Eisenhorn Omnibus

a harness rack. From the chest down, his rich clothes were shredded and his legs were gone.

But then, from the chest down, he wasn't human.

'So my… bare facts are revealed to you after all, inquisitor…' he said, managing a smile. I imagined he was in pain, or shock at least. To control the sophisticated bionic lower body he had to have intricate neural linkage.

What can I do to help you, Tobius?'

He shook his head. 'I have summoned servitors to assist me. I'll be back on my feet soon enough/

There were many questions I wanted to ask him. Was his reconstruction the result of old injury, disease, age? Or was it, as I had a feeling, voluntary? I kept the questions to myself. They were private and didn't concern my investigation.

'I need access to your astropathic link. I need to contact battlefleet command and speed the closure of this matter. These men weren't a naval security detail/

'I'll instruct the bridge to provide you with the access you need. You may care to extract the inspection requests from my communication log/

That would help. I didn't think the high commanders of Battlefleet Scarus would take this lying down.

I was half-right, but only half. Within half an hour I was on the bridge of the Essene, surrounded by attentive servitors, reporting the incident to battlefleet command by confidential astropathic link. Before long, I was in vox dialogue with aides from the staff office of Admiral Lorpal Spatian, who requested that I secure the Essene at its high-anchor buoy and await the arrival of a security detail and an envoy from the battlefleet procurator.

The idea of sitting tight and waiting for more troopers to arrive didn't especially appeal.

'Deserters, sir/ Procurator Olm Madorthene told me, two hours later. He was a grizzled, narrow man with cropped grey hair and an old augmetic implant down the side of his neck under his left ear. He wore the starched white, high collared jacket, red gloves, pressed black jodhpurs and high patent leather boots of the Battlefleet Disciplinary Detachment. Madorthene had been courteous from the moment he came aboard, saluting me and tucking his gold-braided white crowned cap under his arm respectfully. His detachment of troopers were dressed and equipped identically to the ones that had boarded the Essene to kill us, but from the moment of their arrival I noted their greater discipline and tight order.

'Deserters?'

Madorthene seemed uneasy. He clearly disliked entanglements with an inquisitor.

'From the guard levies. You are aware a founding is presently under way on Gudran. By order of the Lord Militant Commander, seven hundred

and fifty thousand men are being inducted into the Imperial Guard to form the 50th Gudranite Rifles. Such is the size of the founding, and the fact that this is notably the fiftieth regiment assembled from this illustrious world, that a planet-wide celebration and associated ceremonial military events are taking place.'

'And these men deserted?'

Madorthene delicately drew me to one side as his troopers carried the corpses of the insurgents from the vicinity of the airgate and bagged them. I had set Betancore to watch over them.

'We have had trouble/ he confided quietly. 'The muster was originally to have been half a million, but the Lord Militant Commander increased the figure a week prior to the founding – he is preparing for a crusade into the Ophidian sub-sector – and, well, many found themselves conscripted with little notice. Between you and me, the great festivities are partly an attempt to draw attention from the matter. There's been some rioting in barracks at the founding area, and desertion. It's been busy for us.'

'I can well imagine. You know for certain these men are deserters from the guard?'

He nodded and handed me a data-slate. On it was a list of twelve names, linked to file biographies and blurry holo portraits.

'They absconded from Founding Barrack 74 outside Dorsay yesterday, took uniforms and weapons from the bursary at the orbital port and stole a pinnace. No one thought to challenge a squad of naval security troopers.'

'And no one questioned their lack of credentials and flight codes?'

'Regrettably, the pinnace had been pre-loaded with a course plan and transponder codes to take it into the fleet anchorage. They would have been discovered long since had that not been the case. They were clearly looking for a non-military starship like this.'

'These are regular draftees? Infantrymen?'

'Yes.'

'Who could fly a pinnace?'

'The ringleader,' he referred back to the slate, 'one Jonno Lingaart, was a qualified orbital pilot. Worked on the ferries. As I said, a regrettable combination of events.'

I wasn't going to let this go. Madorthene wasn't lying, I was certain of that. But the information he was presenting me with was full of gaps and inconsistencies.

What about the demand for the inspection?'

That came from the pinnace itself. Entirely unofficial. They spotted your ship and improvised. We have sourced the inspection demand to the pinnace's vox-log.'

'No/1 said. He took a step backwards, alert to the anger that was growing in me.

'Sir?'

'I have checked the Essene's communication log. It doesn't tell me the origin of the signals, but it shows the inspection demand came via astro-pathic link, not vox. The pinnace had no astropath/

That's-'

This is the same astropathic link that allocated the Essene its high-anchor buoy. That's been shown as authentic enough. And these men were looking for me. Me, procurator. To kill me. They knew my name/

He went pale and seemed unable to find a reply.

I turned away from him. 'I don't know who these men are – they may indeed have been guard draftees. But someone set them on this course to find me, someone who covered their movements, provided materials and transport, and authenticated their business with this ship. Someone either in the battlefleet or with an outrageous amount of access to its workings. No other explanation fits/

'You're talking of… a conspiracy/

'I am no stranger to underhand behaviour, Madorthene. Nor am I unduly perturbed by attempts on my life. I have enemies. I expect such things. This shows me my enemies are even more powerful than I suspected/

'My lord, I-'

'What is your level of seniority, procurator?'

'I am grade one, magenta cleared, enjoying equivalency with the rank of fleet commodore. I answer directly to Lord Procurator Humbolt/ I knew this from his shoulder flashes, but I wanted to hear him tell me.

'Of course. Your superior wouldn't have trusted such a delicate matter to a junior officer. Nor did he want to show disrespect to me. I trust mis matter is still held in the highest confidence?'

'Sir, yes sir! The lord procurator recognised its… delicacy. Besides, notices of any infractions are being suppressed by order of the Lord Militant Commander, so as not to foment further unrest. The details of this incident are known only to myself and my squad here, the lord procurator and his senior aides/