I took her meaning immediately. I could only imagine was sort of tongue lashing I might get back at base, and so I took the piece of blank paper, cleared my throat, and opened it, staring at the blank whiteness as if it was a document I was pressed to read. "Ah, of course. Well, duty calls, as I always say." I turned to the gentry and gave them a tip of my hat, before granting the lady governor a sweeping bow, and finishing off my farewell ritual with a wink to the Arsenault. I was a fool to encourage her, but I had never been someone to eschew flirtation, and she was rather fetching in that dress. "Regrettably I must take my leave, but I shall return in two nights as you have so graciously granted me the invitation."

After a few more farewells, Sel and I exited the hall and left the corridor, only to bump into two sentries who looked put-off by the appearance of the Corporal before seeing I was accompanying her. They likely did not know me by reputation, even my exploits could not have spread so quickly, but they had greeted the Governess and the accompanying body, with my in their entourage, when I had first approached hours before.

"At ease, gentleman" Sel told them cooly, and they shifted uncomfortably as they parted before us, letting the two of us step into the waiting vehicle parked by the curb. Corporal Sel opened the door for me to enter, and I slid in, before she closed it and then hopped into her seat. Within minutes, we were speeding out of the palace grounds and onto the congested streets of Balor; congested of course, because of the tightly knit buildings that loomed overhead like unwanted teachers at the academy, not that the streets were overly crowded. The city sported strange florescent lights that dotted the buildings, replacing a single story of windows to give a trail of lights, though many groundcars, military vehicles, and street lamps were lit, cutting through the monotony of it.

"I apologize for not being there to help set the platoon up. I wish I had, but I couldn't get away from the Governess." I explained, though I was not certain just as to why I was giving the Corporal one. Of course, the other half of me knew exactly why. Because I was the bloody damned lieutenant and it was my throne damned job.

"We know where to go sir, there was no mishaps. No need to explain," She said, and though any soldier might have fed their superior officer the same bullshit, I found I believed her. She turned left up a slimmer street, likely to cut through the traffic. I turned the heat up a bit more, longing for being able to stay in my warm quarters tonight. The planet was cold as deep space, but at least it was an easy posting. I would head back, conduct the sentry screen along the coordinates I had pre-laid upon the map, and then retire for the evening. I yawned, and gave a sigh as I sat back, the lights like a distant rhythm of stars.

There was a loud pop, and our vehicle suddenly careened to the left, its back end whipping to the right, colliding with a parked aircar with the force of a thunderhammer. My eyes jolted open, and instinctively I reached for my bolt pistol as we hit the curb and landed on the sidewalk. A couple that had been enjoying an evening walk screamed and ran off, but as Sel cursed under her breath and checked the gauge of the vehicle, I saw the man and woman fall to the ground from well placed lasbolts.

"Sir, are you alright?" Sel asked, but she saw my look and knew what I was going to say before I even had the chance to.

"Get down, we're under fire!"

Sel cursed and ducked behind the heavy rubberized wheel of the cargo four. Las bolts snapped at them from across the street from at least a half dozen shooters. One of the tires on the far side took a hit and blew out with a spray-hiss of escaping air and a stink of volcanism. The vehicle rocked, ringing like a struck anvil as bolts punished the far side in a continual fusilade. Tactical mindset returned like a bath of cool water but it wasn’t any of the guard scenarios that came to mind. It took her back to the lean and hungry days of her youth in Glarian hive. Sel had run with a gang then, you had to in order to survive. The J-hooks they had called themselves because the came an ancient and crumbling annex to the even more ancient and crumbling tenement J. It had been a hard life, violent, hungry and filled with sudden terrors. There were magistratum sweeps which took people away never to be seen again, left to rot in prison or sold to the Ad-mech as servitor meat. There were raids, skirmishes fought over territory, food, or clean water, children as young as ten armed with sharpened lengths of industrial tubing, or hand bows made out of suspension springs. Sel could even remember seeing a black powder pistol once, remember being amazed by the power of such a simple thing. It had been a hard way to grow up but the innate paranoia it bred was surprisingly useful for a soldier.

“Behind!” Sel shouted, spinning around to see the sash of a second story window being thrown open above them. The ferocrete habs rose above them in a solid wall, half sunken into the street; their steel cored doors were reached by stone stairways with handrails of rusted wrought iron. It was certainly no coincidence that they functioned as block houses, offering no cover for a dash for cover inside. Sel was an adequate shot with a carbine, you used a carbine when things got hairy in a sentinel, but the pistol you saved for yourself in case of a flame out or worse. This grim philosophy did not equate to a lot of time spent at the range but her target was framed by the window and Sel opened fire spraying half her power pack up into the window in a flurry of shots just as one of the ambushers leaned out to toss an incendiary. One of Sel’s bolts carved a trough through his left arm and he screamed, dropping his improvised grenade. A bottle filled with promethium and stuffed with a burning rag fell from the window in apparent slow motion, turning end over end and leaving a trail of greasy smoke. Sel tried to force herself to move but she knew she wasn’t going to be fast enough to escape the bursting flames.. Kayden reached out and casually caught the improvised explosive, set his feet and then pitched it back into the window with a speed and precision that would have done a scrumball player proud. It sailed through the window and shattered on the hab ceiling, detonating with a whump of igniting prometheum. Screams and broken glass exploded from the window and Sel ducked even lower, raising her arm to ward off the drizzle of burning fuel that spattered down. A burning figure tumbled from the window, turning a half circle in the air before cracking their spine across one of the iron railings with a noise like the pop of a whip. His screams were deafening until Kayden burst his head with a single bolt from his pistol. The body slumped and continued to smoulder.

“Base 1, Base 1, this is Bravo 2 actual,” Sel called as she pressed her commbead, wrinkling her nose against the assaulting odor of petrochems and burned flesh.

“We are pinned down on the main drag, taking fire, estimate enemy is in squad strength,” she voxed. Kayden stood up and fired a three round burst at something across the street, the pop pop pop of his bolts echoing and reflecting of the hab fronts. Someone screamed and Kayden cracked out another shot before ducking back before the blistering las fire could find him.

“Base 1, do you copy?” Sel demanded there was a crackle of jamming and Sel cursed the fact the Cargo 4 didn’t have a powerful vox for her to link to the way a chimera or a sentinel did. There was no guarantee that short range vox bead, meant for squad communication, would get through.
“They will respond to the firing, but we can't stay here, we are pinned down and soon they will flank us,” Kayden said as he ducked back behind the cover of the car. The battered cargo 4 continued to ring with impacts, and glass shattered as something, probably a mirror, caught a bolt. Sel glanced up at the building behind them, no hope of getting inside without being cut to pieces by the enemy gunmen.

“Alright, well I got half a magazine left, dress uniform and all,” she apologized. It didn’t help that she had sprayed off half the mag in something close to panic, but it was true that she hadn’t come dressed for a fight.

“We need cover,” Kayden replied. Sel nodded, then rolled up and into the cargo 4. The right hand bodywork was glowing with the impact of so many las rounds and the stink of hot metal and burning upholstery stung her nose. She hit the ignition stud and the vehicle came to life with a scream and a knocking of misaligned pistons. Sel pulled her garrison cap off and shoved it under the accelerator before rolling back over the side. The vehicle began to creep along at walking pace, keeping their bodies behind it as a shield against their attackers.

“Good thinking,” Kayden approved as they crab walked along beside the mobile shield. The flat tires slapped the pavement and the knocking was getting much worse, at this rate it would only be a few minutes before the engine tore itself to bits, but if she could be assured she would be alive in a few minutes Sel would cheerfully have taken a las cannon to the vehicle herself. The las fire slackened as they got out of the kill box, but doubtlessly the enemy was redeploying. Sel was forced to try to watch all directions at once even as she kept low to avoid those shooters who still had an angle. Judging by the smoke and the stink, the cargo 4’s interior was on fire now, las fire having ignited everything flammable in the vehicle. Sel tried not to think about what hits to the fuel tank might do, though realistically this was unlikely. With a crunch the cargo 4 mounted the curb and trundled into the glass window of a bakery. With a tremendous crash the window exploded inwards in a storm of glass. The cargo 4 bounced off the wall and continued to grind against the ferocreate. Kayden and Sel leaped inside, clambering over the ruins of a display shelf, crushed pastries and pies tacky beneath their boots, the sweet smell of sugar and spices cloying their noses. The interior of the store was lined with similar, if undestroyed, display cases filled with baked goods and confections of all kinds. Possessed by some imp of the perverse Sel plucked a peppermint stick from a jar and stuck it between her teeth like a lho stick.

“Looting Corporal?” Kayden asked, trying to scrap chocolate cake off his dress boots.

“Bolstering the morale of the Emperor’s troops sir,” Sel replied around the peppermint stick.

Las fire crackled in from the street as several gunmen broke from their concealment, apparently willing to risk a rush. If Sel was expecting screaming cultists she was disappointed, they came on firing, lookinging way too professional for her liking. They wore no body armor but carried what looked like standard Astra Millitarum pattern las guns, and thank the Throne they had no grenades or heavy weapons! Sel ducked down behind the counter and checked the power gauge on her pistol in the vain hope that it had been miraculously refilled. Unfortunately it seemed the emperor had other plans.

“Brace yourself!” Kayden shouted as the enemy rushed in guns blazing.

While I had studied military tactics extensively at the scholam, and with no small measure of pride I can safely say I was a natural, you did not need to be a strategist to realize Sel and I were in a bad way.

In fact despite the mundane circumstances of being hunkered down in a bakery, there are only a handful of times in my long and illustrious career I can say I potentially came closer to death. A good ambush with the right equipment could cripple an astartes battle group, and we had certainly been caught with our pants down, and not in the way I typically enjoyed. Even now I can still recall the crackling of shattered glass as the paramilitary squad stepped past the threshold of the shop, firing above us to keep our heads down while they coordinated themselves to encircle and destroy. Sel held herself commendably with a stoicism I was envious of. Though I tended to believe myself a learned and worldly man, I felt as if our association was scraping away the last shred of inherent sexism I did not realize I still possessed as I was awed by how many women in her position would simply scream or throw themselves on the mercy of our attackers. However, the thought was very brief, when it hit me that most civilian men would do the same, and the women under my command were made with just as much grit and strength as I had. The mind tended to break it's usual habits when under threat of death, bringing out odd and untoward thoughts. However, it did grant me the will to save our lives, Emperor be praised. As I dwelled on the strength of the men and women serving under me and compared them to the ponces I had just left, it brought out an old hatred in my breast. I had joined the guard for a reason, and it was not to cower and wait for death in a throne damned cakery.

"Corporal, I need a distraction!" I said over the din of the lasbolts and autogun rounds shearing through the timber and stacked cakes we knelt behind. One round struck the edge of the table just above my head, sending my head flying to our feet. Sel gave me a look.

"Sir?"

"Just for a second." I assured her. I could see in her eyes that she saw I had a plan, and she nodded. Sel scooped up a handful of cake, and flung it into the air behind us, rolling to the end of the counter on its right side and returning fire. Only later would I realize she actually managed to incapacitate one of the assailants with some fine gunwork. In the meantime, as all of their guns were baring down on her position, I rose from behind the counter, planted the barrel of my gun on the edge to keep it steady, and set my sights on one of the nooks along the walls of the shop. Before the utter decimation of the niceties, the establishment had various indentions in the walls, like small alcoves, with three levels top to bottom where they would set various cakes on display. Behind the top cake on each nook were large sockets where the lumen above them recieved its power. If I had an autogun, this might not have worked. As it stood, I had a laspistol in my hand, and something every guardsmen and potentially every civilian knows, is that you should never aim at an electrical socket with a lasgun.

The effects are volatile.

I pulled the trigger, the lasbolt flying past the swathed men to strike the socket. It burst in an explosion of electricity and flames, popping like fireworks at close range. The gunmen flinched, one catching a stray rush of flame, desperately trying to quench it before it spread from his shoulder to the rest of his body. Suddenly, for a precious few moments, the highly disciplined squad was caught disorganized and distracted. It gives me no pleasure to say that Sel and I did not hesitate. I turned my gun on the closest man, who's autogun had been swinging in my direction before he caught the concussive force of the blast, staggering him. I dropped him with two shots to the neck, and nearly burned off the leg of the next man. He fell forward, my second and third shots ending his life before he hit the floor. Sel's lasgun punched through the chest of the last assailt with a burst of lasbolts, and we rose from out behind cover, I rounded the side and Sel vaulted the counter, sending cake and debris to the ground with the swing of her legs.

"Do you smell that?" I asked, raising my head and glancing around. It was a familiar odor, but the firefight had knocked away my senses for a moment.

"What?" She asked, checking the bodies to make certain they were dead.

"Burnt meat." I remarked. Sel raised her brows and gestured to the bodies. I shook my head. The meat I was smelling was spiced. Then it came to me, mere seconds before Morek did. An engine rumbled, and the squat skidded into view on a small salamander, the vehicle ramming through an overturned groundcar. The bearded abhuman had beef jerky in his mouth as usual, and goggles over his eyes. There were scorch marks on the armor plating, and a lasgun strapped to his barrel chest. I smiled, showing my perfect white teeth.

"Just in time, Morek."

There was no skill more essential to an Imperial Guardsman than the ability to stare fixedly at a point six inches above the head of whomever was dressing her down and betray absolutely no expression. Sel was a past master of this most essential of field crafts and demonstrated her skills as she stood in Major Sour's office, her fine dress uniform burned and torn, a great white splash of confectioners sugar across the front of her blue tunic and her feet lacquered to the polished stone floor but what both smell and texture suggested might be toffee. Kayden in marked contrast had come off rather better, with only a parted seam and a slight disheveling of his hair. The office had once belonged to some minor priest or functionary but devotional tapestries had been replaced with acetate maps marked up to show the city and its environs. Fuzzy pict plates showed aerial reconnaissance views of unfamiliar terrain and there were even a few stills from the gunpicters sentinels used. A faint smell of incense and old body powder over lay the more recent scent of lho sticks and recaf, a pot of which burbled on a hexamite stove in the corner. Sour pointedly did not offer his guests a cup.

"Why is it, that when there is trouble I may depend on finding you two caught up in it," Major Sour asked acidly. Sour was a beefy man, not fat exactly but too fond of food and drink to stay lean in a rear echelon posting like regiment XO. He had been a famous duelist in his youth and still bore a dueling scar on the left side of his face but that fame and that youth had been long ago. Sour was also a man who bore a grudge, his service record and seniority might have seen him elevated to colonel but his lack of political saavy had seen him passed over in favor of a politically connected officer. It was a bitter blow, a colonel might hope to one day elevate himself to the general staff but an aging major could look forward only to thankless work, the faults in which would fall to him and the success laid at the feet of his chief. It was too his credit that Sour did not avenge that disappointment on his juniors. Usually he didn't. Sel couldn't imagine that having to deal with an even younger, even better connected officer was doing the jowly old troll's ulcers any good.

"Sir," Kayden said in a reasonable and respectful tone, "I do not believe Corporal Seldon and I can be blamed for defeating an insurgent attack." The word defeated hung in the air and Sour glowered, unable to deny that it had been a win, albeit one so narrow that it made her palms itch. She didn’t know why being jumped in a supposedly friendly city made her so much more edgy than being bushwhacked out the back of beyond but there it was.

“Yes… Corporal Seldon,” Sour acknowledge in a tone so dry that Sel could almost feel the pages of her personnel file being judged and found to be considerably short of the mark. Sour tried to catch her eye but Sel expertly kept her own gaze fixed on her imaginary aiming point, her face so blank an neutral that she might have been a tailors dummy for all the emotion it conveyed. Sour, having played this game with soldiers his entire life, gave it up as a bad bargain and returned his attention to Kayden.

“Yes, well,” Sour continued dismissively, “you weren’t the only one that got shot at you know.” That was true, a handful of snipers had opened fire on the barracks at precisely the moment the ambush in the street was sprung. Snipers might be stretching the point though because not a single trooper had so much as been wounded. That was an odd contrast with the cold professionalism of the hit squad that Sel and Kayden had dispatched, more by luck than skill, and it made Sel even more nervous. Perhaps the enemy only had so many trained people and had used them all to try to eliminate Kayden. Sel supposed that after the spectacle at the palace it would be a public relations victory if nothing else.

“Yes Sir!” Kayden replied with a crisp enthusiasm that, while no doubt genuine, made Sour give him an irritated look. There was no way he could come down on a junior for such an appropriate response. He made a show of leafing through some papers on his desk, though it was a fair bet the sheets of flimsy held no new information.

“Ever consider a career in the holos Caradwalden?” Sour asked, which nonsequitor was so sudden that even Kayden was momentarily at a loss for words.

“Sir?” he asked in genuine perplexity. Sour produced a pict slate and turned it to face the pair. On it Sel could see footage of Kayden catching the prometheum bomb in one hand, then lobbing it back into the window. The view, which appeared to be from the other side of the street, showed a much better view of the resulting fireball, even highlighting three bodies behind the inferno in the moment their bodies were engulfed. If there was audio it was turned off, but a banner along the bottom of the screen read: “Lord Lieutenant Caradwalden single handedly defeats assassins.”

Nobody spoke for a long moment. A Lord Lieutenant was a rank at sector level, something someone in line to become governor might hold. A screw up like this, if it caught on, might well lead Kayden personally and the regiment generally into extremely dangerous waters. Clearly the vid had come from local newscasters, probably paparazzi who had followed Kayden from his dinner party.

“Hey!” Sel interjected without thinking about it, “he wasn’t single handed!”

“Seldon,” Sour said in the tone of a man wearier than words could describe. “Kindly keep your mouth shut for the remainder of this interview.” Sel opened her mouth to say Sir, then hastily closed it and nodded.

“This is already all over the city and by nightfall you will be a Throne damned local celebrity, which I’m sure to a glory hunter like you, does not seem like a problem,” Sour continued.

“Sir..” Kayden protested, but the Major was in no mood and he continued talking over the top of his subordinate.

“Which means, every damn insurgent in the city is going to want to blow whatever you have out of your head, and worse people standing beside you are likely to get it in the neck as well,” Sour grumbled. He softened slightly, as though embarrassed by his own vehemence.

“What we need is to get you out of here for a few days while things get settled down… fortunately a local noblewoman, one Baroness..." he paused to actually consult his papers before continuing. "Baroness Arsenault has asked for an Imperial Guard assessment of her estate and her household troops…”

My eyes snapped to the side when I heard the name Lady Arsenault. Just why the Emperor, in his wisdom, wished for me to fight his strongest battle, I certainly did not know. Sel, though we had grown closer in our relatively brief professional relationship, did not know me well enough to read my look.

I knew as soon as the Major mentioned the Baroness, that I would not only be assigned to her, but I would have to put out all of the stops to not put out in other ways. I also knew I was likely to fail, and thirdly I realize I was both dreading and looking forward to it. Briefly I wondered just how well I could keep her at arm's length, but then my mind fled into Pvt. Elara's supple arms and I was again at a dead end. Of course, none of it showed on my face, and I had no way to object without sounding like an arrogant dog, so I kept my lip buttoned.

"Major, may I ask how far we'll have to travel?" I asked, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. Even then, he gave me a look of disapproval, answering without missing a beat.

"Why, do you have somewhere else you need to be, lieutenant?"

"No sir, I just want to know how much I should pack." I said, hiding my smile. "I'm also concerned on the length of the insurgent's reach. If it's close by, I should keep both eyes open."

Major Sour peeled the bottom layer of the next page, giving it a quick glance before dropping the papers entirely. "You can keep one eye open. It's three hundred kloms outside of the city. You and your platoon should have adequate room, and I am told it is situated on heights that give you a good layout of the surrounding terrain." He said, his usual demeanor evaporating when speaking on tactics. Anyone could see he was a fine officer, just too stubborn to do what it took to rise above his station. A mistake I would not make, if I could help it. "You and the 2nd will be transported via Chimera at 0700 tomorrow morning. You are to stay inside until you arrive at the destination. Since your pretty face is on every holovid, not only will the insurgents recognize you, but any damned nobody could call you out."

"Yes sir," I said.

"Dismissed. Both of you."

Twelve hours later...

In my long years of service, I've learned one important rule. The worst thing about responsibility is being responsible. If every PFC and trooper were to rise at 0500, I was to rise at 0400. Fortunately, I had an aide that could sleep and rise seemingly without much baggage on annoying biological matters like hangovers and lack of stamina. My alarm, though unfortunate, did allow me to appreciate the fresh smell of recaf that Morek had been brewing. Squats had a particular knack for brewing drinks, alcoholic and non. It was also not in his job description to make my recaf, however he made sure to brew me a cup, and I made sure to not notice the amasec (and at time, much stronger drinks) he mixed within his own cup.

Before I knew it, I found myself in the only marginally heated garage, which was merely the lowest level of one of the large, oblong structures the locals utilized to work and live in. Morek was with me, dressed in full kit and carrying my own bags as well. Our lead Chimera, usually emblazoned with the KC of our colloquial name, which to my chagrin I found out meant 'Kayden's Conquerors," had been repainted to keep out platoon's identity a secret. However, Morek and I merely needed to follow the smell of fresh paint, and as Morek stepped into the vehicle to place our bags in, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, but I realized it was only Sparks, our enginseer. "I didn't meant to frighten you, sir."

"You did no such thing." I lied, pinching the bridge of my nose to act as if I was merely tired. Well, I suppose I was not acting. "Did you not sleep, Sparks?" The redhead still looked very human. I briefly wondered if she had been granted any mechanical parts as of yet, but thinking of my female troopers anatomies was the last thing I should be musing on. She had her lasgun on her, but her uniform was slightly disheveled, as was her hair now that I looked at her. "Were you sleeping in the chimeras?"

"I was told to inspect them sir, and it got so late, I knew I wouldn't make it back to my bunk in time to get any meaningful rest, so..." Her voice trailed off. She almost fell asleep on the spot, but then her head shot back up again. "They're tip top shape, sir. I can help with whatever else you require, sir."

I looked at her for a long moment, wondering what on Terra I did to earn such loyalty. I shook my head. "What I need from you is to rest, private. Go back in the chimera, sleep for another hour or two. Morek will wake you when it's time."

"But-"

"That's an order," I insisted, but when I placed a hand on her shoulder, she gave me a smile and nodded. As she turned, I recalled back when I first met her and the other women on Kaurava III, in fear of their life and virtues. It came to me then that she might explicitly trust me after I helped them. That was bloody ironic, normally I was the last person to trust with a bunch of women. I shook my head, and went back to prep the chimeras.

"... if I though it would do any good I would report you for dumb insolence!" Seargent Crispin thundered in Sel's face, veins in his temple throbbing. Not for the first time, Sel wondered if she had a particular talent for invoking that particular response in people. Crispin stomped around his 'office' which judging by the smell of mothballs, had been a vestry before the regiment had moved in. There was a desk in the corner, constructed of a sheet of plasteel held up by piled wooden shipping palettes, its surface covered with paperwork.

"You are corrosive to discipline, you are an embarrassment to this unit and the uniform, if you cross me in public again, by the throne I swear you will regret it. I don't care if 'the lieutenant' likes you," Crispin raved, investing the word 'lieutenant' as much mincing inuendo as his limited acting skill permitted. "NCOs run this regiment, and if you must mock the rest of us by wearing stipes you for damn sure wont do so in front of the troopers!" Sel scrutinized the wall behind him, wondering if the mortar had been replaced recently on the basis of a slight discoloration she observed. Crispin snarled in inarticulate fury and took a step forward, his ruddy face looming close to hers.

"Do. You. Under. Stand!" he demanded, thrusting a finger into her sternum to emphasize each word.

"What does dumb insolence mean?" she asked innocently, constitutionally unable to help herself. Crispin's eyes bulged and he opened his mouth to launch into a fresh tirade when there was a peremptory knock at the door before it swung open. Sergeant Greer stood in the doorway running his fingers over the rugose skin of his burned scalp.

"There you are Corporal Seldon, we were supposed to meet ten minutes ago, Emperor's teeth woman let's get moving before we miss it entirely! Now throne damn it!" he snapped, his weasle like voice cracking like a whip. Crispin's eyes blazed as he glared at Greer, but the Engineer was his company's first sergeant and so outranked Crispin by at least two grades.

"Move woman!" Greer yelled, and Sel turned on her heel and hurried out the door, the engineer swinging it closed behind her.

"I suppose I owe you one," Sel asked as they walked briskly out of ear shot. Greer snickered.

"Naw, busting that idiot's chops is its own reward, besides, I'm here to pay a debt, not create one," he replied.

"Smoke?" he asked, then pulled a pack of lho-sticks from his pocket. He pulled one and then passed the packet with it's one remaining lho stick to Sel. She pulled the last lho stick free, her eyes flicking down to the rolls of Imperial credit notes stuffed into the packet. She tucked it into her own pocket then accepted the igniter flame Greer offered.

"It went off well then?" she asked. Greer nodded enthusiastically. Their first transaction, surplus navy issue food stuffs had come down with the second wave of shuttles. How Greer and his people had moved it so fast, she had no idea. She supposed they had probably liased with the locals about logistics, and that was as good a way as any to meet potential buyers.

"Better'n well Selly, this scheme of yours will make us all rich, if we don't get fragged first of course," he chuckled. "Speaking of which I hear you are headed out into the bush?"

"Hardly," Sel snorted, "we are going to babysit some rich local nib."

"Not that I'm complaining of course," she laughed. Greer grinned, apparently genuinely pleased at her good fortune. Despite their somewhat rocky introduction, she found she liked the engineer. Of course he probably though a nobles estate would be a good place for her to find a few small valuable items for him to fence, which was a distinct possibility now that she had a chance to think about it.

“Yeah well if you score anything good, just remember who your friends with incriminating evidence are,” Greer grinned and slapped her on the shoulder. Sel barked a laugh as the engineer turned and headed back to his own duties leaving her infront of the converted cloister that was serving as their chimera bay.

______________________

Lights blazed at the bottom of the valley as the chimeras snorted over the ridgeline. It was close to local dusk, though given the rather anemic sun and the light of a half dozen moons the difference was one of degrees. A frigid wind blew a continual squall of icy dust around them that made it hard to see if you turned the heating on in the big troop transports, but rendered it bloody freezing if you didn’t. Sel pulled her head back inside the vehicle and wiped at the ice that had accumulated on the goggles that protected her eyes.

“Are we there yet?” Kayden asked, his face not quite smiling but his eyes bright with amusement despite being tucked deeply into his own great coat. Sel gestured with her head and pulled her goggles back on. Kayden did the same and opened the auxiliary hatch meant for the vehicle commander. The metal was so cold that it would have taken skin off if not for the white officers gloves he wore. Outside the view down into the valley was spectacular. A great sparkling dome of milky white energy blazed at the end of the rift. The great void shield sparked blue where the iron rich snow blew across it. The wild alpine forests that ran down the shoulders of the valley became manicured beyond the shimmering shield, like a winter hunting park with picturesques streams and artificially created waterfalls. The manor house, or manor complex was more distant still situated on a small rise. It must have been massive but distance made it look toylike. The immediate environs seemed to be elaborate gardens though even though the shimmer of the void shields made it hard to tell, even with an amplivisor.

“I really hope they aren’t expecting us to defend this place,” Sel called to Kayden through cupped hands.

“It would be a job for half the regiment, much less one platoon,” she added.

I put on a good face for the men, and truth be told I did have a small bit of mirth for this relatively boring (and safe) assignment. The cold was unbearable, as always, but I knew I would likely spend the majority of my time in the spacious, warm manor. At most I might step down into the utility levels beneath it that housed the power systems and the void shield generator. Even now I could see the phosphorus dome in the midst of this latest snow flurry. I was always both wary and comforted by void shields. Passing through one was a strange experience, feeling like a hot shower of ozone and static electricity, but once you were on the other side, it lifting of morale was almost as tangible as its effects on defense. Void shields were designed to halt kinetic and energy weapons traveling at a certain velocity, displacing the projectile into the immaterium. Sparks told me we didn't even know fully how such devices worked, only they did, which was only slightly discomforting. Fortunately, void shields larger than half a kilometer in radius also provided an insulation effect which would keep the ambient temperature inside the shield warmer than the surrounding environment and be relatively effective at stopping precipitation from getting in. Which meant, even outside the manor, it would go from unbearably frozen to merely frigid.

The heights around us rose like the waves falling off an ancient god, giving an archaic, almost mythic feeling to our surroundings. Before I closed the hatch, I fancied I saw a loping hirstus, one of the four legged wooly herbivores that inhabited many of the iceworlds in this segmentum. While Balor was not technically cold enough to be an iceworld, the temperatures were low enough to still accommodate creatures suited to the tundra and frozen forests of less habitable planets like Valhalla.

We passed through the barrier without incident, beyond a small chill that run up my spine. Luckily my mind was on other things, recalling what I had told the platoon before we had set out. This was likely to be an eventless limbo with the seduction of skating one's duties likely high, but it was better than getting your head blown off. They were still the 2nd Gendermes and they were in the presence of aristocracy, and they needed to keep their boots shined, their lasguns primed, and their hustle doubled timed for any problem. It was a good platitude, along with 'do your best and let the emperor do the rest,' but it had worked on him during the academy, and one thing you can count on with the Imperium. It did a hell of a good job at getting men and women ready and willing to serve and die for something. Hopefully, the latter would not be necessary, especially for a glorified kitchen patrol duty like this.

The Chimera group rolled just to the edge of the estate gardens, having already been pre-briefed there was a designated area for the armor so the treads did not sully the cobblestones. Unfortunately, when our Chimera stopped so I could disembark and direct the armor to the cordoned off area, there was a long, exquisite ground car sitting in wait. I felt I could play stupid, but anyone with any sense knew the car was waiting on myself. A butler in a black suit stood vigilant, seemingly unaffected by the weather, ready to open the door. I had to politely decline, having to say it twice so he might hear me. Even inside the shield, the wind whistled and snaked across the cold.

"Tell the Lady Arsenault I thank her for the offer, and I extend her my sincerest apologies, but I must see to the distribution of my men for her own safety, something I believe is paramount." I explained. If the Butler recited it to the letter, then she would likely be pleased, as well as not take offense. As much as I would love to be in the height of luxury, I could indulge such a vice later on. I needed to stay with my soldiers, lest I lose respect in their eyes. A lieutenant with men that neither loved nor feared them did not last very long, or at least, did not rise the ranks with any speed.

The butler was a good man, merely inclining his head and granting an 'of course' before taking the stylish vehicle back to the estate. What followed was a handful of uncomfortable minutes managing my men as they disembarked, the platoon hustling out and unloading their supplies on the small convoy that had followed in our wake, food stuffs, electronics, munitions, all set in uniform crates. Morek stood in the freeze not feeling a throne damned thing, I realized. Well, he could sit out here all he wanted. It took a good twenty minutes before I was able to find the excuse to walk inside and introduce myself to the lady, and when I did I ordered Sel and EGS1 Spade to join me. I left Morek to help the sergeants, and though Private Harmarck and Corporal Bickers were trustworthy men, they also couldn't keep their mouths shut, so I left them to haul. Pvt Elara...well let's just say I wanted to keep her out of sight from the Lady Arensault, or perhaps vice versa. Either way, I could not trust her presence either. Beyond our constant saving of one another, I knew I could trust Sel completely. Say what you will about Corporal Seldon, but she knows how to button her lip with the best of them.

The face of the estate was wide, with a short, grand stairway that led to polished white pillars framing the stained windows and grand entryway. The manor did not look as baroque as I was expecting, but to my approval it was surprisingly palladian in design. Past the carnodon statues and buttresses of cherubs, it looked surprisingly uniform and pragmatic in both expediency and defense. Speaking of which, I knew there had to be a household guard here as well, I needed to make a good impression on their captain immediately. It wouldn't do to start a fruckus on that arena either, as there was no telling how long we would be stationed here.

With a deep breath, we climbed the stairway to the oaken doors, and before we even reached level ground, they swung open.

"Corporal?" I said to Sel as we ascended, my eyes catching sight of the delectable baroness. Even in the cold, I felt my body heat rise. Even were I not to...indulge, in her advances (and that was a monumental if), I would have to entertain her or face political backlash.

"Sir?"

"Keep an eye on the men as best you can, if I am indisposed." I ordered, and sighed. "I have a feeling matters will demand my attention."

Sel opened her mouth to suggest that keeping an eye on the men was Sergeant Crispin's job but she closed it before speaking. Clearly such protestations were not going to save her from people feeling the need to involve her in decisions. She wondered how this state of affairs had come to pass when three months ago she had been happily piloting a sentinel with nothing more to worry about than the odd enemy pot shot.

"Yes Sir," she responded instead as she followed Kayden through the massive doors into a vast reception chamber. Two giant sets of stairs swept down from a marble clad mezzanine above, polished wood covered with expensive looking hand made carpet. In the center of the room stood a twenty foot statue of a handsome man in some form of archaic military uniform. Before the statue stood the Baroness, arrayed in a dress of red silk that clung to a figure that only Imperial Science could have rendered, a great white fur stole over her shoulders despite the fact that within the house the temperature was warm enough to make Sel sweat in her winter battledress.

"Ah Lieutenant," she called out in a honeyed voice, "how wonderful of you to join us." Sel managed not to grin. Typical of a nob to frame it that way, drag a whole platoon all the way out here and then frame it as a social call.

"A pleasure my lady," Kayden replied, taking her outstretched hand and kissing it in a very fancy fashion. The baroness giggled in a surprisingly girlish fashion. Other matters might demand his attention indeed Sel thought to herself. Nor was the Baroness without her own escort. Two... soldiers Sel supposed, stood beside her. Both were male and extremely handsome and wore elaborate mustaches, one of them looked enough like a male version of the Baroness to be a cousin or even a half brother. Compared to the dull battle stained gear of the guardsmen their gear was fantastical. Both wore fatigues but these were of fine tailored silk and were bright with the house colors and so stiff with gilt that they would probably stand up on their own. Over this gaudy ensemble they wore polished silver breastplates that were chased with elaborate gold engravings. Rather than lasguns they wore side arms and carried long pikes from which fluttered silken streamers. Their eyes swept the guardsmen with utter contempt. Sel suppressed as sigh. If this lot were representative of the rest of the Lady Arsenault's guards, any suggestion of training them was out the window. Sel just hoped they would stay out of the way of the real soldiers.

"Ah this is your dashing aide de camp! We saw you on the holo you know, after those beasts attacked you," the Baroness gushed, surprisingly recognising Sel. Her eyes cut back and forth between Kayden and Sel and it didn't take a pskyer to know that she was wondering what the relationship between them was.

"I'll uh... make sure the troops are set sir," Sel replied, the infalible soldiers sense that it was time to get the frak out of here prodding her.

The troops were in fact, set, having spread out around the house and set up stong points in the gardens. Only two soldiers from each squad were outside to serve as sentries, the remainder having retreated inside to make themselves more comfortable. There was no obvious drunkenness yet, not that Sel particularly cared so long as there were something left for her.

“Elara!” Sel called to the specialist as she rounded a corner to find second squad busily rifling cabinets in a pantry. The red head straightened with a guilty look, a whole chicken in one hand and a sack of what might have been flour in the other. A plump looking woman in a chefs outfit was wringing her hands but making no move to interfere.
“Uhhh…” Elara temporized but Sel waved her concern away. She didn’t give two freaks what the troops got up to so long as they didn’t burn the building down.

“Better not let Sergeant Crispin find you doing that,” she advised as Private Calfred emerged caring a pair of large fruit that he was studying with a perplexed expression. At least Sel thought it was a perplexed expression, from her experience it was possible Calfred lacked any substitutes.

“He is out establishing an OP about a click down the road, he…”

A bright orange fireball erupted on the side of the valley. The lights went out and a moment later the sound and overpressure reached them, rattling the windows and shaking jars of herbs from shelves. Sel unslung her las gun but before she could say a word there was a blinding net of light flashing in the sky as the void shield that protected the compound shattered.

“Down!” Sel shouted and dropped behind a counter. The storm which had been kept outside by the void shield was sucked in as the high pressure below voided outwards. A wall of snow and icy air surged into the valley from all directions. Several windows exploded inwards under the deluge, glasses crashed and shattered and silverware clattered across the floor. After a few moments Sel found her feet. It was almost pitch dark so she took a luminator pack from her belt and clipped it to the lug beneath the barrel of her rifle. The cold white beam swept the kitchen. None of the windows had been broken though several were now sporting large cracks.

“God Emperor, sometimes I wish they put me to peeling tubers instead of dealing with this shit,” Sel cursed. Elara came to her feet, grimly holding her roast chicken by one leg, the other hand on the grip of her gun.

“They say he has a plan for all of us,” she commented piously. Sel stepped over the ruins of cookware and kicked open the door to the balcony. Ice and snow buffeted her as she made her way to the two troopers who had been outside. Baffin and Cordoba were both alive, though the sudden storm of snow seemed to have stunned them. They had been fortunate that the large oozlite planter they had been using as a rest for their heavy bolter had acted as cover.

“All good?!” Sel shouted over the still turbulent winds. The cold was markedly more intense, biting at her neck and wrists.

“Think so Coporal,” Baffin responded, coming back to his feet. His hands went to the heavy bolter, methodically wrenching the charging handle back to cycle a round through the breach, ensuring the weapon was still serviceable.

“What in the God-Emperor’s name was that?”

“Looks like someone blew up one of the void shield nodes, or a power generator,” Sel said.

“An accident maybe?” Cordoba asked skeptically.

“An accident right after we get here?” Sel scoffed, “Keep dreaming.”

I had been in the company of enough jealous, aristocratic women to know her look and meaning. However, luckily Sel decided to retreat before there was any real issue. Then again, maybe her presence would have kept me in line, because despite my best efforts, I felt Baroness Arsenault looked particularly lovely tonight. She had certainly dressed for the occasion, and if the men flanking her were any sort of relation, they hid their distaste well. I pulled my hat off and inclined my head. "Please excuse Corporal Sel, ours is an oddity of a company. Not many in the guard have mixed sex units, it can be a bit tricky you see. But they handle themselves well so far, by my estimation."

"Yes, very strange." She agreed, but seemed to no longer dwell on it in accordance to her own desires. "But you seem to handle it well, and yourself, for that matter. Oh, you were so heroic on the holo!" I kept my posture strictly in accordance with an officer's step, but she could afford to be more casual, placing a dainty hand on my forearm. She led me into the manor, passing into the long gallery, where baroque paintings and ostentatious ornamentation hung, the tapestries and curtains lined with gold filigree. A bust of a long dead ancestor sat proudly beside a small statue in the likeness of a kneeling Sanguinius, the primarch deep in contemplation. We stepped past an enfilade of rich apartments, and reached a Grand Hall fit for a planetary governor's banquet. A number of white-clad servants went about their business, and the Lady Arsenault gave me small anecdotes of when the last painters and artisans had completed the various neo-romantic academic painting, formed the unique stylized pillars, or installed the latest set of cushioned dining chairs. I adopted a thoughtful pose, or laughed when applicable, and gave witty remarks when called for, slipping back into the role of Count's son like a glove. Eventually, she waved away her aides. The one who shared a modicum of her features gave me a measured look, but said nothing as he departed. The lady guided me out of the Grand Hall and into a small study with a brilliant view of the mountainous valley. The snow flitted past us like angels falling from grace.

"Is that man related to your lineage, by any chance?" I dared ask, glancing back in the direction of the banquet area.

"He is my second cousin, Beauford." She remarked with a hint of indignation. Somehow, the vexation on her face only added to her beauty. "He does his part, but he resents my claiming of my father's fortune. He cannot stand a woman can own the estate and our many holdings. Of course, he does not lack complete honor. When the will was announced, he promised to serve me, but if you ask me, he merely wishes to curry favor so I might place him in the will."

I nodded, and for the first time it was not an act. "Most don't appreciate a woman's worth. I'm glad to be serving in a unit that does." I said, and slid out of her grasp to gaze out of the window, all white and black. I was about to make the segue of needing to return to the men, but she struck first.

"My lord, I am reminded of my earlier thoughts," She said, approaching to gaze with me, a dramatic look to her classical visage. Lips pursed, she said, "Even if it serves its purpose, it must be difficult with so many men and women together. I imagine fraternization is looked down upon. You would not, of course. You're a man of iron will." She flattered me, and I hate to admit I felt my breast swell. "The scandal alone would be a mark on your promising career."

"Luckily, I have no attraction to those of the ranks." I said, lying through my teeth. "It simply would not do, even if I were to break our unspoken rules. I am of house Caladwarden."

My lies and my pride, as in most tales, became my downfall. She hid her smile well, instead espousing a coy, demure look. "Of course, you have more refined tastes..." She remarked huskily, and before I realized her vanguard action, the swell of her full bosom pressed against my arm. I felt both dread and a thrill pass through my body, and I glanced behind me quickly, in fear of prying eyes. "I imagine a man in your position must find it arduous to be without equal company. Without succor, without release."

I felt a scream rip through my mind, telling myself to back away, to give some modest platitude and resume looking out the window. I almost wished for the bolt of a longlas to rip through the window and strike my leg. However, despite the obvious ploy and her banal words, they still rang true. None of my intellectual reasoning could penetrate the wall my body had erected between my mind and my desires, and as if our lips had been infused by gravity, we leaned forward to kiss.

Until the manor shook like it was struck by an Astartes Thunder Hammer. The Baroness squealed in surprise and horror, and I kept both of us steady with my arms. Outside the window, there was a flash of light to the north, and took her hand and let the lady to the Grand Hall, ordering the servants to protect her as I left the room, sprinting outside. It was not the time for it, but as I ran, I was not worried about an impending attack. I was scolding myself for nearly getting involved with the damn woman! Once outside, I was hot enough to not notice the sudden chill at first, but gradually I came to realize the void shields had been destroyed. The next few minutes were followed by a flurry of activity as I ordered men and women to take positions and keep steady as I sent Sel and a small squad to check the damage. So far nothing else had deigned to attack. Perhaps it was a simple malfunction, but I waited for Sel and the rest to report back.

"Crispin, swing two squads left of the far wall to guard the flank! Brodlock, keep your squad to the right, near the vehicles! Elara, sit tight and keep the guns up. I need eyes on the road!"

Why me Sel cursed as she trudged over the broken glass that the blast had flung into the kitchens. Already rinds of ice were forming over everything and it was going to be a bastard of a job to keep pickets out here now that the void shield was down and the full fury of the storm was gusting in. The troopers had fallen back into the adjoining rooms but they couldn’t stay there, not and watch the approaches to the house. Idly she wondered if it might be possible to get some work out of the household troops. That was a laugh. Sel pushed into the pantry where second squad was busily pillaging everything before it got freezer burned by this ridiculous planet, she saw sausages, fruits, even a whole chicken disappearing into packs.

“Spade, Ruskins, Mills, Tandor, and….” Sel’s eyes wandered over the assembled troopers, all of whom had frozen in mid pilferage.

“Kolcek,” she declared with malicious pleasure, “Gear and outfront in thirty seconds!” Kolcek stuffed a ham into his rucksack and glared.

“Why me?” he asked, unconsciously echoing Sel’s thoughts of a few moments before. Sel grinned, it was not a friendly or reassuring expression.

“Given that you shot me, it might save time if you just assume you will be on any crappy job I can find for the foreseeable forever,” she told the dejected trooper. Kolcek cursed but was already grabbing his gear.

The hike up to the generator took nearly a quarter of an hour. It was easier going than it might have been, the snow having not yet had time to settle as it surely would in another hour or so. The half squad of troopers spread out in an extended line with ten meters between each of them, the best they could do with visibility. They made their way over the manicured garden and up the shallow side of the rift valley, picking there way over increasingly slippery terrain. The lights of the main house were still visible below them, though wavering and distant now.

“Couldn’t we at least have brought a chimera?” Kolcek bitched, breathing on his hands and rubbing them together. Sel privately though his continual griping boded well for his future in the guard, assuming someone didn’t empty his head with a las bolt in the immediate future.

“Chimera’s are valuable Kolcek,” Sel replied tiredly as she swept her carbine left to right.

“Unlike us?” the private objected.

“Well, unlike you,” Sel partially agreed, getting a chuckle from the rest of the troopers, “now shut up, we are close.”

The shield node was the size of a two story hab, a large blocky structure topped by an oddly foreshortened concave disc. Sel’s keen eye deduced that the reason for the malfunction was the fact that the dish had been blown off and slid fifty meters down the valley wall. They approached in line, one element leapfrogging the other until they reached the dish, then they melted around it to clear the building, doing a credible job of it that Sel steadfastly refused to credit to Sargent Crispin’s obsessive drilling on the void ship. They found no enemies, and as soon as the place was reasonably secured, Sel set Spade to look over the damage. It took the woman perhaps a quarter hour before she jogged back to the base building, inside of which they had managed to get a small fire going.

“Amateur hour Corporal,” Spade reported, thrusting her hand over the barrel in which the ruins of several pieces of furniture cheerfully blazed.

“What do you mean?” Sel asked, waving the troops around so that the news didn’t have to be repeated.

“Looks to me like someone just wedged a krack grenade in the works and waited for it to pivot. Probably lucky they didn’t take their hand off doing it, once it went off the weight of the dish basically ripped itself free.”

“And that is amateur because….?” Sel pressed. Spade shrugged.

“Only luck it worked, might just have easily of gone bang and the blast was wasted, you really need a melta charge to be sure of taking down something like this. You think it was rebels?”
“How would they have gotten through the shield to begin with, and if they did why wait to hit us?”

“They might be coming down the main drag now, saboteurs on the inside?” Spade suggested.

“If you are going to get someone inside, why not get them a melta charge?” Sel speculated.

“Im going to call it in,” Sel replied and Spade fiddled with the vox set till they got a strong link.

“Brave Six this is bravo…uhhh whatever my number is,” Sel began, “Kaiden, it looks like this was some kind of low tech sabotage with basic equipment.” She hesitated for a second.

“Whoever did it might be long gone or back in the mansion for all we know. Seldon out.”

By the time they returned to the mansion Sel’s teeth were chattering. Guard cold weather gear suffered from the unique curse of all guard issue equipment in that it never quite did what it claimed. The cold weather gear didn’t quite keep you warm, the hot weather gear didn’t quite keep you cool, the insect repellant didn't quite repel all mosquitos, and the infantryman’s primer didn’t quite tell you the truth. The one exception, by mutual agreement, was the las gun which would probably still be laying waste to the Emperor’s enemies a thousand years from now, assuming a sergeant materialized to shout at its custodians to properly oil the base plate hinge spring, and scrub the groves of the receiver housing with their toothbrush. Sel clutched her own las gun, flexing her fingers to keep the blood moving. She still had her carbine, despite vague assurances to sergeant Crispin that any day now she would turn it in and draw one of the standard Mars patterns from stores.

With the shield down, the vast manor house was much worse for wear. The inrushing blizzard had already killed most of the ornamental gardens, coating everything with a layer of clear and glistening ice. Fountains had been frozen in mid spew and cracks could be seen in the anthracite where the expansion of the fluid had broken it open.

“Bravo five this is scout element,” she voxed, reminding herself that she really should get some kind of callsign. In theory a driver shouldn’t need one but given people kept dreaming up things for her to do she might as well bow to the inevitable. Idly she wondered if Kayden was keeping warm with the baroness. Probably not, he might be a top lofty aristo but he seemed to take his soldiering seriously and the situation was still uncertain.

“Driver, this is Bravo five,” Crispin's voice came back, “you boys and girls ready to come in.”

“Roger, we are approaching over the east lawn, please don’t shoot at us. Driver out,” Sel replied, obscurely satisfied with the designation.

“Alright kids lets move it out, nice and slow,” she encouraged and stood up and walked across the frozen lawn, blades of icy grass crunching beneath her boots. Her keen eyes picked out the barrel of a heavy bolter protruding from between two marble planter boxes. She altered her course to take a look at the picket, impressed at how still the troopers there had remained.

They were still because they were dead. Two troopers, Klane and Merkaba lay in shiny pools of frozen blood. Both had been hacked open with some heavy weapon, perhaps an axe of some kind. The had been taken from behind if Sel was any judge, a blow to the head for Merkaba while she lay at the gun. It looked like Klane had tried to roll over and gotten his hands up judging by missing fingers on his left, but a second blow had split him from throat to sternum before he could so much as scream.

“Emperor's bloody balls,” Spade breathed.

“Bravo stand too!” Sel yelled into her comm bead, the cold forgotten in the sudden flood of adrenaline.

“We have troopers down and possibly enemy infiltrators,” she snapped as her squad fanned out and took cover.

"No tracks, sir. The shield breaking down caused the snow to pour in. If an astartes dreadnaught did this, we wouldn't know it."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, stifling a sigh. Every deep breath drawn outdoors was like swallowing a lungful of ice. I hadn't known Klane or Merkaba well, but they obviously did not deserve this. During Sel's excursion I had organized a number of generators graciously provided by the lady to power small arti-cells, erecting tarps over where the squads were stationed to bring some warmth and camoflauge to the men. Anyone from the hills or the road would see just a blanket of white from the snow, and the men inside would be a bit less frigid.

Stroking my chin, I began to think out loud, before deciding to refurbish the thought into a question: "It couldn't have been one of ours, none of us have anything crude that might be used like this, and there'd be no reason. Unless any of you know of any vendettas in the unit an officer wouldn't know about?" I inquired to the gathered squadron.

"No sir," Ruskins said, shaking his shaggy head. "Merkaba liked to gamble, might have taken someone for all their worth, or he owed hard, but I wouldn't think that'd lead to this."

"Sel, take your men and-" I started, then thought better of it. They looked frozen and tired as hell, though they wouldn't admit it in front of me. "Spade, Ruskins, er, Mills, Tandor, and Sel, get yourself some amasec when your shift is over. You earned it," I said, and the majority of them looked either relieved or ecstatic. "I'll check the perimeter. I'll see which specialist and a few grunts are available."

"Sir!" They all remarked in unison. I gestured them at ease, and we transported the bodies back to be examined by our medic, Falstaad. Born on a feudal world and given to the imperial tithe as a boy, he often joked he was given to the gods, but he did not become an angel like those lifted up by the adeptus astartes. He was sent straight back into the mud on another plane, only this time with ways to prolong our mortal suffering. He was exceptionally cheery for how macabre he could be, but he knew his business. Once he began his examination, I directed Crispin to keep his men on alert while I gathered up a small squad for myself.

Unfortunately for me, when I asked who Crispin recommended be my second for the shift, he said he could spare specialist Elara, alongside a few other names that were lost on me as I began to contemplate the Emperor's cruel plan.

It was a weary group that gathered in the library, knocking snow off combat boots onto the expensive rugs. A large fireplace dominated one of the walls and Spades and another trooper got it going by the simple expedient of piling up a few logs and hitting them with a gout of prometheum from a flamer. The troops were doing damage to the mansion in a hundred ways but the lady of the house seemed wealthy enough that it was doubtful she would raise too many complaints. Sel found the side board and began pouring amasec into metal cups the troops used for cooking and shaving. Some roasted salt grox was procured from somewhere and heated over the fire, combined with some soft bread and a few baskets of fruit it made a welcome change from solyens viridians.

“Don’t be so stingy with the drinks Corporal!” Ruskins complained as he knocked back half of his in a single gulp. “There is enough here to float the regiment!”

“Yes there is, and wont it be funny if someone chills the lot of us while we sleep it off?” Sel remarked pointedly, recalling them to the murders of the two troopers on the way in. Predictably the comment dampened the mood. Ruskins shifted uncomfortably.

“You think there is a rebel here somewhere?” Ruskins asked at last. Sel shrugged her shoulders.

“Maybe more than one, someone blew up the shield generator, maybe someone killed Klane and Merkaba to get back in,” Sel speculated, sipping her own amasec. It was excellent stuff, far superior to the cheap joyliq the troops normally made do with.

“Naw…” Tandor interjected as he put his feet up on a firestone inlaid coffee table.

“ ‘s big place, couldsa come in without been seen, no ticks,” he continued. Tandor’s accent had a ganger cant to it, less effectively repressed than Sel’s own.

“Maybe,” Sel disagreed. Sometimes as a scout, knowing where the enemy was and punching your way through was safer than trying to avoid detection and not knowing for sure you had been unobserved.

“You think…” a door banged open and the whole squad were on their feet in a clatter of food plates and utensils. Lasguns swung up and clicked off safe in less time than it took them to consciously think about it.

“Hold fire!” Sel yelled as she realised that the newcomers were in the livery of Lady Arsenault’s house guard, their ridiculous breastplates gleaming in the firelight. There were three of them, two flunkies and the poncing officer Sel had met when she had arrived. They looked terrified to suddenly find themselves staring down so many guns, but that melted in an instant to be replaced by anger.

“What in the Emperor’s name do you think you are doing here!” the officer blustered, glaring in horror at the casual ruin the Guard were making of the fine library.

“T’sour billet spirehead,” Tandor snarled, his las gun leveled at the officers chest, “s’frak off while ya legs s’carry ya,” he advised.

“Now see here, I will not be spoken to by a common serf who…”

“Shut your mouths!” Sel snapped, safing her weapon and lowering it. None of the household troops had drawn their weapons, and might not be able to draw them in fairness, given the elaborate knot work on their holsters. Maybe the officer could have drawn his sword, but all three of them would have been cut down in a heartbeat.

“If you have billeting problems I suggest you take it up with Lieutenant Caradwalden,” Sel replied, casually dumping the problem onto her superiors lap. The officers face whitened with fury but rather than reply he merely spun on his heels and stalked off. For a long moment there was silence, then Sel crossed to the door and closed it after the departing house guards.

“You think it might have been one of them what scragged Klane and Merkeba?” Mills asked, pouring himself a second amasec in spite of Sel’s caution to stay sober.

“Maybe, some aristo power play? Some disaffected goon letting his rebel buddies in?” Sel speculated. She picked up the decanter of amasec and drank from the neck of the bottle. Frak it, what were they going to do? Demote her to driver and attach her to an infantry squad in the middle of no where?

“I’m going to find the Lieutenant, maybe he has a plan.”

Nearly an hour had passed, and still nothing. The wind bit at my normally perfect skin, and I resisted the urge to lick my lips. It would only make them drier, I scolded myself. Even with three layers on and my overcoat, along with a standard trooper's winter head protector, I was freezing. Yes, the landscape, or what I could see of it, was breathtaking, but it would be far more enjoyable on a couch with a cup of recaf. I was so cold, I didn't even entertain the baroness's presence on my lap in that scenario. Merely being warm would suffice. However, I had an example to set for the men, and two of them lay brutally murdered in the snow. I would walk around stark naked if it meant capturing the bastards that did it any faster.

I tore my gaze from the verdant slope of the mountain to my companion. Specialist Elara had turned back too, lasgun in her hands and her figure almost a silhouette in the tempest of snow around us. It wasn't a true blizzard, but the incessant uptick of wind and the flurries of snow made it seem like we were caught in a storm. I saw a small tuft of strawberry blonde hair sticking out of her head covering as she approached, her eyes on mine.

"Clear, sir." She acknowledged, having to pull the cloth off her lips to do it. I did the same.

"Let's find Colfax and the others and turn back. Get another shift out here. I want to investigate a bit in the house, anyway." I told her, glancing past her to the manor, which was all but obscured by the weather.

"Sir, if I might make a suggestion." Elara said. I nodded, allowing her to speak. She continued: "Whoever killed Klane and Merkaba is likely someone from the house, but they seemed to know where they were. Sure, they could have gotten lucky, but it seems prudent to make some false moved in the vox broadcast, just in case they are listening in."

I pursed my lips. It was a longshot, but the suggestion wasn't without complete merit. After a moment, I shrugged. "As good an idea as any. Good job, specialist."

"Permission to accompany you inside sir, when you do. You'll need back up." She looked in my eyes with her own blue orbs, boring into them. I knew what she needed, and it wasn't what I needed. Still, some troopers deserved a few moments indoors, and despite her flirtations she was good at what she did. Plus, Morek would be with me, anyway. "Alright, but only-"

A scream was heard on the wind.

The both of us turned, trying to gauge where the sound originated from. Specialist Elara seemed confident it came from the west, and we both double timed it, lasguns at the ready as we passed by a pine and a huge mound of snow at its base. As we did so, we heard another scream, sounding like the same voice, but it suddenly seemed far, far away. Almost out of earshot, yet in the same direction. Impossible, I thought. Unless the attack had a snowmobile, they couldn't have assailed the same man in two different locations.

Suddenly Elara grabbed my jacket, and for a moment I was about to snap at her. A man was dying, desire could wait! But as my momentum halted, I realized the white blanket of snow was about to send me headlong down the mountain. Elara managed to pull me back from the brink, but as I caught my balance, I saw a carved out section in the embankment of snow. Two of them. One was larger than the other, and out of the snow, we saw the butt of a lasgun sticking out, and droplets of blood marring the otherwise perfect white of the landscape.

It was an eerie experience to walk alone through the great house. Sel had a scouts memory for twists and turns but could appreciate how easy it would be to get lost. She moved down hallways with plush carpets and across rooms tiled in party colored marble, heading for the front of the house where Kayden had last been seen. As minutes passed and she saw no staff she began to grow wary. In the hive the idea that such a large space should be empty of people seemed almost blasphemous, an impression that hadn’t been corrected by guard billets or troopships. It made her feel uneasy and there was a killer on the loose somewhere afterall. Instinctively Sel unslung her las gun and replaced the power cell taking some comfort from the familiar movement. She hadn’t fired it but the cold of the patrol could easily have drained the pack and the indicator lights weren’t always reliable no matter how diligently one might perform the Litany of Armaments. The loss of the shield was beginning to be felt, not so much in the temperature but in the dull hum of whatever back up heating systems kept the floors and rooms warm. It was probably piped hot water as in some places the marble walls were damp with condensate giving the disturbing impression that the building itself was sweating.

Perhaps because of this when Sel heard people approaching she stepped into an alcove in which an antique suit of armor stood with a double handed sword. Two figures entered from the end of the hall, their boots ringing on the marble floors.

“...lock down the house if there is a murderer on the loose,” the first voice was saying.

“It is probably just some of the Guard serfs settling scores,” the other man said, “little more than criminals and whoever can be swept up to meet the tithe.”

“They will try to blame it on us, probably part of that Colonel’s attempt to get into her ladyship’s boudoir,” the first voice replied acidly. It took a moment for Sel to realize that the ‘Colonel’ in question was Kayden. Emperor save her from these stiff shirts that couldn’t read an insignia.

“That isn’t exactly an accomplishment now is it?” Second Voice replied. There was a sudden grunt of exertion and the boots stopped moving.

“You go too far Joachim!” the first voice snapped, his words bitten out through clenched teeth.

“Appologies my Lord, I forgot myself,” the first grunted. There was a moment's silence and then the footsteps began again. Sel pressed herself back into the alcove, fighting off the urge to sneeze from the dust as the two men passed. One was the mustachioed Captain of the Guard she had been briefly introduced to, the other was a younger more heavily set man she didn’t recognise, presumably the Joachim she had heard mentioned. They were both in their polished breast plates and ridiculous tasseled uniforms complete with gilt handled sabers and sabertashes like they were off to an Emperor’s Day parade. They passed by and Sel waited in position for another two minutes to be sure they were gone before stepping out into the hallway. There was no way the killer was someone in the platoon, whatever those peacocks might think. The unit had been through a lot together, even before Sel had been forcibly welded to it and a guard platoon was no place for secrets. You couldn’t be a guardsman and be alone, you had to trust someone, and eventually word of whatever your vice was would get out, even if the audience for that gossip was small. It had to be someone from the houseguards or the staff but that didn’t narrow it down much. Sel did not much relish playing amateur sleuth, but neither did she care for the idea of waiting for someone to bring an axe down on the back of her head, she very much wanted to believe that Kayden would be able to figure it out before more people died.

It was with these maudlin thoughts in mind that she noticed a slight scuff of red on the floor as she passed a doorway that had been garishly decorated with a coat of arms. She paused, considering her options, then crossed to it and knelt down, tentatively touching her finger to the stain. They came away wet with blood. Standing quickly she pressed herself up against the wall, then reached for the door handle. With a jerk she ripped it open and went in low, the barrel of her carbine sweeping the room from left to right just like in Crispin’s endless room clearance drills. The room was a library of some kind, the walls laden with books bound in dark leather. Various trinkets were scattered around on plinths and stands, all looked valuable, all looked old. A man lay sprawled across a reading desk beside a fireplace flanked by marble carnadons. He wore the brown robes of a savant, complete with an impressive white beard and implanted oculars mounted on the bridge of his nose. He was thoroughly dead, his collarbone and upper chest carved open as though with the blow of a great axe. Bright blood from his lungs stained his robe and pooled on the desk top in a tacky pool. Sel advanced carefully, carbine leveled, though she supposed the chances that the man was about to pop up with half his guts hanging out were limited. The room was cool enough that a steam was rising from the body, which also suggested he hadn’t been dead that long. There were red marks on the carpet where the killer had clearly wiped the blood off their feet before exiting, though not quite enough to escape Sel’s attention.

“Frak this for a game of soldiers,” she muttered to herself as she approached the desk. Perhaps a medicae mortis might reveal more but all Sel could determine was that the old man was very dead. It looked as though he had been sitting at the desk when he died, perhaps reading… only there were no books or scrolls to be seen, not even scattered on the floor. There was an area free of blood that shouldn’t have been though, as though there had been a book there… but it had been removed.

“What in the Emperor’s name…” she looked up at the bookshelf and saw a hole in the line of shelved books. There should have been a volume there but it was gone. She touched her comm bead.

“Kolcek, I need back up, I’m…”

“Under arrest,” a voice came from the door. Sel spun to find herself staring down the barrel of an ornate but very functional las pistol. One of the officers who had derided the guardsmen as serfs was standing in the doorway, behind him another uniformed man with an electro-halberd. The gunman stepped into the room to make space for his minion. Sel was fast but there was no way she was going to be able to swing her weapon to bear before the twitchy looking officer lit her up.

“Drop the rifle nice and slow,” the officer demanded. Sel was tempted for a moment, but to drop a las gun with its safety off wasn’t a good idea, if it went off there was an excellent chance the officer would reflexively pull the trigger and at this range even a half trained parade ground dunce might score a hit. Instead, she set the carbine slowly down on the table top, carefully avoiding the blood, then raised her hands.

“I don’t know what you are thinking but…” the electro-halbered sparked as it’s point struck Sel in the flak armored chest. Her body convulsed and pitched her across the room into the book shelf with a crash. She fell to the carpet, fingers twitching desperately as several books rained down on top of her. There was a voice yelling in her ear but it was difficult to make out, as though it were coming from impossibly far away. Her eyes were on the spine of one of the books, more by luck than judgement. The Complete Genealogy of the Ancient and Honorable Line of Arsenault Volume 37. Strange, that her mind should pick that up. There was a taste of blood and burning hair in her mouth and her fingers and toes felt like they were on fire. A pair of polished boots came into her peripheral vision but try as she might, Sel couldn’t make her eyes track to the wearer. She tried to speak but an overwhelming pain in her chest rendered it as a high pitched whine. Then the boot came down on her head and she knew nothing more.

Our calls were unanswered, the words drowned out by the howling wind. I cursed, and slung my lasgun over my shoulder. Elara did it as I did, out of habit. However, I did not even need to look back to know she was apprehensive.

She voiced her concerns just as I predicted. "Sir, I don't advise we-"

"Our men are down there." I cut her off. Elara might be lax when it came to fraternization, but she was responsible when it counted. However, when it was needed, I was not. "Get on the vox and call it in. We can worry on who's listening in later. Just don't advertise I'm with you. If they're ours, they'll already know."

There was a moment's hesitation, before a burst of static and Elara's voice ringing in. "Forward unit to base, unit two is missing. We have found their trail." She rattled off brief coordinates as I began the slow descent down the wintry slope. The decline was rather sharp, but the indention made by the falling men showed the hard ground was not too far beneath the snow, and it was far less than impossible. Despite the wind and the blood on the trail, only a few feet to my right the thirty meters we descended, it wasn't that unpleasant of an experience. Perhaps it was a small way of coping with the unexpected violence, but I was reminded of one of the few times in my life I appreciated my father. We were on the trail of a large Primus Deer in the Askian mountains, and spent three days tracking through the snow. His endurance had been inspiring, leading me out of the wilds with our prize in tow. It only made my resentment of him that much greater, and the wish to outdo him.

The decline ended in a sharp, ten foot drop. Unfortunately, I did not know that, and slipped, falling the ten feet onto an embankment of snow. Elara slowed to a stop above me, calling out if I was alright. It was mostly my pride that was wounded.

"It was deliberate!" I called, hastily getting to my feet. My tailbone ached, but otherwise I was fine. "Didn't want you to go first."

"Such a gentleman," she responded diplomatically, dropping down next to me with far more grace. She added, "sir" as she patted herself down.

However, the limited flat ground we found ourselves on looked to be the natural porch to some sort of roughly hewed tunnel in the ground. The tunnel was large enough for the both of us to walk in abreast, and the curiosity of its existence was superseded when, as the wind died down, we were granted a clearer picture of the first few meters of the mysterious cavern. What I saw then brought a shock of terror down my spine, and I gaped. Beside me, Elara gasped.

"Throne above, what could have done this?" I asked breathlessly, stepping forward, lasgun held high.

On the floor of the tunnel's mouth, I saw what looked like the remnants of a kill. It was chunks of bloodied meat and bone, a visceral collage of slaughter. Someone or something had taken a chainsword or something equally as deadly, and had hacked this victim apart so violently, I would have never guessed it had once been human, did I not see tatters of our uniform in the pile of gore.

Our horror was interrupted by another scream down the tunnel, shattering our focus. I recognized the voice. "It's Carigen!" I yelled, which meant the poor soul before our feet was Colfax. I glanced at Elara, and despite the fear in her eyes, I knew she was with me. "Let's move."

We stepped past poor Colfax, keeping silent with our lasguns raised. I flipped mine to full auto, and despite my earlier claim being a bluster, I refused to get behind Elara. She did not look to be complaining, and I wondered just what had made this tunnel in the mountain. It did not look like something carved by man, but it was too big to be an animal's burrow, even a large animal. The ground was almost perfectly flat, as if blades had evened most of the inconsistencies in the earth. We couldn't move quickly, because despite the symmetrical tunnel, the darkness was quickly closing in. Twelve meters in, even the light reflected off the ice and snow was getting dim, but we heard a wet, squelching in the dark. The sound turned my stomach, but when I activated the illuminator mounted on my lasgun, something I had been loathe to do before to give away our position, I was faced with another of my men meeting a terrible fate.

The upper body of Carigen shook gently, his face a mask of distress and terror. It faced us as if expecting our arrival in a grisly welcome. I turned my light to the left, but whatever had been devouring the lower half of the trooper moved quicker than I could react. I pulled the trigger, a stream of lasbolts erupting from the barrel with loud CRACKs that echoed off the tunnel walls, hitting the floor where the beast had been a moment before. I only saw pieces of it. Scythe-like protrusions along the back, a slick, armored hide, I couldn't be sure how many limbs. It rushed down another tunnel, and to my surprise I found we were at an underground crossroads, five different tunnels leaving a central chamber. I stepped over Carigen and returned to firing down the tunnel the abomination had sped down. I couldn't be sure if I heard a cry of pain. I believe I did, but Elara was at my side, begging us to go.

I knew she was right. Both men dead, and I couldn't be sure I had killed...whatever the hells it was. I ripped Carigen's dogtag off his corpse, and together we ran back into the snowy landscape. We needed to warn the others, and we likely needed a bloody drink as well.

“Fraking chill you spive toffs…” Sel mumbled as she came back to consciousness. For a moment she thought she was running across rock in her sentinel but then she realized it was merely the pounding in her head. Well not merely. It fracking hurt. Something seized her head and yanked it back and bright lights burned into her eyes. She groaned in pain and tried to twist away but her legs and wrists were lashed. Nausea coiled in her guts and she struggled not to vomit. Fortunately her electrecuted abdominal muscles refused to tense. Yep everything was coming up Seldon.

“Save your breath scum,” someone with lho scented breath said from just off to her left. Sel lashed out with her forehead and was rewarded with a satisfying impact and scream of pain. The clash made her head spin and toppled her over. Judging by the wrenching at her writs she was tied to a chair. She tensed as a series of blows, kicks by the feel of them, battered her head and chest. Amazingly her flack vest was still on and soaked the worst of the blows. Pain ripped through her head as someone grabbed her by the hair and dragged her upright, the chair rocking as it settled. Sel spat blood and forced her memories into somthing like a proper order.

“You will regret that bitch!” someone snarled. Abruptly the lights lowered and Sel could make out the room around her. She was in a drawing room, tied to a chair that probably cost more credits than she had seen in her entire life. The room was respelendent with marble, the ceterpiece an impressive carved desk that was too neat to be regularly used. Three members of Lady Arsenault’s militia stood before her, the Captain, Joachim, and what was probably supposed to be a sergeant. Any Guard seargeant would be ashamed to be suckered by a headbutt like that, and he obviously felt the shame as he clutched his lip and stared at her hatefully.

“What the frak is going on here,” she muttered, tugging at her bonds. They seemed to be some kind of polymerized rope and were fastened securely, fortunately they were also slick and she was able to work some slack into her ankles at least.

“We are asking the questions? Why did you murder Savant Bosk?” Joachim demanded, staying far enough back that Sel couldn’t spit on him. She tried anyway, the Uplifting Primer suggested that the effort itself was noble, the bloodied spit landed a few feet short of his boot but perhaps it pleased Him on Earth none the less.

“Who? The old man in the library? I never touched him, just found him before you showed up and zapped me. You are lucky it wasn’t Sergeant Crispin, he would have fed you your own arms,” she blustered.

“Corpral Seldon, where in the Throne’s name are you?” Sergeant Crispin’s voice came through her vox bead, triggered by his name. Emperor’s teeth they were amateurs. That made it all the more galling that they had managed to get the drop on her but in her defense she had been dealing with a partially disarticulated savant.

“A likely story, you were found over the body, you conveniently found the bodies of your dead comrades, we are supposed to believe that is some kind of coincidence?”

“Look I don’t know what you people are thinking, but I never expected to be abducted by Lady Arsenault’s goons,” Sel replied.

“Abducted? What are you talking about?” Crispin’s voice demanded on her vox. Joachim stepped up and slapped her hard across the face.

"Did you see me with a weapon, you think I did tall dark and nerdy with my bayonet?" she demanded, "thrones above you are the worst investigators ever."

"You watch your tongue serf or we shall have it pulled out!" Joachim snapped, his face pinched with anger. Sel was about to say that this would make it hard for her to answer anymore question but decided against further goading the aristocrats.

“Look I’m sure you just contact Lord Caradwalden he would be happy to straighten everything out,” Sel tried. She suspected he would be more than happy to straighten out any number of these parade ground soldiers once he found out they were abducting his people. Instantly she knew she had miscalculated as Joachim gave the Captain a withering look.

“Yes I’m sure your lover would be more than happy to beg the Baroness to spare you,” Joachim sneered.

“My what?!” Sel demanded.

“Your what?” Crispin’s voice echoed unhelpfully in the vox. For the love of Terra could the man just not get a squad in here and pull her ass out of the fire? Why was she the only competent soldier in the entire frakking Imperial Guard?

“We are wasting our time here, she was caught red handed, let us execute her and be done,” the captain said loftily. Joachim nodded his agreement and reached for a side arm.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Joachim agreed. Crispin was yelling in her vox now but there was no time to pay attention to that, she was also rather exercised about how events were transpiring.

“Wait wait wait!” Sel yelped in alarm, “hold on, I will confess! I just have one question!”

“Oh?” Joachim asked, “and what is that serf?” Sel let her head sag forward and mumbled something unintelligible. Joachim stepped forward, pistol in hand, leaning down to her level.

“What was that?” he asked, eyes narrow with hate.

“I said… why do you want to lose your teeth?” she snarled and leaped to her feet, driving the crown of her head into his chin. It was a mighty blow, the full force of her powerful legs beneath it, chin tucked in to make her spine into a ram with its point of impact right on the point of the aristocrats chin. Joachim’s teeth clacked shut like a gun shot and he staggered back, blood spurting from his face. Sel kicked the gun as it fell and the powerful las bolt cracked into a wall. Screaming at the top of her lungs she charged at the door, still tied to the chair. Her shoulder hit the panel and it flew open and she tumbled through. The sergeant was screaming curses and charging after her. Sel twisted on the ground and kicked the door closed, slamming it into the man's face with another satisfying crack. She kicked again and again until the door slammed and latched. The impact had knocked the vox bead out of her hear but there was no time to try and pick it up. Awkwardly she rolled to her feet and bolted down the hallway, the chair still lashed to her wrist and thighs, hoping that she could find some guardsmen before she ran into more of the Baroness’ guard.

I often liked to joke I was a man of action, when really I was more a man of strategy. It's true, I did run from my family's legacy to gain renown for battlefield action, and I might be a fine duelist and a steady gun hand, but it's not beyond my pride to admit I would rather be kilometers away from the action and moving troops from intel rather than fighting on the front lines. However, the men would not make light of the story specialist Elara would tell them, nor what occurred when we made it back.

The ascension was much harsher than sliding down, as you might imagine, but as we were able to help one another, we made it back to the top with little difficulty. The snow had led up a bit, or perhaps it was simply the wind, but I could already make out the silhouette of the main house as we crested the edge of the decline. Elara rubbed her hands, her face sallow from the violence she had seen, but still relishing the chance to warm herself inside.

"You acquitted yourself well," I told her, trying to be less familiar while still maintaining a positive rapport.

She gave a mirthless chuckle. "I certainly watched very skillfully."

No sooner had we arrived, that I received a message on the vox. Elara helped me through a pack of snow as I hailed the message.

"Sir, corporal Sel is in trouble." Crispin's voice cracked over the static. "I don't know her position, but I have men sweeping the area."

The question formed on my lips, but I acknowledged without further hesitation and hurried through the thin area of camp as men rushed around me. I knew where she was, or had an idea at least. I had allowed her a moment of respite, and anyone sane would go into the more public areas of the mansion. Elara called my name but I rushed past the guard we had set and took out my laspistol, my lasgun still shouldered. One of my men saluted my approach, only to scramble out of the way as I rammed through the great doors to the front lobby of the mansion. The snow that accompanied my entrance was the only movement, but I heard distant shouts. It sounded as if it were coming from the west wing. I sprinted, cursing myself for a fool. Of course my men would not patrol the inner mansion, and nor would they deem it good to burst in, even when notified of a direct attack.

I turned the corner just in time to see Sel's hobble break, and my bruised aid crashed to the floor as a bloodied sergeant and two other men followed suit. I recognized one as an officer. An electro-halberd was held by one of the guards, a nasty weapon if it got close to you. The officer was waving about a saber, but the sergeant seemed keen to put his hands on Sel. I shouted for them to stop, but I only received a tirade of accusations and blusters back, all intermingled together to be indecipherable. So in order to speak their language, I fired three shots into the leading sergeant, taking out his legs. He screamed in agony and hit the floor, far harder than Sel had, I was satisfied to acknowledge.

My aim went directly to the officer, and my look stopped him cold.

"You struck my man!" He said, aghast. There was the promise of violence in his eyes. "Colonel or no, you'll pay for this."

"You first." I said evenly, not even deigning to acknowledge the ridiculous 'Colonel.' It was clear they would advance no further, and I knelt down to free Sel. Taking out my boot knife, I cut her bonds. Bruised and concussed, she was still as tough as ever, rising to her feet after a brief shaking of her limbs. "Are you alright?"

"I think so, sir." She remarked shakily. "Damned parade groun-" Sel stopped herself, but I grinned at the curse.

"We'll sort it out." I promised her, my eyes on the officer's.

“What is going on here?!” a voice boomed from the door. The Captain of Lady Aresenault’s guard strode into the room flanked by three of his flunkies. All three had fancy looking but probably functional las guns and the Captain had his hand on an elegantly tooled white leather holster. Joachim and his men glared daggers at the guardsmen and seemed on the verge of violent action until Sergeant Crispin and the balance of first squad came boiling through the doors after Kayden. Their las guns were more than probably functional and trooper Elwys had a flamer strapped to her back, the pilot light burning bright blue in the chill air and a disconcerting look of manic excitement on her face. Sel reflected that during her entire time with the sentinel squadron she had never once been hit over the head, accused of murder, or tied to a chair, and reflected on the general unfairness of the universe in general and the Imperial Guard in particular.

“Sir!” Joachim snapped, performing a parade ground salute and stepping around the moaning sergeant to level his saber at Sel.

“We have apprehended Savant Bosk’s murderer and were interrogating her when she attempted to escape, assaulting me in the process,” he reported, rubbing his split lip to enhance his point.

“These serfs are interfering in our efforts to do justice!”

“The hell we are,” Crispin snapped, his hand on the hilt of his chainblade. Crispin did not particularly like Sel but he had a guardsman’s instinct to side with a comrade against a civilian.

“You arrested and interrogated one of my troopers without consulting me?” Kayden demanded dangerously. Sel flexed her hands, they had taken her las carbine and her pistol and it made her more than uncomfortable to be unarmed in such a tense situation.

“Your ‘trooper’ murdered Savant Bosk!” Joacim insisted, his lips white with rage.

“Like criffin’ hell I did,” Sel snapped back.

“Watch your mouth serf or…”

“Call me serf one more time and I’ll shove that saber up your..”

“What is going on here?” Lady Arsenault demanded as she swept in from a side door. Her ladyship was dressed in regal finery of white silk with a spectacular white fur cloak. Several guardsmen twitched but a look from Kayden was enough to stop them for actually pointing any guns at the Lady.

“These gentlemen were accusing one of my troops of murder my Lady Aresenault,” Kayden said in a calm courtly voice.

“Someone has been murdered? How beastly!” the noblewoman gasped.

“Well Seldon?” Kayden asked, “did you murder Savant Bosk?” Sel glanced around noting that all eyes were upon her.

“What the frak,” she asked, “is a Savant Bosk?” The room devolved into frantic shouting and gesturing with weapons. Joachim tried to rush across the room but was restrained by his own troops. Lady Arsenault went as white as her dress and backed away from the impending violence, Sel backed up behind Kayden and Sergeant Crispin.

“Lieutenant!!” Spades shouted as he came rushing down the hallway.

“LIEUTENANT!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, a sound so improbably loud it momentarily quieted the altercation and he found himself being glared at by the whole gathering. Spades promptly went red, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“You had something to contribute Specialist?” Kayden asked with commendable sangfroid.

“Uh.. sir… the pickets… we have moment coming down the valley!” Spades reported.