Nemesis

insurrection, an alliance of turncoats, men of the Mechanicum and traitors from the

Word Bearers Legion, had assembled in secret a dreadnought called the Furious

Abyss, constructing it in a clandestine berth on the asteroid-moon Thule. The small

Jovian satellite had been obliterated during the ship’s explosive departure and the

ragged clump of its remains still orbited far out at the edges of the planetary system;

but the Shockwave from Thule’s destruction and the Abyss incident was still being

felt.

Thus, the Ultio moved with care and raised no uncertainties, doing nothing to

draw attention to itself. Secure in its falsehood, the vessel passed under the shadow of

the habitats at Iocaste and Ananke and then deeper into the Galiliean ranges, passing

the geo-engineered ocean-moon of Europa and Io’s seething orange mass. It followed

a slow and steady course in across the planet’s bands of dirty orange, umber and

cream-grey clouds, down towards the Great Red Spot.

A vast spindle floated there, bathed in the crimson glow; Saros Station resembled

a crystal chandelier severed from its mountings and cast free into the void, turning

and catching starlight. Unlike the majority of its industrial and colonial cohorts, Saros

was a resort platform where the Jovian elite could find respite and diversion from the

works of the shipyards and manufactories. It was said that only the Venus orbitals

could surpass Saros Station for its luxury. Avenues of gold and silver, acres of null-g

gardens and auditoriums; and the finest opera house outside the Imperial Palace.

The station filled the view through the Ultio’s canopy as the ship drifted closer.

“Why are we here?” asked Iota, with an idle sullenness.

“Our next recruit,” Tariel told her. “Koyne, of the Clade Callidus.”

83

At the rear of the flight deck, the Garantine bent his head to avoid slamming it

against the ceiling. He made a rasping, spitting noise. “What do we need one of them

for?”

“Because the Master of Assassins demands it,” Kell replied, without turning.

The Vanus glanced up from the displays fanned out around his gauntlet.

“According to my information, there is an important cultural event taking place. A

recital of the opus Oedipus Neo.”

“The what?” sniffed the Eversor.

“A theatrical performance of dance, music and oratory,” Tariel went on, oblivious

to his derision, “It is a social event of great note in the Jovian Zone.”

“Must have lost my invite,” the Eversor rumbled.

“And this Koyne is down there?” Iota wandered to the viewport and pressed her

hands to it, staring at Saros. “How will we know a faceless Callidus among so many

faces?”

Kell studied the abstract contact protocols he had been provided and frowned.

“We are to… send flowers.”

Gergerra Rei wept like a child as Jocasta went to her death.

His knuckles turned white as he held on to the balustrade around the edge of the

roaming box the theatre had provided. Behind him, the machine-sentries in his

personal maniple stood motionless and uncomprehending as their master’s lips

trembled in a breathy gasp. Rei leaned forward, almost as if he could will her not to

take the steel noose and place it over her supple neck. A cry was filling his throat; he

wanted to call to her, but he could not.

The nobleman had seen the opera before, and while it had always held his

attention, it had never touched him as much as it had this night. Every biannual

performance of Oedipus Neo was a lavish, sumptuous affair orbited by dozens of

stately dinners, parties and gatherings, but at the core it was about the play.

Everyone in the Jovian set shared the same fears about this year’s act; at first it

had only been dreary naysayers who claimed it should not be put on because of the

conflicts, but then after the diva Solipis Mun had perished in a tragic airlock

accident… Many more had felt the opera should not have continued, as a mark of

respect to her.

But if he was honest, Rei did not miss Mun onstage. As Jocasta, she had played

the part with gusto and power, indeed, but after so many repetitions her investment in

the character had grown careworn and flat. But now this new queen, this new

Jocasta—a woman from the Venusian halls, as he understood it—had taken the part

and breathed new life into it. In the first act, she seemed to mimic Mun’s style, but

soon she blossomed into her own interpretation of the role, and with it, she eclipsed

the late diva so completely that Rei had all but forgotten her predecessor as the opera

rolled towards its conclusion. The new actress had also brought with her new

direction, and the performance had been shifted from the usual modern-dress style to

a strangely timeless mode of costume, all in metallic colours and soft curves that Rei

found quite alluring.

84

And now, with the stage drenched in blood-coloured light and flickers of

lightning from the Red Spot beyond the skylights, the character of Jocasta took her