13th Legion

I don't think I could've laid a finger on him otherwise.

You said you couldn't let it get away from you again/ I say to him as he kneels there wheezing. You let it escape didn't you? Frag, you might have brought it here, for all I know/

You don't understand/ he gasps, forcing himself to his feet. 'It was unfortunate, that is all/

He makes a grab at the holster hanging from his belt, but finds it empty.

'Looking for this?' I ask, holding up the bolt pistol which I grabbed when I kneed him in the guts. 'Four thousand dead Last Chancers. Unfortunate. Three and a half million dead Typhons. Unfortunate. A million guardsmen from across the sector. Unfortunate. Risking fifty worlds. Unfortunate?'

You could never understand/ he snaps, stepping back a pace. 'To defeat the tyranids, we must study them. There's more than a few million people at stake here. More than fifty worlds. The whole of the Imperium of mankind could be wiped out by these beasts. They must be stopped at any cost. Any cost/

'I guess this is pretty unfortunate too', I add, ramming the grip of the pistol into his chin, tumbling him down the steps. I step backwards through the hatch and pull it shut, cycling the lock wheel.

'Let's go!' I call out to Striden. As I strap myself in next to the Colonel, die engines flare into life, lifting us off die ground. I'm slammed back into the bench as Striden hits die thrusters onto full, the shutde speeding from the dock like a bullet from a gun. We pass through a short tunnel, jarring against the wall occasionally under Striden's inexpert piloting, before scream­ing into the bright daylight, blinding after the glowstrips of the past few days. I look back and see Coritanorum stretched beneath me, built into the mountains almost fifty kilometres across.

A ball of orange begins to spread out behind us, a raging maelstrom of energy surrounded by flickering arcs of elec­tricity. Two others erupt just after, forming a triangle until their blasts merge. The immense plasma ball expands rapidly, hurling stone and metal into the sky before inciner­ating it. For a moment I think I see a black fleck racing before the plasma storm, but it might be my imagination. Then again, there was another shuttle in the bay. Mountains top­ple under the blast and all I can think of is the pile of ash that'll be left. A pile of ash worth three and a half million lives because someone made a mistake. My thoughts are drawn back to my own survival as I see a howling gale hurl­ing rock and dust towards us.

'Faster!' I bellow to Striden as die Shockwave crashes dirough the air. The ground's being ripped up by the invisible force, rock splintering into fragments, die high walls exploding into millions of shards. With a final convulsive spasm the plasma engulfs everytiiing. The light sears my eyes, the boom of the explosion reaches my ears just as the shutde is lifted up bodily by die Shockwave, hurled towards die clouds. The hull ratdes deafeningly from debris impacts, die metal shrieking under die torment of die unnatural storm, bouncing us up and down in our seats. I hear Striden laughing in his high-pitched way from up front, but I'm more concerned with my heaving guts as we're spun and pitched and rolled around by the blast.

As it passes, and the passage begins to smooth, I hear this strange noise and turn to look at the Colonel.

He's laughing, a deep chuckle. He's satdiere, one arm ending in a ragged stump, dishevelled and covered in the blood and guts of otiiers, and he's laughing. He looks at me, his ice eyes glinting.

'How does it feel to be a hero, Kage?' he asks.

EPILOGUE

The Colonel waves away the orderly fussing over his arm with an irritated gesture. I stand there impatiently, waiting to get my hands on the pardon. We're back in the commissariat relay post where we were told about our final mission. The door behind me creaks open and Schaeffer's personal scribe, Clericus Amadiel, walks in, the hem of his brown robes flow­ing across the floor. There's someone else with him, a young man, his face tattooed with the skull and cog of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Amadiel has the bundle of pardons in his arms, while the tech- adept is carrying some piece of bizarre equip­ment that looks like a cross between a laspistol and a spider.

'Here are the documents, Colonel/ Amadiel says slowly, plac­ing them one at a time on the bare wooden desk in front of Schaeffer.

I restrain myself, wanting to grab the whole bunch and find mine. The Colonel, deliberately making his point, signs the pardons of the others - Franx, Kronin, Lorii, Loron and Gudmanz. Pardons for dead people, keeping the alive waiting. He works slowly and methodically, the clericus holding the parchments for him while he signs them with his good arm. Amadiel passes him a lighted red candle, and with the same infuriating slowness, dribbles a blob of wax onto the parch­ments, which the Colonel then seals with a stamp produced from the scribe's sleeve. Eventually, perhaps a lifetime later, the Colonel pulls mine forward.

There are a number of conditions attached to the continuing application of this pardon, Kage/ he tells me sternly, finally looking up at me.

Yes?' I ask, suspicious of what the Colonel might say next. I didn't think he was the type of person who would try to wrig­gle out of something. He has some honour, that much I'm sure.

'First, you are to discuss no details of the Last Chancers' activ­ities in Coritanoram with anyone unless specifically ordered by myself or a member of his Holy Emperor's Inquisitorial Orders/ he says gravely, counting the point off with a raised fin­ger.

'Forget this ever happened, right sir?' I confirm.

That is correct/ he replies with a nod. We were never here, a malfunction in Coritanorum's reactors caused the citadel's destruction. An Act of the Emperor/

'Understood/1 assure him. I'd been expecting something like this ever since the shuttle landed and we were bundled into another one of those black-painted commissariat armoured cars.

'Second/ he says raising another finger, 'you are on parole. The pardon is revoked if ever you transgress any Imperial Law or, should you remain with the Imperial Guard, any article of the Imperial Guard Code and Laws of Conduct/ he says, as if reading it out from a script inside his head.

I'll keep my nose clean, sir/ I tell him with a sincere nod.

'I doubt that/ he says suddenly with a lopsided smirk, men­tally throwing me off balance. That was almost a joke! 'Just make sure you do not get caught doing anything too serious.'

'Don't fret, Colonel/ I tell him with feeling. As much as I've enjoyed your company, I never want to see your face again/

Those are the conditions/ he concludes, scribbling his sig­nature on the scroll and whacking down the seal.