You said engineered/ I say, surprised that I can get even angrier at what this man has done to us.
Tfes/ he admits, glancing back over his shoulder at me. 'Mostly I chose situations that would provoke the required conditions, but some had to be set up deliberately. The shuttle crash was one of those situations. You cannot just hope for that sort of thing to happen, can you?'
That's the final twist, something inside me snaps. I jump forward and lay a hand on Schaeffer's shoulder and spin him around. Before I can do anything else, he slaps me backhanded across the face, almost knocking me from my feet. I'm stunned by the act as much as by the pain - I've never before seen him hit a Last Chancer who didn't attack him first.
'Maintain discipline, Lieutenant Kage/ he says coldly, staring at me with those glitters of ice he has for eyes. 'I will no longer tolerate this insubordination/
I'm half-shocked and half-not by this news. Our suspicion had been growing over the past few months in particular, but the extent to which the Colonel has created and manipulated events is almost unbelievable. I begin to wonder how often he's done this before. How many times has he killed thousands of soldiers to see who were the best, the greatest survivors? How many times more would he do it? It seems such a merciless, uncaring thing to do, but part of me can see his reasoning. It's
a merciless, uncaring galaxy we live in, and if other missions were as important as this one, to save whole worlds, I could just about forgive him. lust about. It still doesn't explain why he was still so secretive about the mission goals. Did he really think we'd back down when we realised what was at stake? Does he think so little of us he doesn't believe we have at least that much decency and courage we'd be willing to fight for the sake of a world of people, for the hundreds of thousands of guardsmen and Navy personnel who'd lose their lives trying to take the place by force? We walk on in resentful silence.
Finding what looks to be a deserted archive room, we hide out and formulate the next part of our plan. Rows and rows of parchments, dataslabs and crystal disks surround us on endless shelves. Hidden among the teetering mass of information, we cluster around a battered wooden table, looking intently at a copy of Coritanorum's innermost layout, brought forth like magic from one of Gudmanz's voluminous sleeves.
'Our benefactor have anyming lined up for this one?' asks Loron, leaning across the schematic at the far end of the table.
"We will have to work this out ourselves/ the Colonel replies, shaking his head. All eyes turn to Gudmanz.
This will not be easy/ he says heavily, taking a deep sigh. To open the gate requires a retinal scan/
A what?' asks Lorii, looking across from where she's perched on the edge of the table, bent over the map.
'Remember at the first gate, the scanner read the skin indentations of the security officer's fingertips?' he asks, and we all nod in agreement. Who could forget that macabre episode? Well, this portal has a device that can map the blood vessels within your eyeball/
'An eye?' exclaims Striden, looking thoroughly disconsolate. He had been starting to cheer up again, getting over the grisly episode with the woman, I guess. That's going to be even trickier than getting a hand!'
'Forget about eyeballs/ says the Colonel quietly and we turn to look at him, sat a little away from the table in a padded armchair, right elbow resting on the arm, fingers cradling his chin. 4Ve will do this the easy way/
* * *
Now, I wouldn't say that the Colonel's way was going to be easy, but it's certainly a lot more straightforward. There's two guardsmen stood outside the armoury as we approach, lasguns held at the ready. They ease up slighdy as they see the Colonel, in his senior security officer's uniform, but are obviously on their toes. The Colonel walks up to the opticon eye set next to the armoured portal in the weapons store.
'State your business/ a disembodied voice says from a speaker grill just above the opticon.
'Permission to enter?' asks the Colonel, in a near-perfect imitation of the burr of a Typhon accent.
"We've orders to let no one in/ says the guardsman from inside.
'I've got written confirmation/ replies the Colonel, waving a bunch of important-looking films that we scrounged from the data library. We wait for about half a minute, exchanging nonchalant shrugs with the two guardsmen as we wait for the other man's decision.
Them orders - let's see them/ he says finally and there's a loud clank as a lock-bar drops away from the door and it swings open on powered hinges. The Colonel strides purposefully in and the door whines shut behind him.
Striden's almost hopping from foot to foot with nerves and I give him a stern glare, hoping he'll calm down before the guardsmen get suspicious. I feel a trickle of sweat running down my right side and have to fight my own unease, hoping it doesn't show.
'Taking his time, isn't he?' comments one of the guardsmen, glancing back over his shoulder at the heavily constructed door. I just murmur and nod in agreement, not trusting my linguistic ability to impersonate a Typhon. It was probably a smart move to leave Loron, Lorii and Gudmanz in the archive chamber. These guardsmen seem to be keyed up at the moment, and they're bound to have been told to be on the lookout for any pale-skinned strangers with a tech-priest. I suspect the Colonel's plan is the best one now; the chances of pulling off a fancy subterfuge at the last access tunnel have passed us by.
The awkward silence is broken by the portal hissing open again. The Colonel stands there with a compact stub gun in his right hand, a bulky silencer screwed on to the end of the barrel.
The talkative guardsman looks back and his eyes widen in surprise a moment before the first bullet smashes his head to a pulp, spraying blood and brains across the floor just to my right. The other guardsman turns quickly, but his lasgun is only half-raised when the next shot punches into his chest, hurling him back against the wall.
'Grab diem and drag them inside/ orders the Colonel, taking a step out of the armoury. 'I have signalled the others in the archive room from inside, fhey will be here shortly. And find something to clear up that mess/
Time to get serious/ Lorii says as we walk together between the high-stacked crates of power cells and ammunition.
'Let's just hope nobody else drops in for fresh supplies/ comments Loron from behind me.
We want something witfi a bit more firepower than lasguns/ the Colonel tells us from up ahead, as he scans the rows of boxes and racks of guns. ЛУе need one-hit kills if we are going to challenge dieir numbers/
We search around for a few more minutes before Gudmanz uncovers a shelf of fifteen bolters. Freshly cleaned, fhey gleam in the bright, white light of the armoury, in my eye as beautiful as they are deadly.
'Ammunition is in those bins overhead/ says Gudmanz, pointing to a row of black containers hung over the bolters. Lorii grabs one and pulls it down, letting it drop to the floor. Inside are dozens of bolter magazines, loaded and ready to go. She and Loron start transferring the ammo to the heavy work trolley pushed by Striden.
'I want somefhing with a better rate of fire/ I mutter to myself, looking around for a more suitable weapon.
'And the Emperor's rewards are bountiful for those who labour in His name/ says Kronin with a smile, using a crowbar to lift the lid off a wooden crate, revealing rows of frag grenades within. He starts tossing them to Striden, who places them on the trolley next to the bolters.
'Is this what you would like?' Gudmanz asks, holding up a long rifle. It's finished in black enamel, oozing menace and lethality.
'Ooh, fhat looks mean/ I say appreciatively, walking closer. "What is it?'
'Fractrix pattern assault laser/ he says with a smile, running a gnarled hand lovingly along its length. It's the first time he's looked happy since I met him. 'Five shots per second, twin power pack capable of fifteen seconds' continuous fire. Multiple target designation range-finder. I used to be overseer on one of the manufacturing lines/ he adds, glancing at me.