Nemesis

here and now, there was nothing but the commonplace energy of air and heat and

life. She felt the eye of the animus speculum slowly iris open—but even as it did she

knew it would not be ready in time.

The other assassin grunted out a laugh and stooped to rip a short stanchion pole

from a support pillar, tearing it off in a flutter of sparks. He brandished the steel rod

like a club and went for her.

At once, the hatch at Iota’s back groaned on heavy hydraulics and fanned open

with a clatter of fracturing ice. A blast of polar air and windborne snow thundered in

around her from outside. For a moment, the snowstorm whirled into the corridor,

filling the space with whiteness.

The energy inside the animus was approaching readiness, but as she had

predicted, the Garantine killer had her range and he did not hesitate again.

Before Iota could release even a fraction of the psy-weapon’s potential he

slammed the bar into her chest with such force that she flew backwards, out into the

snow-filled courtyard. Iota noted the snapping of several of her ribs with a

disconnected understanding. She landed badly in a shallow drift of white and

coughed up a stream of bloody spittle into her helmet. The fact she wasn’t dead made

it clear he wanted to toy with her first.

They called him the Garantine because it was said he hailed from the Garant

Span, an Oort cloud collective on the near side of the Perseus Null. A natural

psychotic, he had killed everyone on his home asteroid, and all this as a child barely

able to read. It was no wonder the Clade Eversor had been delighted to take

ownership of him.

Iota struggled to get up, and through the optics of her skull-helm she looked to

see another grinning rictus come into view. The Garantine grabbed her by the ankle

and effortlessly threw her across the courtyard. This time the impact was lessened by

a deep snow bank, but still the shock vibrated through her. She let out a tiny cry of

pain. In her ear, the Vanus was jabbering something about closing the hatch, but that

had no consequence to her. Iota focussed on bringing the animus to a firing state. If

their plan failed, she would have to be the one to kill him, crashing his fevered mind

with a blast of pure warp energy.

The Eversor bounded towards her, laughing, and at the last moment he leapt into

the air. Time seemed to thicken and slow, the hazy man-shape falling down towards

her; then she was distantly aware of a heavy report and suddenly the Garantine’s fall

was deflected.

He jerked away at a right angle, as if pulled on an invisible cord.

Iota saw the steaming wound in the rage-killer’s chest as he stumbled back to his

clawed feet, shaking off the strike. Her head swimming, the Culexus searched and

then found the source of the attack. A shimmering white figure stood up atop one of

the nearby blockhouses, a longrifle in his grip. The white colouration faded into inkblack

as the Vindicare deliberately reset his cameoline cloak to a null mode, allowing

the Eversor to see him clearly. He raised the rifle to his shoulder as the rage-killer

roared at him, and for the moment Iota was apparently forgotten.

73

The Eversor charged again, and the rifle shouted. The first shot had been a kinetic

impact round, the kind of bullet that could shatter the engine block of a hover track or

reduce an unarmoured man to meat; that had been enough to attract the Garantine’s

attention. The next shot whistled through the frigid air, blurring as it impacted the

Eversor’s chest. The round was a heavy dart, fashioned from high-density glassaic. It

contained a reservoir of gel within, pressure-injected into the target’s flesh on impact;

but it was not a drag or philtre. An Eversor’s body was a chemical hell of dozens of

interacting combat medicines, and no poison, no sedative could have been enough to

slow it. The gel-matter in the rounds was a myofluid with a very different function;

when exposed to oxygen it created a powerful bioelectric charge, a single hit strong

enough to stun an ogryn.

It was a non-lethal attack, and the Garantine seemed incensed by that, as if he

were insulted that so trivial a weapon was being used on him. He tore out the dart and

came on. Kell fired again, flawlessly striking the same spot, and then again, and then

a third time. The Eversor did not falter, even as crackles of blue sparks erupted from

the weeping wound in his chest.

For one moment, Iota felt a rare stab of fear. How many rounds did the Vindicare

have in the magazine of his longrifle? Would it be enough? She ignored the Vanus

shouting in her ear and watched, as the crash of shot after shot was swallowed up by

the hush of the falling snows.

The Eversor leapt up to where the Vindicare stood and swung a taloned hand at

him, but his balance faltered, the warshot of a dozen darts pinning his flesh. The blow

smashed Kell’s rifle in two and sent the pieces spinning. Iota was on her feet, aiming

the animus; if she fired now, the Vindicare would be caught in the nimbus of the psiblast.