Nemesis

Tariel gave a nervous smile and indicated a large cargo module that replaced one

whole wall of the long, low compartment. “Uh, thank you for coming.” He glanced

around at Kell, Iota and the others. “As we are now mission-committed, I have leave

to continue with the next stage of my orders.”

“Explain,” said Koyne.

The infocyte rubbed his hands together. “I was given a directive by the Master of

Assassins himself to present these materials to you only after the group had been

completely assembled and only after the Ultio had left the Sol system.” He moved to

a keypad on the cargo module and tapped in a string of symbols. “I am to address the

matter of your equipment.”

The Eversor assassin’s head snapped up, his mood instantly changing from

insolence to laser-like intensity. “Weapons?” he asked, almost salivating.

Tariel nodded. “Among other things. This unit contains the hardware for our

mission ahead.”

“Did you know about this?” demanded the Garantine, glaring at Kell. “Here I am

playing with scraps and there’s a war-load right here on board with me?”

108

Kell shook his head. “I assumed we’d be equipped on site.”

“Why did someone fail to tell me there was an armoury aboard this tub?” Tariel

ducked as the Garantine threw his shiv and it buried itself in a stanchion close by.

“Give me a weapon, now! Feels like I’m bloody naked here!”

“What a delightful image,” murmured Soalm.

“He needs it,” said Iota, distractedly. “He actually feels a kind of emotional pain

when separated from his firearms. Like a parent torn from its child.”

“I’ll show you torn,” grated the hulking killer, menacing the Vanus. “I’ll do some

tearing.”

“Open!” Tariel fairly shouted the word and the mechanism controlling the lock

hissed on oiled hydraulics. The pod split along its length and rolled back, presenting

brackets of guns, support equipment and other wargear.

The Garantine’s face lit up with something approximating joy. “Hello, pretty

pretty,” he muttered, drawn to a rack where a heavy pistol, ornate and decorated with

metallic wings and sensor probes, lay waiting. He gathered it up and hefted it in one

hand. Cold laughter fell from his lips as gene-markers tingled through him, briefly

communing with the lobo-chips implanted in his brain, confirming his identity and

purpose.

“The Executor combi-pistol,” said Tariel, blinking rapidly as he drew the

information up from a mnemonic pool in his deep cortex. “Dual function ballistic

bolt weapon and needle projectile—”

“I know what it is!” snarled the Garantine, before he could finish. “Oh, we are

very well acquainted.” He stroked the gun like it was a pet.

Kell spoke up. “All of you, take what you need but make sure you use what you

take. Go back to your compartments and prepare your gear for immediate

deployment. We have no idea how long we may have between our arrival and the

target’s.”

“He may already be there waiting for us,” offered Koyne, drifting towards a

different rack of weapons. “The tides of the warp often flow against the ebb of time.”

The Garantine greedily gathered armfuls of hardware, taking bandoliers of meltagrenades,

a wickedly barbed neuro-gauntlet and the rig for a sentinel array. With

another guttural laugh, he snagged a heavy, blunt-ended slaughterer’s sword and

placed it under his arm. “I’ll be in my bunk,” he sniggered, and wandered away under

his burden.

Iota watched the Eversor go. “Look at him. He’s almost… happy.”

“Every child needs its toys,” said Soalm.

The Culexus gave the racks a sideways look, and then turned away. “Not me.

There’s nothing here that I need.” She shot the Venenum poisoner a look, tapping her

temple. “I have a weapon already.”

“The animus speculum, yes,” said Soalm. “I’ve heard of it. But it is an ephemeral

thing, isn’t it? Its use depends on the power of the opponent as much as that of the

user, so I am led to believe.”

Iota’s lips pulled tight in a small smile. “If you wish.”

109

Tariel nervously approached them. “I… I do have an item put aside for your use,

Culexus,” he said, offering an armoured box covered with warning runes. “If you

will?”

Iota flipped open the lid and cocked her head. Inside there were a dozen grenades

made of black metal. “Oh,” she said. “Explosives. How ordinary.”

“No, no,” he insisted. “This is a new technology. An experimental weapon not

yet field-tested under operational conditions. A creation of your clade’s senior

scienticians.”

The woman plucked one of the grenades from the case and sniffed it. Her eyes

narrowed. “What is this? It smells like the death of suns.”

“I am not permitted to know the full details,” admitted the infocyte. “But the

devices contain an exotic form of particulate matter that inhibits the function of

psionic ability in a localised area.”

Iota studied the grenade for a long moment, toying with the activator pin, before