Nemesis

While they waited for Gorospe, Yosef glanced around the landing pad’s

surroundings. The fountains, which were usually gushing with coloured water, were

silent; and when he looked closer, he noted that the well-tended gardens seemed, if

anything, considerably unkempt. There were even dead patches in the otherwise

flawless lawns; the Consortium appeared to be slacking on matters of minor

maintenance. He wondered what that small detail could mean in the greater scheme

of things.

Daig had made an attempt to engage one of the security men in conversation,

resorting to his usual gambit of complaining about the weather, but the guard had

been disinterested in talking. “Nice outfits they have,” he opined, wandering back to

the parked coleopter. “Do you think they have to buy their own uniforms?”

“Considering a career change, then?”

Daig shrugged. “Or maybe a sabbatical. A very long one, to somewhere quiet.”

He glanced up into the sky, then away again.

Yosef sensed something in his cohort and found himself asking the question that

had been preying on his mind for a time. “Do you think he will come here?”

“The Warmaster?”

“Who else?” The air around them seemed suddenly still.

“The Arbites say the situation will be dealt with by the Astartes.” Daig’s manner

made it clear he didn’t believe that.

Yosef frowned. Now he had asked the question, he found he couldn’t stop

thinking about it. “I still find it hard to grasp. The idea of one of the Emperor’s sons

56

plotting a rebellion against him.” The concept seemed unreal, like the rain rebelling

against the clouds.

“Laimner says there is no mutiny at all. He says it’s a disinformation ploy by the

Adeptus Terra to keep the planets out in the deeps off-balance, keep them loyal to the

Throneworld. After all, a fearful populace is a compliant one.”

“Our esteemed Reeve Warden is a fool.”

“I won’t argue that point,” Daig nodded. “But then, is that any more shocking

than the idea that the Warmaster would turn against his own father? What possible

reason could he have to do that, unless he has some sort of sickness of the mind?”

Yosef felt a chill move through him, as if a shadow had passed over the sun. “It’s

not a matter of lunacy,” he said, uncertain as to where the words were coming from.

“And fathers can be fallible, after all.”

He caught a flash of irritation on Daig’s face. “You’re talking about ordinary

men. The Emperor is far more than that.”

Yosef considered an answer, but then his attention was drawn away by the return

of the Gorospe woman. Her carefully prepared expression of superior neutrality had

been replaced by a severe aspect, concern and irritation there in equal measure. He

had to wonder what she had found to instigate so profound a shift in her manner. She

held the data-slate in her hand, along with a page of vinepaper. “You have something

for us?” he asked.

Gorospe hesitated, then tersely dismissed the two security men. When it was just

the three of them, she gave the lawmen a firm stare. “Before we go any further, there

are a number of assurances that I must have from you. No information will be

forthcoming if you refuse any of the following conditions, is that understood?”

“I’m listening,” said Yosef.

She ticked off the stipulations on her long, elegantly manicured fingers. “This

meeting did not occur; any attempt to suggest it did at a later date will be denied and

may be considered an attempt at slander. Under no account are you to refer to the

method in which this information was brought to you in any official records of

investigation, now or at a later date in any legal setting. And finally, and most

importantly, the name of the Eurotas Trade Consortium will in no way be connected

to the suspect of your investigation.”

The two men exchanged glances. “I suppose I have no choice but to agree,” said

Yosef.

“Both of you,” she insisted.

“Aye, then,” said Daig, with a wary nod.

Gorospe handed back the data-slate and unfolded the vinepaper. On it, Yosef saw

file text and an image of a thuggish man with heavy stubble and deep-set eyes.

“There was a match between the blood trace you provided and a single subject listed

in our biomedical records. His name is Erno Sigg, and he is known to be at large on

Iesta Veracrux.”

Yosef reached for the paper, but she held it away. “He was a passenger on one of

your ships?”

57

When the woman didn’t answer straight away, Daig made the connection.

“That’s a bondsman’s record you have there, isn’t it? Sigg isn’t a passenger. He

works for you.”

“Ah,” nodded Yosef, suddenly understanding. “Well, that clears the mist, doesn’t

it? The last thing the Void Baron would want is the good name of his clan being

connected to a murderous psychotic.”

“Erno Sigg is not an employee of the Consortium,” Gorospe insisted. “He has not

been a member of our staff for the last four lunars. His bond and his shares were