Dan Abnett - Eisenhorn Omnibus

In hindsight, though Eyclone was certainly in my dreams, I don't think it was his smiling face I was remembering.

The Essene translated back into real-space and entered the Gudrun system on the morning of the eighth day, ahead of schedule. Maxilla had boasted his ship was fast under optimum conditions and the boast hadn't been empty.

I had made arrangements with him to leave the Empyrean in the outreach of the system, considerably short of the busy local trade lanes that most arrivals to Gudrun followed. He agreed without question. It would only be a short delay.

'Who was she?' Bequin asked me as we stood at an observation bay watching the pale shape of Vibben's shrouded body slowly turn end over end as it drifted away from the Essene.

A friend. A comrade/1 replied.

'Is this how she wanted to go?' she asked.

'I don't think she wanted to go at all/ I said. Nearby, Aemos and Betan-core gazed gravely out of the thick port. Aemos's expression was unreadable. Betancore's dark face was drawn and anguished.

Lowink hadn't joined us, and neither had Fischig. But as I turned, I saw Maxilla standing respectfully at the rear of the observation bay, wearing a long mourning coat of black silk and a short periwig with black ribbons. He moved forward as he saw me look.

'I hope I'm not intruding. My respects to your lost comrade/

I nodded my thanks. He hadn't needed to make this effort, but it seemed appropriate for the ship's master to be present during a void burial.

'I'm not sure how these things are formally conducted, Maxilla/ I said, 'though I think this is what she would have asked for. I have spoken the Imperial Creed, and the Oration of the Dead/

Then you have done her fine service. If it is appropriate…?'

He waved forward one of his gold-plated figurehead servitors, which carried a salver of glasses and a decanter. 'It is tradition to drink a toast to the departed/ We all took a glass. 'Lores Vibben/ I said.

A minute or so's silence followed, then we slowly dispersed. I told Maxilla we could begin our approach run to Gudrun now, and he estimated it would take two hours to reach the inner system.

Returning to the cutter, I found myself walking with Bequin. She still wore the old work-suit she had liberated, though somehow it seemed to enhance her beauty rather than stifle it.

'We're almost there/ she said.

'Indeed/

'What will my duties be?'

I had yet to explain to her what she was or why I had recruited her. There had been ample time en route, but I had been putting it off, I suppose. I'd found time to show Aemos the finery of Maxilla's state rooms, and play regicide with Betancore. I wished I could throw off my distaste at just simply being around her.

I walked with her to the promenade deck and began to explain.

I don't know how I expected her to take it. When she took it badly and became upset, my response was barely controlled irritation. I knew it was her nature that was making me react this way and fought to find the sympathy she deserved.

She sat weeping on a shot-silk chair beneath one of the massive paintings; a hunting scene of nobles riding thoroughbred ursadons in the chase. Every now and then, she would blurt out a curse or whine a regret.

It was clear she wasn't upset that I wanted to employ her. It was simply the fundamental knowledge that she was… abnormal. A friendless, loveless life of woes and hard knocks suddenly had an explanation and that explanation was her own nature. I believe that she had always, stoically, blamed the galaxy as a whole for her troubles. Now I'd as good as kicked that emotional crutch away.

I damned myself for not thinking the consequences through. I'd robbed her of self-esteem and what little confidence she could muster. I'd shown up her lifelong efforts to find comfort, love and respect as hollow, self-destructive, self-denying futility.

I tried to talk about the work she could do for me. She wasn't much interested. In the end, I pulled up another chair and sat next to her as she worked the painful truth through her mind.

I was still sitting there when I received a vox-signal. It was Maxilla.

'I wonder if you could join me on the bridge, inquisitor? I require your assistance/

* * *

The bridge of the Essene was a wide domed chamber with floors and pillars of red-black marble. Silver servitors, immaculate and intricate as sculptures, were stationed at console positions sunk into the floor, their delicate geared arms working banks of controls set into polished mahogany fascias. The air was cool and still, and the only sound was the gentle hum and whirr of the working machines.

Maxilla, still dressed in his mourning robes, sat in a massive leather throne overlooking the room from a marble dais. Articulated limbs extending from the rear of the throne suspended pict-plates and consoles in his reach, but his attention was on the massive main observation port that dominated the front of the bridge.

I strode across the floor from the entrance. Each servitor wore a mask of chased gold, fashioned into a human face of classical perfection.

Inquisitor/ Maxilla said, rising.

'Your crew are all servitors,' I remarked.

'Yes,' he said distractedly. 'They are more reliable than pure flesh.'

I made no other comment. Maxilla's relationship with the Essene seemed to me akin to the way the Adeptus Mechanicus worship their god-machines. Constant involvement with such ancient instruments had convinced them of the natural inferiority of the human species.

I followed his gaze and looked at the main port. The gleaming sphere of Gudrun lay ahead, a creamy swirl of clouds stained with the lime-green phantoms of great forests under the climate cover. Clusters of black shapes thickly dotted the space between us and the planet. These were huge groups of orbiting ships, I realised. Massive dreadnoughts at high anchor, trains of great merchant ships, convoys of trade freighters streaming in under tug supervision. I had seldom seen such a wealth of orbital activity.

'Is there a problem?' I asked him.

He looked over at me, something like anxiety in his eyes. 'I have performed legal manoeuvres and entered the trade lane approach. Gudrun control has allocated me a high-anchor buoy. All relevant data is in order and my tariffs are paid. But I have just been informed that we are to be boarded and inspected.'

'This is unusual?'

'It's been ten years since anyone even suggested such a thing of my ship.'

'Explanation?'

'They say security. I told you there was a founding festival under way. You can see considerable portions of Battlefleet Scaras on station. I think the military is being over-careful of its interests here just now.'

'You mentioned my assistance.'

'The inspection launch is on its way. I feel it would facilitate matters if they were met by a ship's master and an Imperial inquisitor.'

'I can't pull strings, Maxilla.'

He laughed humourlessly and looked me in the eye. 'Of course you can! But that's not what I'm asking. With an inquisitor present, they will treat

the Essene with more respect. I'll not have them root through this vessel mindlessly.'

I thought for a moment. This smacked of the favour I had a feeling he might call in. Worse, it stank of impropriety on his part.

'I'll agree to be present for the sake of order, provided you can assure me you have nothing to hide.'

'Inquisitor Eisenhorn, I-'

'Save your indignation for the inspection, Maxilla. Your assurance is all I require. If I assist you only to find you have some dirty secret or illicit cargo, you will have a great deal more to worry about than the Imperial Navy.'

There was a look of great disappointment on his face. Either he was a superb actor, or I had truly wounded his feelings.