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  There are a number of ways of ensuring that this is the case. Bribery and threats are always popular, but generally to be avoided, especially if you're likely to attract inquisitorial attention as they're better at both and tend to resent other people resorting to their methods.1 Besides, that sort of thing tends to leave a residue of bad feeling which can come back to haunt you later on. In my experience it's far more effective to make sure that the other members of the panel are honest, unimaginative idiots with a strong sense of duty and a stronger set of prejudices you can rely on to deliver the result that you want. If they think you're a hero, and hang on your every word, so much the better.

  So when Parjita announced his verdict of guilty on all charges, and turned to me with a self-satisfied smirk, I had my strategy worked out well in advance. The courtroom - a hastily converted wardroom generally used by the ship's most junior officers - went silent.

  There were five troopers in the dock by the time the trial had begun; far fewer than Parjita had wanted, but in the interests of fairness and damage limitation I had managed to persuade him to let me deal summarily with most of the outstanding cases. Those guilty of more minor offences had been demoted, flogged, or assigned to latrine duty for the

  1 This is, of course, entirely untrue. As His Divine Majesty's most faithful servants, we're most definitely above such petty emotions as resentment.

  foreseeable future and safely returned to their units, where, in the unfathomable processes of the trooper's mindset, I had somehow become the embodiment of justice and mercy. This had been helped along by a little judicious myth-making among the senior officers, who had let it be known that Parjita was hellbent on mass executions and that I had spent the past few weeks exerting every iota of my commissarial authority in urging clemency for the vast majority, finally succeeding against almost impossible odds. The net result, aided no end by my fictitious reputation, was that a couple of dozen potential troublemakers had been quietly integrated back into the roster, practically grateful for the punishments they'd received, and morale had remained steady among the rank and file.

  The problem now facing me was that of the hardcore recidivists, who were undoubtedly guilty of murder or its attempt. There were five of them facing the courtroom now, wary and resentful.

  Three of them I recognised at once, from the melee in the mess hall. Kelp was the huge, over-muscled man I'd seen being stabbed, and Trebek, to my complete lack of surprise, was the petite woman who had almost disembowelled him. They stood at opposite ends of the row of prisoners, glaring at one another almost as much as at Parjita and myself, and if it hadn't been for their manacles, I had no doubt they'd be at one another's throats again in a heartbeat. In the centre was the young

  trooper I'd seen stab the provost with a broken plate; his datafile told me his name was Tomas Holenbi, and I'd had to look twice to make sure it was the same man. He was short and skinny, with untidy red hair and a face full of freckles, and he'd spent most of the trial looking bewildered and on the verge of tears. If I hadn't seen his fit of homicidal rage for myself I would hardly have believed him capable of such insensate violence. The real irony was that he was a medical orderly, not a front line soldier at all.

  Between him and Trebek was another female trooper, one Griselda Velade. She was stocky, brunette, and clearly out of her depth as well. The only one of the group to have killed a fellow trooper, she had claimed throughout that she'd only intended to fend him off; it was an unlucky blow that had crushed the fellow's larynx and left him to suffocate on the mess room floor. Parjita, needless to say, hadn't bought it, or cared whether she intended murder or not; he just wanted as many Valhallans in front of a firing squad as he could manage.

  On Holenbi's other side was Maxim Sorel, a tall, rangy man with short blond hair and the cold eyes of a killer. Sorel was a sharpshooter, a long-las specialist, who snuffed out lives from a distance as dispassionately as I might swat an insect. Of all of them, he was the one who most threw a scare into me. The others had been carried away by the blood-lust of a mob, and hadn't really been responsible for their actions past a certain point, but Sorel had slid a

  knife through the joints of a provost's body armour simply because he hadn't seen any reason not to. The last time I'd looked into eyes like those they'd belonged to an eldar haemonculus.

  'If it was up to me,' Parjita said, continuing, 'I would have the lot of you shot at once.'

  I glanced down the line of prisoners again, and noted their reactions. Kelp and Trebek glared defiantly back at him, daring him to make good on the threat. Holenbi blinked, and swallowed rapidly. Velade gasped audibly, biting her lower lip, and began to hyperventilate. To my surprise I saw Holenbi reach across and give her hand a reassuring squeeze. Then again, they'd been in adjoining cells for weeks now, so I suppose they'd had time to get to know each other. Sorel simply blinked, a complete lack of emotional response that sent shivers down my spine.

  'Nevertheless/ the captain went on, 'Commissar Cain has been able to persuade me that the Commissariat is better suited to maintaining discipline among the Imperial Guard, and has requested that they be permitted to pass sentence according to military rather than naval regulations.' He nodded cordially to me. 'Commissar. They're all yours.'

  Five pairs of eyes swivelled in my direction. I stood slowly, glancing down at the dataslate on the table in front of me.

  'Thank you, captain.' I turned to the trio of black-uniformed figures sitting at my side. 'And thank you, commissars. Your advice in this case has been

  invaluable to me.' Three solemn heads nodded in my direction.

  This was the trick, you see. My earlier contact with the other commissars on board had unexpectedly paid off, showing me who would be the most easily swayed by my arguments. A couple of eager young pups just past cadet, and a jaded old campaigner who had lived most of his life on the battlefield. And all of them flattered from here to Terra to be taken into the confidence of the celebrated Ciaphas Cain. I turned back to the prisoners.

  A commissar's duty is often harsh,' I said. 'Regulations are there to be obeyed, and discipline to be enforced. And those regulations do indeed prescribe the ultimate penalty for murder, unless there are extenuating circumstances - circumstances, I have to admit, I have striven to find in this case to the best of my abilities.' I had them all on the hook by now. The fans in the ceiling ducts sounded almost as loud as a chimera engine. And to my great disappointment, I have been unsuccessful.'

  There was an audible intake of breath from practically every pair of lungs present. Parjita grinned triumphantly, sure he'd got the blood vengeance he lusted after.

  'However/ I went on after a fractional pause. A faint frown appeared on the captain's face, and a flicker of hope on Velade's. As my esteemed colleagues will undoubtedly agree, one of the heaviest burdens a commissar must carry is the responsibility to ensure that the regulations are obeyed not

  only in the letter, but the spirit. And it was with that in mind that I took the liberty of consulting with them about a possible interpretation of those regulations which I felt might offer a solution to my dilemma/ I turned dramatically to the little group of commissars, taking the opportunity to underline that it wasn't just me cheating Parjita out of his firing squad, it was the Commissariat itself. 'Again, gentlemen, I thank you. Not only on my behalf, but on behalf of the regiment I have the honour to serve with.'

  I turned to Kasteen and Broklaw, who were observing proceedings from the side of the courtroom, and inclined my head to them too. I was laying it on with a trowel, I don't mind admitting it, but I've always enjoyed being the centre of attention when that doesn't involve incoming fire.

  'A commissar's primary concern must always be the efficiency of the unit to which he is attached,' I said, 'and, by extension, the battlefield effectiveness of the entire Imperial Guard. It's a heavy responsibility, but one we are proud to bear in the Emperor's name.' The other commissars nodded in sycophantic self-congratulation. And that mea
ns that I'm always loath to sacrifice the life of a trained soldier, whatever the circumstances, unless it's the only way to win His Glorious Majesty the victories He requires.'

  'I assume that you're eventually going to come to a point of some kind?' Parjita interrupted. I nodded, as though he'd done me a favour instead of

  disrupting the flow of an oration I'd been practising in front of the mirror in my stateroom for most of the morning.

  'Indeed I am/ I said. 'And the point is this. My colleagues and I/ - no harm in reminding everyone again that this was a carefully contrived consensus, not just me - 'see no point in simply executing these troopers. Their deaths will win us no victories/

  'But the regulations…/ Parjita began. This time it was my turn to cut him off in full flow.

  'Specify death as the punishment for these offences. It just doesn't specify immediate death/ I turned to the line of confused and apprehensive prisoners. 'It's the judgement of the commissariat that you all be confined until it becomes expedient to transfer you to a penal legion, where an honourable death on the battlefield will almost certainly befall you in the fullness of time. In the interim, should a particularly hazardous assignment become available, you will have the honour of volunteering. In either case you can expect the opportunity to redeem yourselves in the eyes of the Emperor/ I raked my eyes along the shabby little group again. Kelp and Trebek, their truculence mitigated by surprise, Holenbi still bewildered by the sudden turn of events, Velade almost sobbing with relief, and Sorel… Still that blank expression, as though none of this mattered at all. 'Dismissed/

  I waited until they'd shuffled out, assisted by the shock batons of the escorting provosts, and turned back to Parjita.

  ЛУШ that satisfy you, captain?'

  'I suppose it'll have to/ he said sourly.

  'Congratulations, commissar.' Kasteen raised a glass of amasec, toasting my victory, and the mess hall erupted around me. I smiled modestly, walking towards the table occupied by the senior officers, while men and women clapped and cheered and chanted my name, and generally carried on as though I was the Emperor Himself dropping in for a visit. I half expected some of them to try patting me on the back, but respect for my position, or an understandable reluctance to get too close to Jurgen, who was dogging my heels as usual, or both, held them in check. I held up my hands for silence as I reached my seat, between Kasteen and Broklaw, and the room gradually fell quiet.

  'Thank you all/ I said, injecting just the right level of barely perceptible quaver into my voice to suggest powerful emotion held narrowly in check. 'You do me too much honour for just doing my job/ A chorus of denial and adulation followed, as I'd known it would. I waved them to silence again. 'Well, if you insist…' I waited for the gale of laughter to die down. 'While I have everyone's attention; and that's a refreshing novelty for a political officer…' More laughter; I had them in the palm of my hand now.

  I waved them to silence again, adopting a slightly more serious mien. 'I would just like to offer some

  congratulations of my own. In the short time I've had the privilege of serving with this regiment you have all far exceeded my most optimistic expectations. The past few weeks have been difficult for all of us, but I can state with confidence that I have never served with a body of troops more ready for combat, and more capable of seizing victory when that time comes/ With confidence, certainly. Truthfully? That was another matter entirely. But it had the desired effect. I picked up a glass from the table, and toasted the room. 'To the 597th. A glorious beginning!'

  The 597th!' they all shouted, men and women alike, swept along with cheap emotion and cheaper rhetoric.

  'Nicely done, commmissar/ Broklaw murmured as I sat. The cheers were still deafening. 'I believe you've turned us into a proper regiment at last/

  I'd done something a lot more important than that, of course. I'd established myself as a popular figure among the common troopers, which meant they'd watch my back if I was ever careless enough to find myself anywhere near the actual combat zone. Pulling them together into an effective fighting force was just a useful bonus.

  'Just doing my job/ I said as modestly as I could, which is what they all expected, of course. And they lapped it up.

  And not before time/ Kasteen added. I kept my features carefully composed, but felt my good mood begin to evaporate.

  'We've had our orders?' Broklaw asked. The colonel nodded, picking at her adeven salad. 'Some backwater dirtball called Gravalax/ 'Never heard of it,' I said.

  Editorial Note:

  Given Cain's complete, and typical, lack of interest in any thing that doesn't concern him directly, the following extract may prove useful in placing the rest of his narrative in a wider context. It must be said that the book from which it comes isn't the most reliable of guides to the campaign as a whole, but it does, unlike most studies of the Gravalax incident, at least attempt to sketch in the hustorical background to the conflict. Despite the author's obvious limitations as a chronicler of events, his summing up of the causus belli is su6stantially correct.

  * * *

  From Purge the Guilty! An impartial account of the liberation of Gravalax, by Stententious Logar. 085.M42

  The seeds of the Gravalax incident were sown many years before the full magnitude of the crisis was realised, and in retrospect, it may well be easy to discern the slow unfolding of an abhuman conspiracy over the span of several generations. A historian, however, has the perspective of hindsight, which, alas, cannot be said of the actual participants. So, rather than pointing an accusatory finger, with righteous cries of 'how could they have been so stupid?' it behooves us more to shake our heads in pity as we contemplate our forebears' blind stumbling into the very brink of destruction.

  It goes without saying that no blame can be attached to the servants of the Emperor, particularly those concerned with the ordering of His Divine Majesty's fighting forces and the diligent adepts of the Administratum; the Ultima Segmen-tum is vast, and the Damocles Gulf an obscure frontier sector. After the heathen tau were put in their place by the heroic crusader fleet in the early seven-forties, attention rightly shifted to more immediate threats; the incursion of hive fleet Leviathan, the awakening of the accursed necrons, and the ever-present danger from the traitor legions not least among them.

  Nevertheless, the tau presence remained on the fringes of Imperial space, and, all but unnoticed, they began once again to encroach on His Divine Majesty's blessed dominions.

  Up until this point Gravalax had been an obscure outpost of civilisation, barely noticed by the wider galaxy. Enough of its landmasses were fertile to keep its relatively sparse population tolerably well fed, and it possessed adequate mineral reserves for such industry as it supported. In short, it had nothing to attract any trade, and an insufficient population base to be worth tithing for the Imperial Guard. It was, to be blunt, a backwater, devoid of anything of interest.

  If Gravalax thought it was to remain undisturbed indefinitely, however, it was sadly mistaken. Within a century of their drubbing at the righteous hands of the servants of the Imperium, the black-hearted tau were back, spreading their poisonous heresies through the Gulf once more. When they first chanced upon Gravalax no one knows,1 but by the turn of the last century of the millennium they were well established there.

  It will come as no surprise to my readers, aware as we must be of the innate treachery of all aliens, that they had arrived at this pass by an insidious process of infiltration. And, shocking though it is to record

  1 837.M41, according to surviving records. Like many amateur historians, Logar is long on rhetoric and short on actual scholarship.

  it, with the willing assistance of those whose greed and thoughtlessness made them the perfect dupes of this monstrous conspiracy. I refer, as you have no doubt already guessed, to the so-called rogue traders. Rogues indeed, who would place their own interests above those of the Imperium, humanity, and the divine Emperor Himself!

  [Severed paragraphs of infla
mmatory but non-specific denun ciation of rogue traders, omitted. Logar seems to have had something of an obsession about their untrustworthiness. Per haps one owed him money.]

  How and why these pariahs of profit first began trafficking with the tau, history does not record.1 What is certain is that Gravalax, with its isolated position on the fringes of Imperial space, and close to the expanding sphere of influence of these malign aliens, became the perfect meeting place for such clandestine exchanges.

  Inevitably, the corruption spread. As trade increased, it became more open, with tau vessels becoming a common sight at the new and expanding starports. Tau themselves began to be seen on the streets of the Gravalaxian cities, mingling with the populace, tainting their human purity with their soulless, alien ways. Heresy began to run rife, even ordinary citizens daring to use blasphemous devices unblessed by the techpriests, supplied by their insid-ious offworld allies.

  Something had to be done! And at last it was. The rising stench of corruption eventually attracted the ceaseless vigilance of the Inquisition, which lost no time in demanding the dispatch of a task force of the Imperium's finest warriors to purge this festering boil in the body of His Holi-ness's blessed demesne.

  And that's precisely what they got. For in the van-guard of this glorious endeavour was none other than Ciaphas Cain, the martial hero at whose very name the enemies of humanity trembled in terror…

  1 Or Logar couldn't be bothered to do the research.

  THREE

  Old friends are like debt collectors; they have a tendency to turn up when you least expect them.

  – Gilbran Quail, Collected Essays

  As I've rattled around the galaxy I've seen a great many cities, from the soaring spires of Holy Terra itself to the blood-choked gutters of some eldar reiver charnel pit,1 but I've seldom seen anything stranger than the broad thoroughfares of Mayoh, the planetary capital of Gravalax. We'd disembarked in good order, the freshly sewn banner of the 597th snapping proudly in the breeze that blew in gently across the rockcrete hectares of the starport as the