‘I had expected you to go straight to the Eurotas compound,’ Laimner ventured, trying to recover control of the conversation. ‘You’ve had a long journey–’
‘Not so long,’ replied Hyssos, still sweeping the room with his gaze. ‘The baron will arrive very soon. He will want a full accounting of the situation. I see no reason to delay.’
‘How… soon?’ managed Skelta.
‘A day,’ Hyssos offered, his answer drawing Laimner up short. ‘Perhaps less.’
The Reeve Warden licked his lips. ‘Well. In that case, I’ll have a briefing prepared.’ He gave a weak smile. ‘I will make myself available to the baron on his arrival for a full and thorough–’
‘Forgive me,’ Hyssos broke in. ‘Reeves Sabrat and Segan are the lead investigators in the case, are they not?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Laimner, clearly uncertain of how he should behave towards the Eurotas operative. ‘But I am the senior precinct officer, and–’
‘But not an investigating officer,’ Hyssos went on, his tone level and firm. He gave Yosef a brief glance through his monocle. ‘The baron prefers to have information delivered to him as directly as possible. From the men closest to it.’
‘Of course,’ the warden said tightly, catching up to the realisation that he was being dismissed. ‘You must proceed as you see fit.’
Hyssos nodded once. ‘You have my promise, Reeve Warden. Perrig and I will help Iesta Veracrux to bring this murderer to justice in short order. Please pass that assurance on to the High-Reeve and the Landgrave in my stead.’
‘Of course,’ Laimner repeated, his smile weak and false. Without another word, he left the room, shooting Yosef a final, acid glare as he closed the door behind him.
Yosef felt wrung out by the events of the day even though it had hardly begun. He sighed and looked away, only to find the woman Perrig watching him again.
When she spoke, her voice had a melody to it that was at odds with the fire in her eyes. ‘There is a horror here,’ she told them. ‘Darkness clustering at the edges of perception. Lies and murder.’ The psyker sighed. ‘All of you have seen it.’
Yosef broke her gaze with no little effort on his part and gave Hyssos a nod. ‘Where do you want to start?’
‘You tell me,’ said the operative.
Ultio drifted into the gravity well of the gas giant, crossing the complex web of orbits described by Jupiter’s outer moons. It was almost a solar system in miniature, with the gas giant at its core rather than the blazing orb of a sun. The cloud of satellites and Trojan asteroids surrounding it were full of human colonies, factories and forges, powered by drinking in the radiation surging from the mammoth planet, feeding on mineral riches that in centuries of exploitation had yet to be fully exhausted. Jupiter was Terra’s shipyard, and its sky was forever filled with vessels. Centred around Ganymede and a dozen other smaller moons, spacedocks and fabricatories worked ceaselessly to construct everything from single-crew Raven interceptors up to the gargantuan hulls of mighty Emperor-class command-carrier battleships.
In a zone so dense with spacecraft and orbitals of every kind, it should have been easy for the Ultio to become lost in the shoals of them; but security was tight, and suspicion was at every point of the compass. In the opening moves of the insurrection, an alliance of turncoats, men of the Mechanicum and traitors from the Word Bearers Legion, had assembled in secret a dreadnought called the Furious Abyss, constructing it in a clandestine berth on the asteroid-moon Thule. The small Jovian satellite had been obliterated during the ship’s explosive departure and the ragged clump of its remains still orbited far out at the edges of the planetary system; but the shockwave from Thule’s destruction and the Abyss incident was still being felt.
Thus, the Ultio moved with care and raised no uncertainties, doing nothing to draw attention to itself. Secure in its falsehood, the vessel passed under the shadow of the habitats at Iocaste and Ananke and then deeper into the Galiliean ranges, passing the geo-engineered ocean-moon of Europa and Io’s seething orange mass. It followed a slow and steady course in across the planet’s bands of dirty orange, umber and cream-grey clouds, down towards the Great Red Spot.
A vast spindle floated there, bathed in the crimson glow; Saros Station resembled a crystal chandelier severed from its mountings and cast free into the void, turning and catching starlight. Unlike the majority of its industrial and colonial cohorts, Saros was a resort platform where the Jovian elite could find respite and diversion from the works of the shipyards and manufactories. It was said that only the Venus orbitals could surpass Saros Station for its luxury. Avenues of gold and silver, acres of null-g gardens and auditoriums; and the finest opera house outside the Imperial Palace.
The station filled the view through the Ultio’s canopy as the ship drifted closer.
‘Why are we here?’ asked Iota, with an idle sullenness.
‘Our next recruit,’ Tariel told her. ‘Koyne, of the Clade Callidus.’
At the rear of the flight deck, the Garantine bent his head to avoid slamming it against the ceiling. He made a rasping, spitting noise. ‘What do we need one of them for?’
‘Because the Master of Assassins demands it,’ Kell replied, without turning.
The Vanus glanced up from the displays fanned out around his gauntlet. ‘According to my information, there is an important cultural event taking place. A recital of the opus Oedipus Neo.’
‘The what?’ sniffed the Eversor.
‘A theatrical performance of dance, music and oratory,’ Tariel went on, oblivious to his derision, ‘It is a social event of great note in the Jovian Zone.’
‘Must have lost my invite,’ the Eversor rumbled.
‘And this Koyne is down there?’ Iota wandered to the viewport and pressed her hands to it, staring at Saros. ‘How will we know a faceless Callidus among so many faces?’
Kell studied the abstract contact protocols he had been provided and frowned. ‘We are to… send flowers.’
Gergerra Rei wept like a child as Jocasta went to her death.
His knuckles turned white as he held on to the balustrade around the edge of the roaming box the theatre had provided. Behind him, the machine-sentries in his personal maniple stood motionless and uncomprehending as their master’s lips trembled in a breathy gasp. Rei leaned forward, almost as if he could will her not to take the steel noose and place it over her supple neck. A cry was filling his throat; he wanted to call to her, but he could not.
The nobleman had seen the opera before, and while it had always held his attention, it had never touched him as much as it had this night. Every biannual performance of Oedipus Neo was a lavish, sumptuous affair orbited by dozens of stately dinners, parties and gatherings, but at the core it was about the play.
Everyone in the Jovian set shared the same fears about this year’s act; at first it had only been dreary naysayers who claimed it should not be put on because of the conflicts, but then after the diva Solipis Mun had perished in a tragic airlock accident… Many more had felt the opera should not have continued, as a mark of respect to her.
But if he was honest, Rei did not miss Mun onstage. As Jocasta, she had played the part with gusto and power, indeed, but after so many repetitions her investment in the character had grown careworn and flat. But now this new queen, this new Jocasta – a woman from the Venusian halls, as he understood it – had taken the part and breathed new life into it. In the first act, she seemed to mimic Mun’s style, but soon she blossomed into her own interpretation of the role, and with it, she eclipsed the late diva so completely that Rei had all but forgotten her predecessor as the opera rolled towards its conclusion. The new actress had also brought with her new direction, and the performance had been shifted from the usual modern-dress style to a strangely timeless mode of costume, all in metallic colours and soft curves that Rei found quite alluring.