Nemesis

final range settings. Then the disguised Callidus moved out of view and Kell found

himself looking at an empty patch of milk-white marble.

The sandstorm hid her better than any camouflage. Iota moved through it, enjoying

the push and pull of the wind on her body, the hiss and rattle of the particles as they

scoured her metal skull-helm, plucking at the splines of the animus speculum.

The Culexus watched the world through the sapphire eye of the psionic weapon,

feeling the pulse and throb of it on the periphery of her thoughts like a coldness in

her brain. Humans moved through the arc of fire and she tracked them. Each of them

would register her attention without really knowing it; they would shiver

involuntarily and draw their sandcloaks tighter, quickening their step to reach warmth

and light and safety a little faster. They sensed her without sensing her, the ominous,

ever-present shadow of null she cast falling on them. Children, when she turned her

hard, glittering gaze in their direction, would begin to cry and not know the reason.

When she passed close to tents full of sleeping figures, she could hear them mutter

and moan under their breath; she passed over their dreams like a windborne storm

cloud, darkening the skies of their subconscious for a moment before sliding beyond

the horizon.

Iota’s pariah soul—or lack thereof—made people turn away from her, made them

avert their eyes from the shadowed corners where she moved. It was a boon for her

stealth, and with it she entered the sanctuary encampment without raising an alarm.

She scrambled up a disused crane gantry, across the empty cab and along the rusted

jib. Old cables whined in atonal chorus as the winds plucked at them.

186

From here she had a fine view of the beached ship at the centre of the settlement.

What pathways there were radiated out from here, and she had already spotted the

parked skimmer peeking out from beneath a tethered tarpaulin; the last time she had

seen that vehicle, it had been in Capra’s hideaway. She settled in and waited.

Eventually, a hatch opened, spilling yellow light into the dusty air, and Iota

shifted down along the length of the crane jib, watching.

A quartet of armed men exited, two carrying a small metal chest between them.

Following on behind was the Venenum and the old noblewoman who had spoken in

such strange ways about the Emperor. Auspex sensors in Iota’s helmet isolated their

conversation so she could listen.

Soalm was reaching a hand out to brush it over the surface of the chest, and

although she wore her hood up, Iota believed she could see a glitter of high emotion

in her eyes. “We have a small ship,” she was saying. “I can get the Warrant aboard…

But after that—” She turned her head and a gust of wind snatched the end of the

sentence away.

The old woman, Sinope, was nodding. “The Emperor protects. You must find

Baron Eurotas, return it to him.” She sighed. “Admittedly, he is not the most devoted

of us, but he has the means and method to escape the Taebian Sector. Others will

come in time to take stewardship of the relic.”

“I will protect it until that day.” Soalm looked at the chest again, and Iota

wondered what they were discussing; the contents of the coffer had some value that

belied the scuffed, weather-beaten appearance of the container. Soalm’s words were

almost reverent.

Sinope touched the other woman’s hand. “And your comrades?”

“Their mission is no longer mine.”

Iota frowned at that behind her helm’s grinning silver skull. The Culexus would

be the first to admit that her grasp of the mores of human behaviour was somewhat

stunted, but she knew the sound of disloyalty when she heard it. With a flex of her

legs, she leapt off the rusting crane, the jib creaking loudly as she described a backflip

that put her down right in front of the four soldiers. They were bringing up their

guns but Iota already had her needier levelled at Sinope’s head; she guessed correctly

that the old woman was the highest value target in the group.

Soalm called out to the others to hold their fire, and stepped forward. “You

followed me.”

“Again,” said Iota, with a nod. “You are on the verge of irreversibly

compromising our mission on Dagonet. That cannot be allowed.” From the corner of

her eye, the Culexus saw Sinope go pale as she dared to give the protiphage her full

attention.

“Go back to Eristede,” said the poisoner. “Tell him I am gone. Or dead. It doesn’t

matter to me.”

Iota cocked her head. “He is your brother.” She ignored the widening of Soalm’s

eyes. “It matters to him.”

“I’m taking the Ultio,” insisted the other woman. “You can stay here and take

part in this organised suicide if you wish, but I have a greater calling.” Her eyes

flicked towards the chest and back again.

187

“Horus comes,” said Iota, drawing gasps from some of the soldiers. “And we are

needed. The chance to strike against the Warmaster may never come again. What can