Eye of Medusa (Warhammer 40,000) by David Guymer

Author:David Guymer [Guymer, David]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2017-04-05T00:00:00+00:00

IV

The workstation chair gave a warning creak as Melitan Yolanis dropped into it, tilting alarmingly backwards before the skitarii alpha that had pushed her caught her by the chair back and twisted her around. ‘Where is Callun. I– oh.’

Logi-Legatus Nicco Palpus was not at all as she had expected.

His gaunt frame was draped in crimson robes that bore the arcane sigil-workings of Mars, and was almost consumed by a high-backed command throne and its nested plug-ins and datasplays. His cranium had been extended slightly for increased capacity, and there was a faint metallic lustre to his complexion, but otherwise the most remarkable feature was how easily he might pass as human. His eyes emitted a subtle click as they mapped the nuance of her facial expression, his own altering to become an emollient mirror copy of hers. Melitan felt herself torn between squirming distrust and her body’s galvanic response to an empathetic face.

‘Callun Darvo,’ he said, without needing to access his meme-cache. ‘Enginseer adept of the twelfth grade, ordained in vehicular maintenance and tri-dimensional mapping.’ His voice was melodic, like the rhythms of a finely tuned engine, fatherly even, with the same dual undertones of pastoral concern and implicit personal authority this implied. Melitan found herself nodding obediently. ‘He is currently under escort to the surface. And he can expect a black mark against his duty record for his misuse of access protocols. His current assignation will almost certainly need to be reviewed.’

‘Respectfully, legatus, I would rather keep Callun where he is. I–’ She leaned over the table between them to protest before she realised how Palpus had manoeuvred her onto the defensive. She leant back, chair creaking, and resolved to treat her words with greater consideration from here on.

Palpus’ expression perfectly mimicked her patient resolve. Behind his chair and around his smooth metallic table, whispering multitask servitors moved through operation booths and alcoves. Hololithic representations of the Voice of Mars’ heraldic cryptex hovered over banks of quixotic instrumentarium, wall-mounted repeater screens sealed away behind ornate bronze shutters. Palpus nodded over Melitan’s shoulder and a moment later she heard the door ease shut as the skitarii officer exited. He steepled his fingers and settled back into his throne.

Melitan swallowed in sudden nervousness, as though the presence of an armed chaperone were preferable to being alone in a room with her legatus.

‘I expected you to be occupied with the Iron Council,’ she said, carefully.

‘My position as primary is ceremonial. My secondary and tertiary are capable of speaking for Mars’ interests.’ With deliberate casualness, Palpus reached across the table to turn the dataslate he had been working on over onto its face. He slid it back towards himself, though Melitan had already seen that it was a deployment order for the commitment of Clan Raukaan forces to Thennos, requiring his seal.

And for some reason, she felt that he knew she had seen it.

Removing the slate from the table, Palpus held it up for a servitor to remove. The lobotomised slave plodded away.

‘The demands on my time are, if not infinite, then sufficiently asymptotic as to appear so.

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