“What do you mean there are no replies!” I raged as I stalked around the astroparlour, weaving in between heavy cables and lit taper. Pungent and unpleasant incense cloyed my nose, half concealing the smell of the unpleasant hormonal biproducts of the astropaths trade.

Master Ackarac, an ancient and wizened astropath looked unhappy, although given that his eyes were covered with a bar of gilded brass. His head was liver spotted and covered with neural input leads and purity seals. Rivulets of wax ran down his skull atop lines of scar tissue from the burns.

 

“I only state that there are no messages for you Mademoiselle,” he replied in a voice like crackling parchment. This was my second visit to his parlor, an annex of a temple that had been repurposed when the grander Temple of St Eustacia had been opened. The local astropathica now coexisted with a convent of Sister Hospitilar and a number of trading firms whose piety was no doubt increased by easy access to astropathic communication. The astroparlor was in a large nave surrounded on all four sides by impressive statues, each twenty yards tall, reached upwards towards the ceiling in worship to the God Emperor. Well it was supposed to be worship, the miles of cable trucking and cogitator banks that the astropaths used depended form the ceiling, giving the impression  that the statues were in the process of ripping the wires down.

 

I had visited four hours before and hurled off a dozen astropathic communications. Some would take weeks to arrive but many were intra system or close enough that I should have replies by now. Some were to allies of Hadrian, some were to personal agents of mine I had established in the past few years. Several had been to the manor at Agesilea. None had replied. Not one. Not my occult research team on Calpyra Major, not Hadrian’s man hunting operation in the Hive City of Megalini, not even the trading house which provided most of our discretionary income. What that meant I didn’t know. Ackarac assured me that normal astropathic communication was proceeding. Other people had messages coming through, just not me, and not Hadrian. What that meant I didn’t know but there as a cold pit forming in my stomach as each minute passed.

“Ah,” Ackarac said, stiffening slightly, his fingers began to fly across an ancient bone keypad, if it had ever borne any markings they had long since been worn away. The green phosphor screen clicked out a lengthy astropathic header, identifying a message from Eypsilon Kannaday, where I had a team of librarians scouring the archives there for certain esoteric references. The message was not from my cell though, it was from the Sub Sector Office of the Arbities. They urged me to get in touch with them with the full threat of Lex Imperialis as a stick if I didn’t bite on the carrot. Ackarac swallowed but was to professional to say anything at the unexpected message. There weren’t many good reasons why the Arbities would be taking an interest in my doings. Probably something had happened and they were now watching message traffic. I resisted the urge to chew on my fingernail. I came close to sending a message to the Ordos headquarters on Kaushambi but resisted the urge. Hadrian should make the decision, as soon as he returned. But I did need to do something. Someone was gouging at our eyes and we needed to know who and why.

“Very well. If Malcador won’t come to the Mountain, then the Mountain must go to Malcador,” I said, feeling a grim determination steal over me. Ackarac clearly felt it as well and started to cringe back, his input plugs scraping on the oozlite floor. I don’t know if he knew I was a practitioner, astropaths have tremendous power within their own narrow area of expertise, but in some ways they are as blind as the Blunts. I reached out and placed my hand on his head before he could escape his plugs. He made a mewling sound and began to tremble as my mind began to worm it’s way into his. He wasn’t as old as he looked, but God Emperor he ached in his bones, the power he weielded was  hollowing him out, day after day, month after month. He had tumors in his intestines. He had terrible arthritis in his left hip but it was his mind I wanted. A normal psyker could not cast their mind across the stars, no one could without union with the Emperor, even with control of Ackarac I couldn’t do anything so grand. What I could do, was throw my mind out into the void, piggy backing on the Astropath’s strange mental architecture as I sought a familiar mind on the other side of the world. If only I could…

 

Azimuth was 22.3 degrees. The wind was coming from the south south east at zero.zero one kilometers, range was three hundred point zero.one… 01110111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101000 01100101 01101100 01101100. I squeezed the trigger reflexively. For the first time in it’s storied history the ancient weapon misfired, the bolt inexplicably freezing on the way to the implosion chamber. Protocol Janus-Alpha-Merovinge. Clear a seized weapon. Blessings be to the Omminisah in is bounty that he give me this machine to aid me and that willingly I beseech its spirit in aid of his grand design.

I was in a boat. A low hulled rubberized intrusion model and looking up at a cliff. My augmentics hummed as they drew back the bolt and let it forward with a snap. My breathing stopped. It didn’t slow, it was suspended entirely while I took up the sight picture, a trio of mercenaries trying to horse a heavy weapon onto the boat from the cliff. The arquebus thundred and the men flew apart in a spurt of nuclear fire. I was looking at Agesilla. The estate was burning. I could see my Tower blazing, my augmetics reporting it at over 10010110000 degrees. A melta bomb or minaturuized plasma charge judging from the burst pattern drawn out in air as it differentially cooled. Clara was shouting something and firing a las rifle at a pursuing boat, her wild laser blasts shattering a search light that stabbed from its bow. The main building was belching smoke also and I could hear the keening of fliers, my audiopneumonic sensors providing me with probably flight paths and speeds.

 

Begone fell Daemon. For the Ommnisah abhors thee and though hath no place in his righteous computation. For he protects us from the Crash, from the Hard Rads, From the Thousand Corruptions of the Great Byte. Lazarus was praying, I could feel it scratching at his/Ackarac/My mind. I had a academic curiosity as to whether he would be able to expel me with the catechism but now was not the time.

It is Emmaline.

I thought the Daemon was supposed to come in a pleasing guise.

Damn, what a cutting little bitch.

You are under attack.

01101111 01100010 01110110 01101001 01101111 01110101 01110011 01101100 01111001 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101001 01100100 01101001 01101111 01110100

No need to be rude about it.

You invaded my mind 01100100 01101001 01110010 01110100 01111001 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110100 01100011 01101000

We are under attack too at [City]. We are safe for now but all off planet resourses are compromised and presumbed destroyed. The arquebus fired again, telemetry data pouring down my vision, the pursuing boat exploded in a tower of spray that continued to spray tracer rounds for a last few seconds before it crashed back to the storm tossed sea. He seemed to consider this, though it was only apparent as a 0.010 percent decrease in the data flow he was prossesing.

Kronus Protocol.

 

Then he kicked me out of his mind. Look, I’m not here to brag but NOONE kicks me out of their mind. Only Lazarus did. He didn’t force me out exactly he simply… rebooted himself. Total ego death restored a micro second later by enegramatic back ups that left me hanging on an empty vox line. Kind of a shock when someone kills themselves just to get rid of you. I snapped out of the connection staggering away from Ackarac. Smoke was rising from the astropaths ears and bloody drool fell from his lips. He gripped his head with both hands and shook it violently as though trying to discourage a biting fly. Liveried guards in the garb of the astropathicus were rushing towards me, shock batons drawn.

“Help!” I squeaked, “he just went crazy!” The guards hesitated but I was already backing up, getting out of their way as they rushed towards their stricken master. I noticed as I did so that the astropath was soaked with sea water and that the impression of my hand was burned into his head like a livid scar. I let myself out before that occurred to the guards.

 

I needed to talk to Hadrian. And soon.