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Above and Beyond – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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CHAPTER ONE

I did not recognise the footsteps. Not at first. But I knew they were out of place, being neither the ponderous trudge of a servitor nor the patter of a scribe. The latter would be hurried, desperate to be free of this sublevel. None lingered here, had they the choice.

No, the footsteps were deliberate. Measured. The stride of someone who walked without fear or the need to match another’s pace. There was a familiarity to the tread, and I thought I knew it, though I was unsure from where or when.

And the footsteps had almost reached my cubicle cell.

I rose from my seat, supporting my weight on the armrest, wincing as my twisted left leg protested. The ache was getting worse; my own gait would have sounded like a crippled old man.

The footsteps stopped.

There was a knock – three sharp raps. But before I could reach for the door, it was flung open. The figure framed in the doorway was tall and broad-shouldered. His uniform was partially concealed by a thick greatcoat, but there was no mistaking the skull symbol on his peaked cap.

A commissar. An individual few desire to meet, announced or otherwise. I shrank back, wondering what I had done to warrant such attention, until I gathered the courage to meet his gaze. It had been years, but still I recognised his face.

Commissar Tobia von Shard.

He stood, regarding me and my abode in turn, his expression indicating neither met his approval.

‘Propagandist Simlex,’ he said, offering a curt nod. ‘I trust I find you well.’

‘It’s just Scribe Simlex now,’ I replied, as he strode into the room. ‘I am surprised to see you, commissar.’

‘Understandable. You are not an easy man to find. Well, tracing you to this facility was simple enough. Locating this room proved annoyingly arduous. Are you aware your personnel file has been mislaid?’

‘No, but it’s common practice to seal the records of those who have failed in their duties. Some fear that, if left accessible, they could contaminate the records of the loyal and studious through mere exposure.’

‘Hmm. And I see your quarters are more… modest than in times prior,’ he continued, steely gaze surveying the cubicle.

There was precious little to survey. Besides storage, the furniture consisted of a work desk overlaid with dusty vid screens and stacked paperwork, an iron-framed chair so heavy I could barely move it, and a bed I had neglected to make or, for the most part, sleep in. I could see the commissar bristle at the unfolded blankets, but through titanic effort he withheld judgement. Verbally anyway.

I sighed. ‘My last pict was not well received.’

‘On the contrary, it has done phenomenally well,’ he replied. ‘I did not have time or inclination to attend the premiere, but I heard glowing reviews. Though, given the descriptions, it has changed significantly since the rough cut you presented to my family.’

‘What was released is not my pict. And I did not present anything to your family. Your sister stole a copy before it was decreed a failure and destroyed.’

‘Lucille?’

‘No. Your other sister.’

‘Ah,’ he said, nodding. ‘Josephine does like to feel in control. For what it is worth, I thought the original a tolerable work, though I see why others had reservations concerning its impact on recruitment.’

‘As can I. Few wish to die ignominiously in a rotting swamp.’

‘Yes, possibly. But I referred to the subject. I warned you about the perils of crafting a pict featuring my sister.’

‘I recall you also recruited me for the task.’

He did not reply. His gaze was still fixed on the unmade bed.

‘Commissar, it is good to see you. But might I enquire why you are here?’

He turned his head, regarding me from the corner of his eye, face shaded by the peaked cap.

‘I would prefer to discuss the matter somewhere more secure. And ideally without soiled bed linen. Perhaps a private conference space or meeting facility would be more appropriate.’

‘I am afraid I have no access to such facilities. This room is my fiefdom. May I offer you the chair?’

He glanced at the rusted iron frame and frayed synthleather.

‘I prefer to stand,’ he replied, before once more surveying the room. ‘I assume you possess means of projecting a holo-image? What happened to those seer-skulls of yours?’

‘One was sacrificed defending Bacchus. Your sister absconded with another.’

‘Josephine?’

‘No. Your other sister. We met up on Orbital Station Salus right after the conflict. I wished to collect the seer-skull imbedded in her aircraft. But we… quarrelled. And when I left, she–’

‘Was there not a third?’ he said, cutting me off.

‘There was and is. More or less.’

I nodded to the iron-framed cabinet. In the shadows atop it, buried beneath busted servos and stained cloths, a single crimson lens flickered briefly into life.

The commissar stared at it, before glaring back at me. For once, his expression was difficult to read.

‘This is your prized seer-skull? You treat a relic in this manner?’

‘It’s damaged. Prone to misbehaving. When I let it run free, it interferes with my work.’

He did not reply, intent on the flickering red light.

‘I was unaware how far you had fallen,’ he said at last.

For a moment I thought he would say something more. Perhaps offer his condolences or concede his family’s hand in my downfall. But he did neither, instead reaching into his lapel and withdrawing a gleaming silver data-slug.

Then he turned his gaze upon me, eyes bright and cold.

‘Before we proceed, let me be clear – what you are about to witness will be treated in the strictest confidence. You will speak of it to no one. Doing so would be to ignore the orders of a commissar, and by extension the will of the Imperium itself. In such circumstances I would execute my duty accordingly.’

He shifted his stance, greatcoat falling open. I found my gaze drawn to the holstered pistol at his waist.

‘I believe you.’

I offered my hand. He placed the gleaming data-slug in my palm, before wiping his gloved fingers on a silken handkerchief.

‘The following vid was recently dispatched. Addressed to you, though my family’s agents were able to intercept it.’

‘Who sent it?’

‘That will become clear,’ he muttered, folding his arms. ‘Just play the bloody thing.’

I turned to the cabinet, taking a deep breath. It had been some time since I had sought to rouse the seer-skull. I reached out to it through my implant, urging it to awaken through a haze of static. But it was like an elderly dog snuggled in a warm bed.

Beside me, I heard the commissar’s fingers drumming against his arm.

I tried again, and Iwazar abruptly lurched upright, suspended a few inches above the cabinet, lenses flicking on and off. Its projector flared, and for a moment the room was awash with fractured images. The rancid swamps of Bacchus. Governor Dolos dispensing justice from her insectoid throne. The faces of a dozen aces, none of whom had survived the war. And Shard of course, her visage plastered across both wall and ceiling, her sneer sometimes masquerading as a smile.

‘What is this?’ The commissar frowned as the images danced uncertainly.

‘A failure,’ I sighed. ‘But one I am reluctant to abandon.’

I tried once more, the command now a plea. Perhaps Iwazar listened, or perhaps it had exhausted whatever subcommand had compelled the display. It came to me, lurching from the cabinet and plummeting towards the floor. At the last moment the anti-grav field flared, the seer-skull rising groggily, surveying its surroundings with a flickering red lens. It regarded the commissar, perhaps recognising him, but made no attempt to approach. Instead, it began slowly tipping to one side, till the skull hung almost horizontal.

It, like I, had seen better days.

I beckoned it closer, and it wobbled towards me, engines hissing under the strain. I held up the data-slug, but paused, looking to the commissar.

‘Do you have a backup of this?’

‘Why would I create a copy of something I wish to keep secret?’

‘What if the original was damaged?’

‘Do you intend to damage it?’

‘No, I… Forget I spoke,’ I said, sliding the data-slug into the seer-skull’s data port, praying that it didn’t erase the contents, or overwrite them with a compilation of Flight Commander Shard’s most biting insults. It was not an idle worry; the latter had happened twice before.

Iwazar’s lenses flickered green. It hesitated, before lurching skywards, veering from the ceiling at the last moment and settling into place atop the cabinet again.

‘What in the God-Emperor’s name is wrong with it?’ the commissar hissed, hand now resting on the pommel of his chainsword.

‘It was damaged in the conflict,’ I replied. ‘I’ve tried to repair it.’

‘And failed. A tech-priest should have sanctified it. Or performed last rites.’

‘Few tech-priests care to descend to this sublevel.’

He grunted in response, but my gaze was intent on the seer-skull. It trembled, emitting a horrible grinding sound, before suddenly its projector flared, throwing a flickering image into the room’s centre. It was little more than a blur of blue and white, vaguely in the shape of a figure.

‘I can’t see a damn thing!’ the commissar snapped.

‘Give it a moment,’ I murmured, shifting the focus. I still could not find any colours besides blue, but the blur gradually coalesced into an officer clad in a flight uniform. The helm was missing, and I could now see the pilot’s hair was pulled back, a few strands breaking free to frame her ashen face. Though the image quality remained poor, there was no mistaking the scar on her cheek.

Flight Commander Lucille von Shard.

She looked awkward, weight resting on her rearmost foot, arms folded, head turned to the side, avoiding the pict-cam’s lens, the image frozen, the vid poised to play.

‘Shard?’ I frowned, glancing at the commissar.

‘Flight Commander Shard,’ he corrected, glaring at me.

‘Of course. My apologies.’

He nodded, before gesturing to the half-formed image, as though it would provide all the answers.

‘Commissar. Is she… Has the worst happened?’

‘From her perspective? Possibly,’ he replied, a sliver of sympathy creeping into his voice. ‘She needs your help.’

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A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

First published in Great Britain in 2024.
This eBook edition published in 2024 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Represented by: Games Workshop Limited – Irish branch, Unit 3, Lower Liffey Street, Dublin 1, D01 K199, Ireland.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Jan Drenovec.

Above and Beyond © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2024. Above and Beyond, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
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ISBN: 978-1-80407-768-9

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