The enemy, thought Perdu. One enemy. He took several awkward steps, long, but close to the ground, his centre of gravity slightly lower than it would have been had he been standing, and placed a hand on Logier’s back.
Krak! Krak! Logier fired two more shots into the breach, sending ancient plascrete dust cascading from the makeshift walls with a sound like pouring sand.
Perdu thrust an arm over Logier’s shoulder so that the stilt-man could read his signals without moving. The priest pointed at the breach with a single finger and then held that finger upright in front of Logier’s chest. There was no direct line of sight between their position and the enemy’s. There were two of them, and only one opponent.
Thwoom! and the room was lit up anew. The flame hit nothing. It scorched the earth floor of the room a little, crystallising particles and making them glow red, but Perdu and Logier were out of the line of fire, and there was nothing else to burn.
Krak! Krak! Logier returned fire.
Perdu counted to three, rose to his full height and, in one motion, crossed to the right of the breach, Logier’s side arm raised in two hands in front of him. Logier followed Perdu’s lead, stepping forwards as Perdu fired his pistol across the breach, not attempting to engage the enemy.
When Logier stepped into the gap and turned, he was face-to-face with his assailant, less than a metre away, looking the startled foe squarely in his gummed, bloodshot eyes. This one wasn’t wearing a mask. He carried a flamer high on his long back, cradling the business end under his arm while he brought the autogun up to firing position. His torso was naked, the grey skin slick with sweat, and spreading sores clustered around the plugs that sat high up on either side of his chest. Logier took in the entire scene in a split second. He didn’t shoot.
Perdu heard the stiletto bayonet entering enemy flesh once, and then again. He heard the wet sounds of evisceration, and heard the thud of a hard body falling.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Logier, stepping back through the breach, and Perdu followed without thinking.
‘Can I trust you?’ asked Perdu when they had cleared the area and he was sitting in a room in a hab somewhere; he didn’t know where.
Logier laughed.
‘We’re long past trust, priest,’ he said. ‘You don’t know my name, and I don’t know yours, but we have business together.’
‘I won’t pass the chips to a boy and risk getting him killed,’ said Perdu.
‘Then you’d better be up to delivering them,’ said Logier. ‘I’ll be damned if I’m going to take them from you after that little fiasco.’
‘Occupation forces are everywhere,’ said Perdu.
‘Everywhere you are,’ said Logier. ‘You didn’t pass the chips because of them, and they knew where you were again tonight. I’ll pull the plug on this if I have to. I’ll abort. How do I know they’re not onto you? How do I know you’re not a collaborator?’
‘I’ll do it,’ Perdu insisted between gritted teeth.
‘This isn’t a game,’ said Logier, standing to take a dish from a small neat woman who was working at an ancient stove at the far end of the room, too close not to hear what passed between them.
‘Can I trust her?’ asked Perdu, gesturing towards the woman.
Logier laughed again.
‘We knew you’d try to resuscitate him,’ said Logier.
‘What an Emperor-forsaken mess–’ Perdu began.
‘Like I said, it’s not a game,’ said Logier, weary. ‘You took too gakking long. You were being watched, and now the boy’s out of the mix.’
‘I’ll deliver the chips,’ said Perdu.
‘It’s complicated,’ said Logier. ‘It’s crucial. What happens next could change everything. I was told that I could talk to you on a need-to-know.’
‘I don’t want to know,’ said Perdu, ‘I just want to do my part.’
‘Yeah, but you need to know,’ said Logier. ‘We’re organised, effective, and we don’t lose men. The boss sent me because he had no other choice. We need allies in the hive, armed and ready, and we need a safe place to transport...’
‘Transport what?’ asked Perdu.
‘You must’ve heard the stories... We can still win this war, we just need to be ready when–’ Logier said.
‘The Warmaster–’ Perdu began, but Logier interrupted him.
‘The less you know the better for you,’ he said, ‘but you have to know that this is critical. We know there’s a leak, a collaborator. We don’t know who.’
‘And the chips?’ asked Perdu.
‘Directions,’ said Logier, ‘to a cache. We need to get weapons to the outside, to another cell. They need to prove themselves before we can transport out... We can only get the weapons so far.’
‘One of the hive-cells? That’s where the boys run the information to.’
‘The chips contain the coordinates of the cache site, but they need all six. We planned to send them out in batches, but we couldn’t–’
‘You couldn’t sacrifice a second man,’ Perdu finished for him. ‘How do I find the hive-cell? The boy?’
‘He won’t go back to the cell unless you pass him the chips, and that’s impossible, now. I’ve got a name... One of yours.’
‘Mine?’ asked Perdu.
‘A priest called Revere.’
The little woman at the other end of the room had been quiet throughout their conversation, but now she began to move pans and dishes around, making too much noise.
‘You must go,’ said Logier, picking up the woman’s signal. Perdu didn’t answer, he simply rose and turned to go back the way he had come. Logier pointed towards the little woman, who was holding aside a rug that hung on the wall adjacent to the stove, covering a second exit point. Perdu looked from the woman to Logier.
‘Follow your nose for a couple of hundred metres, and then take the north corridor for half a kilometre; you’ll find a landmark.’
Perdu ducked out of the room without another word.
Ayatani Revere stood before Bedlo, Mallet and Shuey, his prayer book clutched between his hands as if he were wringing the life out of it. The fervour in his voice was making Shuey’s eyes shine.
‘The Emperor saves His grace for those who follow Him unto death. Shy not from duty, shy not from ill nor pain, nor suffering. Glory be to our lieutenant, to the Emperor’s lieutenant in all things, to Wescoe for the gift of her life to her comrades, to Reredos and to the Imperium.’
There was silence for a moment, and then Shuey’s hands came together in one resounding clap before he realised that, as stirring as the priest’s speech was, this was no time for applause.
‘With more weapons, with better weapons, Wescoe might not have died,’ said Bedlo.
‘She died to save the rest of us,’ said Shuey.
‘Indeed she did,’ said the priest.
Mallet was sitting on his haunches, his back to the wall, as always, stripping down Bedlo’s las, again. Bedlo looked down at him. The mercenary had continued with his work right through the ayatani’s service to Wescoe. He had not looked up from his task nor joined in the rite. It was as though Wescoe had never existed, as though she didn’t matter to Mallet. In that moment, she mattered very much to Bedlo. His relationship with Mallet had always been strained, but now it reached a tipping point.
Bedlo swung his fist, batting the weapon out of Mallet’s hand. Mallet had a knife to his boss’s throat before anyone had registered what had happened.
‘Steady,’ said the ayatani. There were several moments of tension as the priest appraised the situation; a wrong move now and the cell could be destroyed, and some of its members with it. Revere knew that Mallet was a difficult man and Bedlo was highly strung. The moments stretched on, and Shuey looked pointedly at the priest for an answer to the stand-off. Eventually, the ayatani looked from Mallet to Bedlo, winked, and let out a sustained laugh, loud and low, and long, his mouth wide open.