expect you will be, sooner or later. And that’s about all I’m privy to, I’m afraid. Or at least, all I can talk about.’

Karras could have probed further. With a flexing of his power, he could have ripped the man’s entire knowledge, his every living memory, from his mind. Such a thing was within his abilities if the subject was otherwise unprepared and undefended. But the Deathwatch operated in secrecy for a reason. Karras was no hypocrite. His own Chapter held many things close to its chest. Besides, a mind-rip had other consequences; some subjects went mad, others dropped dead on the spot.

Minute by minute, the dark underside of the Ring of Damaroth swelled until it dominated the entire viewing window.

‘I’ll beg your leave now, my lord,’ said Orlesi. ‘We’re on final approach and I must return to the bridge.’

‘You have it,’ said Karras.

‘You’re welcome to join me, my lord. Or you may stay here as long as you wish. Either way, you’ll have a fine view of the docks as we come in.’

‘I shall stay here, captain,’ said Karras, ‘where I can enjoy the view in silence. I would not wish to cause any distraction on the bridge.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

Orlesi offered a last quick bow and marched from the room, leaving Karras alone at the window.

Soon after, the prow of the
Adonai
rose above the upper edge of the great ring, and the viewing gallery was bathed in the strange eldritch glow of the moon of Damaroth itself.

In that glow, Karras could see that the massive construct bristled with weapon batteries all along its length, everything from torpedo and missile tubes to las and plasma cannons of immense size, arranged so as to provide defensive fire in every conceivable direction. Karras was duly impressed. He had come here with few preconceptions, but he had never imagined that the Deathwatch might boast a facility of such incredible size and armament.

No. Not one, but six
, he reminded himself.

The Watch, as Captain Orlesi called it, must surely have incredible wealth and resources behind it – more even than a First Founding Chapter. There were key-worlds throughout the Imperium which could hardly boast static defences of this magnitude. No doubt the facility had mobile defences too, though none were yet apparent.

The inner surface of the ring, visible to the left and right of the moon’s cloud-covered sphere, became easier to make out now. Karras noted the sharp spires and windowed domes, the crenellated towers and great buttressed walls, all of which bore the elaborate gothic craftsmanship so typical of the Imperium’s architecture. These details were not what drew his attention most, however. What grabbed him were the incredible shining pavilions that stretched for hundreds of kilometres on each of their sides. They were sprawling constructions of arched plasteel and shimmering diamonite. He had seen such structures before in the wealthier cities to which he had been deployed in the past. Usually, lush gardens lay beneath, filled with flora and fauna of a bewildering variety, often not even native to the world on which the pavilions were built. Such places were beloved of the aristocracy, an expensive indulgence which Karras actually found quite worthy since it appealed to his own inclinations towards knowledge and study. But what were such extravagant structures doing on a Watch fortress? He didn’t imagine for a second that the Deathwatch indulged itself in the luxury of such botanical gardens.

The
Adonai
moved into its docking lane now, and the prow dropped once more, angling towards a gaping rectangular aperture in the ring’s upper edge. Bright, flickering lights could be seen inside that space. At this distance, still many kilometres out, Karras could just make out the flanks of other, larger ships already docked there, gripped in position by a profusion of thick metal arms and magnetic clamps.

Minutes passed. The mouth of the docking bay gaped wider. It was elaborately crafted, a bas-relief of countless leering skulls worked into the metal of the aperture’s broad border. In the centre of that relief was a skull far larger than the others and bearing a certain distinct difference. Karras was all too familiar with that icon. It was the skull motif of the Deathwatch, easily identifiable by the glowing red lens in its left eye socket, and the crossed bones behind it. If he was judged worthy, Karras would bear that very icon on his left pauldron.