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pungent aroma clawing at his nostrils。 He hoped the expression of delight he was struggling to
maintain was enough to fool the general。 He looked up the table involuntarily and immediately
wished he hadn’t。 DeViers caught his eye。 Bergen put extra effort into his artificial smile and saw
the old man grin back； buying into his act。
He turned back to the food。 Maybe it tastes better than it looks； he thought； but I doubt it。
Bergen considered himself a down…to…earth man for someone of his breeding and rank — it was；
in fact； the thing he liked best about himself — and it required effort on his part to maintain the
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social niceties so important to his station in the classist upper echelons of the Imperial Guard。
Whether on the battlefield or off it； he liked to live as his men did； eating standard…issue rations and
sleeping on a standard…issue bedroll； washing and shaving as little or as often as his men were able
to。 Such things allowed him a better understanding of the condition of his troops； of how far he
could push them before they would start to come undone。 Such information was critical to a good
commander。 Some of the old…school officers； a few of the colonels and majors seated around him
perhaps； also held to such practices； but they were in the minority。 Bergen’s regimental commanders
— Vinnemann； Marrenburg and Graves — had been allowed to abstain from attending the dinner so
that they might continue their preparations for deployment； a concession that Bergen greatly envied
them。 DeViers hadn’t given him that option。 The old man had been adamant that all his divisional
commanders attend。
Lifting his cutlery； Bergen began slicing bite…sized chunks from the undercooked heart。 Spearing
one with his fork； he lifted it towards his mouth。 Here goes nothing； he told himself； and popped it
in。 The texture was highly unpleasant； but he was forced to admit that it tasted a lot better than it
looked。
While the general’s guests concentrated on the main course； the level of conversation dropped；
stifled by the efforts of cutting and chewing； and of chasing each mouthful down with a sip of
amasec。 But it wasn’t long until most of the plates lay empty save a smear of sauce on each； and a
flock of servants emerged from the side corridors to clear them away。
Bergen sat back in silence and watched the others interact。 His stomach was threatening to rebel
against him。
Bishop Augustus dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a white silk napkin and said；
“Exquisite； general； but quite cruel； don’t you think； to acclimatise us to such outstanding fare？ I
suspect Golgotha offers nothing so delicious or refined。”
General deViers faced the bishop； but gestured down the table to Tech…Magos Sennesdiar。
“The honoured magos；” he said； “tells me that most of the animal and plant life on this world is
fatal if ingested。 Is that not so； magos？”
The blaring voice that replied was like a vox…caster unit with the volume turned up too high。
Like most of the others； Bergen winced。
“If you’ll permit me； general；” boomed the tech…magos； each word toneless and harsh； “the
probability of death would depend on the amount and type of matter ingested； the body…weight and
constitution of the individual in question； the availability and quality of medical assistance—”
From Bergen’s left； a few seats further down the table； the crab…faced Tech…Adept Xephous
emitted a sudden burst of noise； high…pitched and raw； like fingernails scraping on a blackboard。 His
superior immediately replied with a similar condensed sonic burst。 Bergen knew this for what it
was。 The tech…priests were communicating in Binary； the ancient machine…language of the Martian
priesthood。 When Sennesdiar reverted to speaking in Gothic a moment later； his voice was pitched
just right。 “My apologies； gentlemen。 My adept informs me that my vocaliser settings may have
caused you some discomfort。 Is this setting acceptable？”
“A great improvement； magos；” said General deViers。
“Then I shall continue listing the variables relevant to the question of toxicity in—”
DeViers held up a hand and cut the tech…priest off mid…sentence。 “Thank you； magos； but that
will not be necessary。 A simple yes or no would have sufficed。”
“It is not a simple matter；” said the tech…priest。 “I shall have an acolyte…logis compile a report for
you on the subject。 We have significant amounts of relevant data。”
“If you must；” said deViers； winking at Bishop Augustus； “but I’d rather you just warn me if I’m
about to bite down on something I shouldn’t。”
You wouldn’t want to bite off more than you could chew； thought Bergen automatically。
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“Actually；” continued General deViers； turning from the tech…magos； “I’d like to hear the high
commissar’s thoughts on this amasec。 Commodore Galbraithe graciously donated eighteen bottles of
the stuff for our little celebration。 Such a pity that he wasn’t able to share it with us in person。”
“Wasn’t able？” asked Major General Rennkamp brusquely； “Or wasn’t willing？ I’ve heard the
old spacer hasn’t been ground…side for over twenty years。 You’d need a direct order from the High
Lords to get him off that Helicon Star of his。”
There was a ripple of polite laughter。
“A fine ship； that；” murmured a colonel close to Bergen。 It was von Holden； one of Rennkamp’s
men； commander of the 259th Mechanised Regiment。 Bergen was a little surprised。 He had privately
admired both of the battlefleet’s heavy cruisers； but it wasn’t often one would hear a groundpounder
praising a naval vessel out loud。 There were long…running tensions between the Guard and
the Navy； a perpetuation of mistrusts that stretched back as far as the Age of Apostasy and beyond。
At the upper end of the table； High Commissar Morten was answering the general。 “A very fine
vintage； sir。 The commodore is most gracious。 This is very expensive stuff。 It has a certain citrus
quality； you agree？ And the significance of his choice…”
“What significance would that be？” asked Bishop Augustus。
“Its origin； your grace；” said Morten。 “This particular amasec is produced exclusively by the
Jaldyne prefectural distilleries on Terrax Secundus。 Quite rare outside the Ultima Segmentum。”
“Ah； clever of him；” said a glowing deViers。 “Wonderful stuff。”
Bishop Augustus was frowning。 “I’m afraid I still don’t see the connection。”
“Terraxian and Cadian regiments fought side…by…side on this very plateau in the last war；”
answered the high commissar。 “Together； they were able to buy Commissar Yarrick and his
command staff the time they needed to escape the planet’s surface。 The orks swarmed this very
plateau just as Yarrick’s lifter ascended。 I believe there were several popular books published about
the battle。”
A moment of quiet descended on the table as the fighting men present muttered a quick prayer
for the fallen。 It was Major General Killian that broke the spell。
“I don’t suppose any of you have read Michelos？” he asked。 “I’ve seen a few of my troopers
with their noses in tattered copies。”
“Finally taught your lot to read； eh； Klotus？” said Bergen with a grin。
Killian laughed heartily； chasing off the last of the sombre mood that had momentarily fallen on
the table。 “You can talk； tread…head。 Your lot still think they need to take toilet paper to the mess
tent。 Must be all those promethium fumes。”
The colonels seated nearby laughed out loud； prone to engage in a bit of good…natured ribbing
themselves at times； but General deViers coughed sharply into his hand； and the sound cut through
the laughter like a las…knife。 The expression on the general’s face sent a clear message： not the time；
not the place。
Fair enough； thought Bergen。 It’s your show。
High Commissar Morten sat forward； ice blue eyes fixed on Killian； and said； “I’m not sure I
approve； major general。” Seeing Killian’s face redden； he added； “Of troopers reading Michelos； I
mean。 His work has a very fatalistic bent。 Not suitable material for front…line troops。 Dreadful
recruitment material； too。 The way he refers to Guard service as ‘the meat grinder’。 If it were up to
me； I’d have the text prohibited under article six。”
Bergen resisted the urge to roll his eyes。 First offences under article six meant the lash。 It
seemed a little harsh for reading a bit of poetry； he thought。
“Come now； commissar；” said Rennkamp。 “Isn’t it quite popular with the civs？”
“Civilians？” said Morten。 “I hardly think so。 The last I heard； hivers still prefer their
entertainment filled with sex and unstoppable heroes。”
26
“What have you got against unstoppable heroes？” asked Killian； smirking。 “I like to think you’re
dining with at least one。”
General deViers lifted his glass and said； “I’ll drink to that！”
His adjutant； Gruber； appeared again from the side…door； walked to the right side of the general’s
chair and； in a deep； sonorous voice； announced the dessert — slices of candied bonifruit with hot
caffeine to follow for those who wanted it。
Bergen stifled a groan。 He could hardly cope with consuming more food； but there was little
choice。 Propriety made harsh demands。 He doubted he could get away