he and Fereyd had shared years before on Pashen Nine-Sixty.
The figure seemed to relax. A shabby, elderly man in a dirty civilian suit entered the room so that Gaunt could see him. He was lowering a small, snub-nosed pistol of a type Gaunt wasn’t familiar with.
Gaunt’s heart sank. It wasn’t Fereyd.
‘Who are you?’ Gaunt asked.
The man arched his eyebrows in reply. ‘Names are really quite inappropriate under these circumstances.’
‘If you say so,’ Gaunt said.
The man crossed to the audio-caster and keyed in a new track. Another old-fashioned tune, a jaunty love song full of promises and regrets, started up with a flurry of strings and pipes.
‘I am a facilitator, a courier and also very probably a dead man,’ the stranger told Gaunt. ‘Have you any idea of the scale and depth of this business?’
Gaunt shrugged. ‘No. I’m not even sure what business you refer to. But I trust my old friend, Fereyd. That is enough for me. By his word, I have no illusions as to the seriousness of this matter, but as to the depth, the complexity…’
The man studied him. ‘The Navy’s intelligence network has established a web of spy systems throughout the Sabbat Worlds to watch over the Crusade.’
‘Indeed.’
‘I’m a part of that cobweb. So are you, if you but knew it. The truth we are uncovering is frightening. There is a grievous power struggle underway in the command echelon of this mighty Crusade, my friend.’
Gaunt felt impatience rising in him. He hadn’t come all this way to listen to arch speculation. ‘Why should I care? I’m not part of High Command. Let them squabble and backstab and–’
‘Would you throw it all away? A decade of liberation warfare? All of Warmaster Slaydo’s victories?’
‘No,’ Gaunt admitted darkly.
‘The intrigue threatens everything. How can a Crusade force this vast continue when its commanders are at each other’s throats? And if we’re fighting each other, how can we fight the foe?’
‘Why am I here?’ Gaunt cut in flatly.
‘He said you would be cautious.’
‘Who said? Fereyd?’
The man paused, but didn’t reply directly. ‘Two nights ago, associates of mine here in Cracia intercepted a signal sent via an astropath from a scout ship in the Nubila Reach. It was destined for Lord High Militant General Dravere’s Fleet headquarters. Its clearance level was Vermilion.’
Gaunt blinked. Vermilion level.
The man took a small crystal from his coat pocket and held it up so that it winked in the violet light.
‘The data is stored on this crystal. It took the lives of two psykers to capture the signal and transfer it to this. Dravere must not get his hands on it.’
He held it out to Gaunt.
Gaunt shrugged. ‘You’re giving it to me?’
The man pursed his lips. ‘Since my network here on Cracia intercepted this, we’ve been taken apart. Dravere’s own counter-spy network is after us, desperate to retrieve the data. I have no one left to safeguard this. I contacted my off-world superior, and he told me to await a trusted ally. Whoever you are, friend, you are held in high regard. You are trusted. In this secret war, that means a lot.’
Gaunt took the crystal from the man’s trembling fingers. He didn’t quite know what to say. He didn’t want this vile, vital thing anywhere near himself, but he was beginning to realise what might be at stake.
The older man smiled at Gaunt. He began to say something.
The wall behind him exploded in a firestorm of light and vaporising bricks. Two fierce blue beams of las fire punched into the room and sliced the man into three distinct sections before he could move.
Six
GAUNT DIVED FOR cover in the apartment doorway. He drew Milo’s blade, for all the good that would do.
Feet were thundering up the stairs.
From his vantage point at the door he watched as two armoured troopers swung in through the exploded wall. They were big, clad in black, insignia-less combat armour, carrying compact, cut-down lasrifles. Adhesion clamps on their knees and forearms showed how they had scaled the outside walls to blow their way in with a directional limpet mine. They surveyed the room, sweeping their green laser tagger beams. One spotted Gaunt prone in the doorway and opened fire. The blast punched through the doorframe, kicking up splinters and began stitching along the plasterboard wall.
Gaunt dived headlong. He was dead! Dead, unless–
The old man’s pistol lay on the worn carpet under his nose. It must have skittered there when he was cut down. Gaunt grabbed it, thumbed off the safety and rolled over to