Jan Jerik thought of Corrod, of the abomination that had revealed itself in the freight elevator. The image made him shudder. He had allied his House with abhuman creatures. It had been a gruelling choice. His doubts over the last few weeks had been many, not least at the sight of Corrod’s apparently worthless wretches when they first arrived at the house door. It was a choice between the continued yoke of slavery to the Omnissiah of the Golden Throne, and the prospect of an age without the privations of chronic war. He still didn’t know if he could trust the warp-words of Sek’s changeling angels. He feared their terrible beauty. But he did know what a lifetime under the scourge of the Mars priesthood felt like.
He knew true monsters when he saw them. He knew where freedom lay. Life was a series of choices, and every choice contained an unknowable risk.
He reached for his timepiece again and stopped himself with a smile. He didn’t need to know the time, for it no longer mattered. He had made his choice an hour earlier when he sent the code-burst.
He sat back and waited for the dawn to bring whatever it would bring.
Van Voytz looked at the ordo rosette again, and then handed it back to the waiting interrogators.
‘This is from the Lord Executor?’ he said.
‘I have repeated his words precisely, lord,’ one of them replied. ‘He insisted on that.’
Van Voytz nodded, and they stepped back. He stood for a moment and surveyed the war room. He’d come down to the main floor, his favourite place, among the strategium tables and the bustle of tactical staff. They’d been on red condition for the best part of an hour. Chevrons still flashed on the alert boards, though he’d had the interminable klaxons muted to allow them space to think.
He went to his station, and quickly wrote down a general command on a signal pad. He tore the sheet off and handed it to a runner.
‘Take this to the watch room,’ he said. He looked at his console, and began to type his authority code in.
‘You have accessed Central Classified Command Notation,’ an adept at the desk beside him said immediately.
‘I know,’ said Van Voytz. He continued to type.
‘This order burst will instruct on the General Band to all stations,’ the adept said.
‘I should hope so,’ Van Voytz replied. ‘I’m not so old I got the damn coding wrong.’
‘You have entered a Priority One Red Condition mandate. This will be an Unconditional and General Order to all personnel in the palace zone.’
‘Yes, it will,’ said Van Voytz.
‘What’s going on, Barthol?’
Van Voytz looked up from the keypad. Urienz had crossed the war room floor to join him.
‘I’m ordering full evacuation.’
‘You’re joking, surely?’ The brows of Urienz’s pugnacious face narrowed.
‘No. Direct instruction from the Lord Executor.’
‘This is an attack, then?’ Urienz asked.
‘There’s something going off in the sub levels,’ said Van Voytz.
‘Well, they haven’t got in there,’ said Urienz.
‘Gaunt says something has. An incursion. Clearly one he considers a credible threat.’
He resumed typing.
Urienz took hold of his wrist, gently but firmly. ‘Macaroth won’t wear this, Barthol,’ he said.
‘Well, he’s not in a position to argue.’
‘I did what Gaunt asked,’ Urienz said. ‘I went to Macaroth. As usual, he was furious about the interruption. I had to weather another of his tirades. I got a little sense out of him when his anger blew out. He’s aware that there’s a situation in the undercroft levels. He believes it’s–’
‘What?’ asked Van Voytz.
‘A misidentification. Perhaps the product of technical problems, perhaps some remote influence by the Archenemy. A distraction, Barthol. Macaroth insists that any significant Archenemy counter assault is a week away at least. There’s nothing of substance within a hundred and twenty kilometres of Eltath. Look, in the last two hours we’ve stepped up from amber status to red condition, plus the secondary order. Macaroth’s livid. The enemy’s poking at us somehow, trying to get us to dance a jig and lose our grip on the game. And we’re dancing, Barthol. Dancing like idiots.’
Van Voytz scowled at him. ‘The Beati supported Gaunt’s concern,’ he said.
‘And praise be to her,’ said Urienz. ‘But she’s a figurehead, a field commander. It’s not her place to direct strategy. An evacuation, Barthol? That would be a disaster. If this is anything solid, it’s a psychological attack intended to spook us into disarray before next week’s assault. An evacuation is exactly the sort of mayhem it’s designed to cause. The Sek packs will roll in across Grizmund’s line in the south west and find high command camping in the streets and shitting in doorways.’
‘I have an order, Vitus,’ said Van Voytz.
‘Well, the warmaster will have your balls in a monogrammed box if you follow it.’
Van Voytz shook his head. ‘I know Gaunt,’ he said. ‘He’s many things. But he’s no fool. If he says there’s cause, there’s cause. Throne’s sake, Urienz, he’s seen more of this shit first-hand than you or me. And that doesn’t matter anyway. He’s the Lord Executor. This is his order.’
Urienz shrugged. His broad, powerful frame stretched at his tailored blue jacket.
‘Your funeral,’ he said.
‘Better mine than everybody’s,’ replied Van Voytz.
He smiled at his fellow lord.
‘Yours too, actually,’ he added. ‘Gather an escort company and convey the warmaster from the palace.’
‘You bastard,’ Urienz replied, with a sorry shake of his head. ‘Can’t you charge Lugo with that?’
An adept at a nearby station called out and held up a signal form. Marshal Tzara strode across and took it. She brought it through the hustle of the floor to Van Voytz and Urienz.
‘An alert from vox-net oversight,’ she said, frowning. ‘Unauthorised broadcast detected about an hour ago. Code-burst, wide-band, low numbers.’
‘Origin?’ asked Van Voytz.
‘Vapourial or Millgate. They’re working to lock the source.’
‘Could be one of ours, strayed from the line,’ said Van Voytz.
‘Damn Helixid no doubt,’ added Urienz.
‘No,’ said Tzara. ‘It was encrypted. Cipher division is searching for a key. It’s not a Throne pattern. Ciphers grade a seventy-eight per cent likelihood that it’s a Sanguinary code, probably Sekkite.’
‘What are they doing, transmitting from down there?’ Van Voytz asked. ‘That’s under the line.’
‘And they’re painting a target on their backs,’ said Urienz. ‘Twenty minutes, and we’ll have Valks executing gun runs on the position.’
‘Call it in,’ said Van Voytz. ‘As soon as we have a lock.’
‘The issue is not who is sending and how swiftly we can wipe them,’ said Tzara. Her tone was gruff and no-nonsense. ‘The issue is who was listening. Wide-band, a transmitter of that power… it could only be received inside the city bounds.’
Van Voytz glanced up. A section chief at strategium station four had just raised his hand, clutching a signal form. Within seconds, another hand had risen at station six, then two at station eight. Three at tac relay. Two at forward obs. One at vox coordination. Five, all at once, at acoustic track. Still more hands rose, brandishing forms.
‘Shit,’ said Urienz.
‘Call them in!’ Van Voytz ordered.
‘Reporting small arms discharge in Albarppan,’ the section chief called back.
‘Sustained weapons fire, possible rocket grenades, East Vapourial into Millgate,’ shouted the woman at six.
‘Tracking mortars, two possible three, region of Antiun Square,’ called out an adept at eight. ‘Rapid, sustain, ongoing.’