13th Legion

'Bit of a bad deal for you/ says Linskrug, slouched noncha-landy along a bed at the far end of the long bunkroom.

'Better than the alternative/ Gudmanz replies with a grimace, easing himself cautiously down onto one of the other bunks, his voice a grating, laboured whisper.

You look completely done in/ I say, looking at his tired, frail form.

'I am two hundred and eighty-six,' he wheezes back sadly, head hung low. They took my enhancements away and with­out regular doses of anti-agapic oils I'll suffer increasing dysfunctions within die next month owing to lack of mainte­nance/

We sit there absorbing fhis information for a moment before Loron breaks our contemplation.

'I think I'd prefer just to be hanged and get it over and done with/ he says, shaking his head in amazement.

They would not have hanged me, young man/ the tech-priest tells him, eyes suddenly sharp and aware as he looks at each of us in turn. 'My masters would have had me altered to be a servitor. I would have my memory scrubbed. My biologi­cal components would be permanently interfaced into some menial control system or similar. I would be cogitating but not alive, simply existing. I would know in my subconscious that I am a living, breathing thing, but also denied the ultimate syn­thesis with the Machine God. Not truly alive and not truly dead. That is the usual punishment for betraying the great Adeptus Mechanicus. Your Colonel must have some good influence to deny the Cult Mechanicus its vengeance/

'Don't I know it/ Linskrug says bitterly. Further questions are interrupted by the Colonel's reappearance, accompanied by the scribe I'd seen several times in his chamber aboard the Pride of Lothus, Clericus Amadiel. Amadiel is carrying a bundle of scrolls, which I immediately recognise as the pardons the Colonel had shown me before.

'And now you all learn what I really intend for you/ says the Colonel gravely, taking the pardons and placing them on the bunk next to Loron, everybody's eyes locked to him as he walks across the room back to the door. This is the time when your careers in the Last Chancers will soon be over, one way or another/

There's a tangible change to the atmosphere inside the bunkroom as everybody draws their breath in at the same time. If I'm hearing right, and the reaction of the other Last Chancers suggests I am, the Colonel has just told us we can get out of the 13th Penal Legion.

Those/ the Colonel continues, jabbing a finger towards the pile of parchments, 'are Imperial pardons for each and every one of you. I will sign and seal them once we have completed our final mission. You can refuse, in which case the provosts will take you to another penal legion/

'And the Heretic Priests of Eidoline came forth, bringing false images for the praise of the lost people/ Kronin says, frowning hard.

ЛМш?' says the Colonel, taken aback by the madman's state­ment.

'He means this is far too simple/ translates Lorii. I know what she means, the offer seems too good to be true. And then I

understand that it isn't, that I know what the Colonel has in mind.

'You were serious when you said we're going into Coritanorum/ I say slowly, making sure the other Last Chancers understand the statement.

'Of course I was serious, Kage/ the Colonel answers brusquely. ^Vhy would I not be serious?'

'Well/ puts in Linskrug, leaning forward, 'mere is the small matter that Coritanorum is the most impregnable citadel in die sector, the most unassailable fortress for a month's warp travel in every direction.'

'No citadel is impregnable/ the Colonel replies, radiating self-confidence and sincerity.

The fact that five hundred thousand Imperial Guard, backed up by the Imperial Navy, haven't been able to take the place doesn't vex you?' blurts out Linskrug, highly perturbed by what the Colonel is proposing.

We shall not be storming Coritanorum, mat would be ridiculous/ the Colonel tells us in an irritated voice. 'We shall be infiltrating the complex and rendering it inoperable from the inside/

'Assuming you can get us inside - which is a hell of an assumption - there's about three million people living in mat city/ I say, brow knitted as I try to work out what the Colonel's whole plan is. 'We're bound to be discovered. Frag, I couldn't even hide among people on my own side, on my own/

Then we shall have to endeavour to do better than your recent exploits/ the Colonel replies curtly, obviously getting impatient with our reluctance. 'Make your decisions now. Are you coming with me, or do I transfer you?'

'Count me out/ says Linskrug emphatically, shaking his head vehemently. When he continues he looks at each of us in turn, forcing himself to speak slowly and surely. This is so insane, so reckless, it's unbelievable. It's sheer suicide trying to attack Coritanorum with seven people. I am going to survive this and get my barony back, and marching into the middle of a strongly held rebel fortress is not going to help me do that. Do what you will, I'm not going along with this suicide squad deal.'

Very well/ the Colonel says calmly, strolling over to the bed with the pardons on. He sorts through them for a moment, finds Linskrug's and holds it up for all to see. Then, slowly and

deliberately, he begins to tear it up. He tears it lengthways down the middle and then puts the two halves together and tears it across its width. He does this a couple more times until sixteen ragged pieces nestle in his hand. With the same delib­eration he tips his hand over, the scraps of parchment fluttering to the floor around his boots. He treads on the pieces, twisting his foot on top of them to scrunch them up and tear them even more. We watch this in horrified silence, and to me it's like he's torn up and scuffed out Linskrug.

He bends over and picks up another pardon, holding it up for us to see. I read my name across the top and my heart flut­ters. Linskrug has got a good point: the whole idea of going into Coritanorum is suicidal. I have a philosophy about staying alive, and that's to do it for as long as possible. Going into the enemy fort isn't going to help that at all. But for all this, that's my life the Colonel has gripped between finger and thumb. If I say yes, and I survive this ridiculous mission, then I'll be free. I'll be able to do whatever I want. Stay in the Guard possibly, make a home for myself here on Typhos Prime, or perhaps be able to work my way back to where I was born on Olympas.