Nemesis

These people, the refugees, were in the process of gathering themselves together

for the coming night, tying down ropes and securing sheets. Out here, the winds

moved swiftly over the open desert and the particles of dark dust would get into

everything. The first curls of the breeze pulled at the hems of her robes as she walked

on.

Tros matched her pace and pointed to a strangely proportioned building with a

slanted wall and a forest of skeletal antennae protruding from where its roof should

have been. “Over there.”

“These are Lady Sinope’s followers?” she asked.

The man gave a snort of amusement. “Don’t say that to her face. She’d think it

disrespectful.” Tros shook his head. “We don’t follow her. We follow Him. Milady

just helps us on the path.”

“You knew her before the insurrection?”

“I knew of her,” he corrected. “My da met her once, when she was a younger

woman. Heard her speak to a secret meet at Dusker Point. Never thought I’d have the

chance myself, though… Milady has done much for us over the years.”

“Your family have always been a part of the Imperial Cult, then?”

Tros nodded. “But that’s not a name we use here. We call ourselves the Theoge.”

They approached the building and at once Soalm realised that it was no such

thing. The construction was actually a small ship, a good measure of its keel buried

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in the cracked, ruddy earth. Beyond it she saw the rusted frames of dock wharfs,

extending into the air. Once this place had been a wide river canal.

There were tents arranged along the side of the old vessel, each lit from within by

lamplight. “The people here are all from Dagonet?”

“And other worlds on the axis,” said the man. “Some of them were here on

pilgrimages in secret. Got trapped when the clanner nobles tipped everything up.”

“Pilgrimage?” she repeated. “For what reason?” Tros just nodded again. “You’ll

see.” He opened a heavy steel hatch for her and she went, inside.

The old ship had once been a freighter, perhaps a civic transport belonging to some

branch of the colonial Administratum; now all that stood was the gutted shell, the

sandblasted hull and the corroded metal frames of the decks. Inside, the skeleton of

the vessel had been repurposed with new walls made of dry stone or steel from the

hulls of cargo containers. The door closed with a solid thump behind Soalm and took

the brunt of the wind with it. Only a tendril of chill air reached through to paw at the

small drifts of sand in the entryway.

“Child.” Sinope approached, and she had tears in her eyes. “Oh, child, you came.

Throne bless you.”

“I… owed it,” said the Venenum. “I had to.”

Sinope smiled briefly. “I never doubted you would. And I know I have asked a

lot from you to do this. I have put you at risk.”

“I was on a mission I did not believe in,” she replied. “You asked me to take up

another, for something I do believe in. It was no choice at all.”

The noblewoman took her hand. “Your comrades will not see it the same way.

They may disown you.”

“Likely,” Soalm replied. “But I lost what I thought of as my family a long time

ago. Since then, the only kinship I have had has been with others who know the God-

Emperor as we do.”

“We are your family now,” said Sinope. “All of us.” Soalm nodded at the

tightness of the old woman’s words, and she felt lifted. “Yes, you are.” But then the

moment of brightness faded as her thoughts returned to the content of the voclocket

message. She retrieved the device and pressed it back into Sinope’s thin, wrinkled

hands. “How can I help you?”

“Come.” She was beckoned deeper into the shadowed wreck. “Things will

become clearer.”

The beached ship, like the camp beyond it, was filled with people, and Soalm saw

the same expression in all of them; a peculiar mingling of fear and hope. With slow

alarm, she began to understand that it was directed towards her.

“Tros said you have refugees from all over Dagonet here. And from other worlds

as well.”

Sinope nodded as she walked. “I hope… I pray that there are other gatherings

hiding in the wilds. It would be so sad to admit that we are all that is left.”

“But there must be hundreds of people here alone.”

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Another nod. “Four hundred sixteen, at last count. Mostly Dagoneti, but a handful

of visitors from other worlds in the Taebian Stars.” She sighed. “They came so far

and sacrificed so much… And now they will never return home.”

“Help is coming.” Soalm had said the lie so many times over the past few weeks

that it had become automatic.

The noblewoman stopped and gave her a look that cut right through the

falsehood. “We both know that is not true. The God-Emperor is embattled and His

continued existence is far more important than any one of us.” She gestured around.

“If we must perish so that He may save the galaxy, that is a price we will gladly pay.

We will meet again at His right hand.”