‘Sabrat,’ called the operative, his voice thick with repugnance, ‘What are you doing, man? Look around, can’t you see it?’
‘I see it,’ came the reply. The words were paper-dry.
The amplifier glasses seemed like a blindfold around his head and Hyssos tore them off. ‘For Terra’s sake, Yosef, step back! You’ll contaminate the site!’
‘Yosef isn’t here,’ said the voice, as it became fluid and wet, transforming. ‘Yosef went away.’
The reeve came out of the dimness and he was different. There were only black pits glaring back at Hyssos from a shifting face that moved like oil on water.
‘My name is Spear,’ said the horror. The face was eyeless, and no longer human.
NINE
Dagonet / Assumption / Falling
The orbits above Dagonet were clogged with the wreckage of ships that had tried too hard to make it off the surface, vessels that were built as pleasure yachts or shuttlecraft, suborbitals and single-stage cargo barges for the runs to the near moons. Many of them had fallen foul of the system frigates blockading the escape vectors, torn apart under hails of las-fire; but more had simply failed. Ships that were overloaded or ill-prepared for the rigours of leaving near-orbit space had burned out their drives or lost atmosphere. The sky was filled with iron coffins that were gradually spiralling back to the turning world below them. At night, those on the planet could see them coming home in streaks of fire, and they served as a reminder of what would happen to anyone who disagreed with the Governor’s new order.
The Ultio navigated in on puffs of thruster gas, having left the warp in the shadow of the Dagonet system’s thick asteroid belt. Cloaked in stealth technologies so advanced they were almost impenetrable, it easily avoided the ponderous turncoat cruisers and their nervous crews, finding safe harbour inside the empty shell of an abandoned orbital solar station. Securing the drive section in a place where it – along with Ultio’s astropath and Navigator – would be relatively safe, the forward module detached and reconfigured itself to resemble a common courier or guncutter. The pilot’s brain drew information from scans of the traitorous ships to alter the electropigments of the hull, and by the time the assassin craft touched down at the capital’s star-port, it wore the same blue and green as the local forces, even down to the crudely crossed-out Imperial aquila displayed by the defectors.
Kell had Koyne stand by the vox rig, ready to talk back to the control tower. The Callidus had already listened in on comm traffic snared from the airwaves by Tariel’s complex scanning gear, and could perform a passable imitation of a Dagoneti accent – but challenge never came.
The tower was gone, blown into broken fragments, and all across the sprawling landing fields and smoke-wreathed hangars, small fires were burning and wrecked ships that had died on take-off lay atop crumpled departure terminals and support buildings. Gunfire and the thump of grenade detonations echoed to them across the open runways.
Kell advanced down the ramp and used the sights on his new longrifle to sweep the perimeter.
‘Fighting was recent,’ said the Garantine, following him down. The hulking rage killer took a deep draught of air. ‘Still smell the blood and cordite.’
‘They’ve moved on,’ said the sniper, sweeping his gaze over corpses of soldiers and civilians who lay where they had fallen. It was difficult to be sure who had been shooting at who; Dagonet was in the middle of a civil war, and the lines of loyalist and turncoat were not yet clear to the new arrivals. A blink of laser fire from inside one of the massive terminals caught his eye and he turned to it as the crack of broken air reached them a moment later. ‘But not too far. They’re fighting through the buildings. Lucky for us the place is still contested. Leaves us with less explaining to do.’
He shouldered the rifle as Tariel ventured a few wary steps down the ramp. ‘Vindicare? How are we to proceed?’
Kell walked back up a way. The rest of the Execution Force were gathered on the lower deck, watching him intently. ‘We need to gather intelligence. Find out what’s going on here.’
‘Dagonet’s extrasolar communications went dark some time ago,’ noted Tariel. ‘Perhaps if you could secure a prisoner for interrogation…’
Kell nodded and beckoned to Koyne. ‘Callidus. You’re in charge until we get back.’
‘We?’ said Soalm pointedly.
He nodded towards the Garantine. ‘The two of us. We’ll scout the star-port, see what we can find.’
‘Ah, good,’ said the Eversor, rubbing his clawed hands together. ‘Exercise.’
‘Are you sure two will be enough?’ Soalm went on.
Kell ignored her and moved closer to Koyne. ‘Keep them alive, understand?’
Koyne made a thoughtful face. ‘We’re all lone wolves, Vindicare. If the enemy come knocking, my first instinct might be to run and leave them.’
He didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Then consider that order a test of your oath over your instincts.’
Sabrat’s longcoat whirled as the horror coiled, leaping into the air towards Hyssos. The operative heard it snapping like sailcloth in a stiff breeze and recoiled, firing shots that should have struck centre-mass but instead hit nothing but air.
The thing that called itself Spear landed close to him and he took a heavy blow that threw him off his feet. Hyssos slammed into a tall pile of Balthazar bottles that tumbled away with the impact, rolling this way and that. Pain raced up his spine as he twisted and tried to regain his footing.
Spear tossed the coat away and then, with care that seemed strange for something so abhorrent in appearance, deftly unbuttoned the white shirt beneath and set it aside. Bare from the waist up, Hyssos could see that the creature’s flesh was writhing and changing, cherry-red like tanned leather. He saw what looked like hands pressing out from inside the cage of the monster’s chest, and the profile of a screaming face. Yosef Sabrat’s face.
The bare arms distended and grew large, their proportions ballooning. Fingers merged into flat mittens of meat, grew stiff and glassy. Hands became bone blades, pennants of pinkish-black nerve tissue dangling from them.
Hyssos aimed the gun and fired at the place where a man’s heart would have been, but down came the arms and the shot was deflected away. He smelled a slaughterhouse stink coming off the creature, saw the sizzling pit in the limb from the impact as it filled with ooze and knit itself shut.
The body of the thing was in chaos. It writhed and throbbed and pulsed in disgusting ways, and the operative was struck by the conviction that something was inside the meat of it, trying to get out.
As the eyeless face glared into him, the distended jaws opening wide to let droplets of spittle fall free, Hyssos found his voice. ‘You killed them all.’
‘Yes.’ The reply was a gurgling chug of noise.
‘Why?’ he demanded, retreating back until he was trapped against the fallen bottles. ‘What in Terra’s name are you?’
‘There is no Terra,’ it bubbled, horrible amusement shading the words. ‘Only terror.’
Hyssos saw the shape of the face again, this time pressing from the meat of Spear’s bloated shoulders. He was sure it was crying out to him, imploring him. Run, it mouthed, run run run run–