‘Sorry I can’t help your friend.’
‘No matter,’ said Juniper. ‘I’ll find someone who can.’
‘Stavik might know,’ said the woman next to them.
‘Yes, he might,’ said Galayda.
‘Stavik?’ asked Juniper.
‘He’s one of the squad leaders under Major Pasha,’ said Galayda. ‘I think he was Hive Defence.’
‘He was,’ said the other woman. ‘He was at the wall fort.’
‘Or you could always ask Zhukova,’ said Galayda.
‘As if,’ laughed Juniper.
‘Yes, you want to watch Zhukova,’ said the other woman, lifting another tub of sheets. ‘She’s awfully pretty, but she’s a hard-nosed bitch.’
‘Kolea,’ said Galayda. ‘He’s one of the regiment, isn’t he?’
‘Major Kolea?’ asked Juniper. ‘Yes, he’s the senior Verghastite officer.’
‘The scratch company hero,’ said the other woman. ‘They still talk about him in the hive, like they talk about Gaunt.’
‘You knew him?’ asked Juniper.
‘Only by reputation,’ said Galayda. ‘I think my Herzog might have met him a few times in the final days. But I knew his poor wife and her kids. Well, my ma and pa, they lived in the same hab block. I always thought that must have driven him on to be such a hero, losing his family. They died, didn’t they? Her and her kids. They died a few days before the bombing took my ma and pa.’
‘She died,’ said Juniper. ‘The children actually survived.’
‘They did?’ asked Galayda. She seemed genuinely amazed.
‘They’re with the company,’ said Juniper. ‘Captain Criid as she is now, she found them, looked after them. Adopted them, basically. It was only later we all found out that Kolea was their father.’
Galayda looked like she might cry.
‘Oh, it’s like a blessing from the Emperor,’ she exclaimed. ‘All this pain and sadness, and in the middle of it, a happy story! They both lived? I can’t believe it!’
‘I know them,’ smiled Juniper. ‘I look after the youngest sometimes. The boy is now a trooper himself.’
‘The eldest, you mean?’ asked Galayda.
‘The boy,’ said Juniper. ‘Dalin.’
‘They were both boys. Two boys,’ said Galayda.
‘No, a boy and girl,’ said Juniper.
‘I could have sworn they were both boys,’ said Galayda. ‘Oh well, isn’t a happy ending a lovely thing?’
‘I should never have come here,’ said Meritous Chass.
‘It’s your birthright,’ replied Maddalena.
They were on a walkway overlooking a holdspace reserved for drill. Chass was watching the men parade. The great banks of lamps around them kept fizzling and fading in and out.
‘I’m not really interested in that,’ he said. ‘This is dire. He doesn’t want me here.’
‘He’s just surprised, Meritous.’
‘I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, Maddalena, I hate that name. One of those stupid family traditions. Felyx, or sir.’
The lifeguard shrugged.
‘He’s just surprised,’ she said. ‘He has a child. He didn’t know. He will need to process it.’
‘How long will that take? What if he processes it and decides he’s better off without me?’
‘You’re depressed.’
‘It’s hard not to be. Have you seen this rotting hulk? It’s falling apart. We’ll be lucky if the warp doesn’t claim our souls. And the Tanith, I mean, the real Tanith. I know they helped defend the hive, and our House owes them, but they’re like barbarian auxiliaries.’
‘That’s probably because they are barbarian auxiliaries,’ said Maddalena. She suddenly snapped alert, her hand close to her weapon.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘it’s Trooper Dalin.’
Dalin was approaching them along the walkway. He seemed nervous.
‘You know why Gaunt picked him, don’t you?’ whispered Maddalena.
‘No.’
‘He’s Kolea’s son. The son of the other great hero of Vervunhive.’
‘It’s all about image and reputation with these people, isn’t it?’ whispered Chass.
‘Commissar Ludd sent me,’ said Dalin. He looked like he was deciding whether to salute or not. He couldn’t look Chass in the eye. ‘The enlistment papers are ready. Then I need to get you some kit, then a billet. It makes sense to attach you to E Company with me. I’m the captain’s adjutant.’
‘Show me the way,’ said Chass.
Maddalena moved to follow him.
‘Stay here,’ Chass told her. ‘Just for now, let me do this by myself.’
‘Your mother charged me not to let you out of my sight.’
‘He’s on a shiftship in the warp,’ said Dalin. ‘Exactly where do you think he can go?’
SEVEN
Faces
Cavity 29617 was a hold space, a long and slightly irregular chamber that ran beside and under one of the main plasma engine housings. It was low priority, and had only the rudiments of light and atmospheric processing. From the junk and dust, it was an attic or basement – or whatever they called such things on starships – that hadn’t been used in a few centuries.
That suited Merrt.
Cavity 29617 was out of the way. It wasn’t one of the big holds reserved for training exercise and technique work, and it was far smaller than the hangar decks used for parade and mass drill. It was narrow and long, which gave him some range. It had a breeze running through it from the processor vents, which gave it a cross-draught and made it feel a bit like outdoor conditions. And no one went there, so no one could see him being useless.
Since his injury on Monthax, years of practice had failed to yield any results. Merrt had tried: he’d shown a persistence and resolve rare even by marksman standards. He had worked to rebuild his shattered skill.
The only thing he was sure of was that he should have given up trying a long time ago.
But Larkin, his old friend and rival, was in another of his mad moods. He had invested his manic attention in Merrt, and Merrt didn’t have the heart to let him down. He knew he would let him down, but he wanted to be seen to make an effort, so it didn’t seem like he’d just let it happen. A few dozen hours’ extra target practice, what could that hurt? It proved that Larkin was his friend, and he was willing to humour his friend’s confidence. It meant that when he finally had to say he couldn’t do it, he’d know that he couldn’t do it. He had proof. Evidence. He’d tried, so the failure was softened.
Merrt had the bolt-action rifle Larkin was using to train him and a box of shells. Larkin had yet to explain the full significance of the old mech weapons in terms of the mission profile. A longlas was a far superior weapon. Only a few people in the Tanith First knew what they were heading into and what they might be expected to do when they got there. Merrt knew Larkin himself only understood bits of it. Just enough to train specialisms.
The one and only thing everybody knew was that they were not heading for a happy place. The next mission was going to be damn hard work.
Merrt had lined up some old tin cups, pots and lubricant canisters as targets, and set himself up in a seated position, his back against the cavity wall to take his weight, the rifle braced across a stand he’d rigged from an old metal bench. He’d then adjusted and finessed the rest using a couple of the sand socks every marksman carried in his pouch. He had a simple optic scope for range finding, but he used it separately, lining up an angle then putting the scope aside to take final aim along the iron sights of the gun.