Carcharodons: Outer Dark

by Robbie MacNiven

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘You still think she’s just a psychic echo?’

  Welt was silent. Nzogwu began to speak again, but stopped as one of the frateris approached. It was Cleric Marshal Brant. The big militia officer was still in his ceremonial robes, but now ­carried a lasrifle and had a cudgel strapped about his waist.

  ‘Inquisitor,’ he said, nodding to Nzogwu. ‘My thanks for your timely response to these unfortunate events.’

  ‘What of the supreme pontiff?’ Nzogwu asked. ‘He was hit?’

  ‘My men have removed him to a safe location,’ Brant answered. ‘He is injured and in shock, but stable. Thanks be to the God-Emperor that he donned a flak vest beneath his robes today. His Holiness usually puts his faith in divine providence.’

  ‘He is blessed indeed,’ Nzogwu replied. ‘If only the same could be said for some of his clergy.’ A flicker of consternation seemed to cross Brant’s face as he looked down at the corpse of the gunman. Blood had pooled across the flagstones beneath the body, forcing Rannik to hitch her skirts higher.

  ‘I will have the body removed immediately,’ the frateris said. ‘That is, unless you wish to perform an analysis of your own?’

  ‘I trust in your ability to identify him,’ Nzogwu said.

  ‘The God-Emperor shows His benevolence by sending a member of the ordos to us in our time of need. I pray these events will not disrupt the purpose of your visit to Piety, inquisitor. That is, assuming you are indeed here seeking a supplication.’

  ‘I go where the Emperor wills,’ Nzogwu said. ‘I will provide whatever assistance I can, should you require it.’

  ‘We shall see, my lord inquisitor. We shall see.’

  The frateris moved away, barking new orders to the militiamen now filling the cathedra. Rannik looked at Nzogwu.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘The cult has forced our hand,’ Welt said. ‘We cannot refuse to act after such a public attack against Imperial authority.’

  ‘They’re trying to make us play to their game,’ Nzogwu said. ‘So we’ll just have to play it better than them.’

  ‘The devotati have been compromised by whoever is behind this cult,’ Welt carried on. ‘My scrying shows a great darkness on this world, blacker than the robes that mark out these monks.’ His staff tapped the flagstones near the corpse.

  ‘But if the devotati are involved then why would they strike de Grattio?’ Rannik wondered. ‘He’s the source of their power on Piety Five. If he dies a new supreme pontiff will be elected, and the chances are he won’t be drawn from the devotati’s seculum. They’ll lose their influence over the other factions of the clergy in Pontifrax.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Nzogwu said. ‘Or perhaps de Grattio wants to appear a victim. Remember the strike against us on Kora, how DeVree orchestrated it so he could appear innocent? And you heard what the cleric marshal said. Of all days, today he chose to preach wearing a flak vest.’

  ‘Perhaps it was because he knew the Feast of Saint Etrikus would be well attended,’ Rannik said. ‘Or perhaps Brant is just lying about the vest. What became of his security? All that show of strength outside, and when it comes down to it the frateris are found totally wanting.’

  ‘I know,’ Nzogwu admitted. ‘But regardless, Welt is right. We have to act now. I will demand access to the devotati’s records and cross reference the identities of these attackers with whatever Brant finds. In the meantime, the retinue is to adopt a maximum alert posture.’

  ‘What about Damar and the others?’ Rannik asked.

  ‘We’ve no reason to assume they’ve been compromised yet, and if the link to the devotati proves correct we’ll need them out among the pilgrim slums. We have to assume we’ll be added to their list of targets after your heroics.’

  ‘And what about the woman?’ Rannik asked.

  ‘The woman?’

  Rannik turned to Welt. The astropath shook his head.

  ‘I will not lie to either of you. I am no longer certain what she represents. What she is, even. As I said, there are dark powers at work here. It will take time to illuminate them.’

  ‘Time we may not have, if your visions concerning the Adeptus Astartes are also true,’ Nzogwu said. ‘That is why we requested this assignment from the conclave, after all.’

  ‘Oh, my visions are true,’ Welt said, turning away from the gunman’s corpse. ‘Have no doubt, inquisitor, the predators of the void are already circling us.’

  [Intercepted high-anchorage vox traffic, bandwidth 88-91, between Imperial Navy defence monitors Overwatch and Eagle, Piety System]

  [Identified as Captain Maska, officer commanding the Overwatch] + + + All the system piquets are reporting it now. Six ships making an unsanctioned warp jump in-system, rimward quadrant 11-15. + + +

  [Identified as Captain Shelim, officer commanding the Eagle] + + + I’m still not getting readouts from any of the piquet drones. The last update was still scanning. + + +

  [Maska] + + + I’m telling you, we have a fleet-level incursion going on here. + + +

  [Shelim] + + + Then do you want to be the one to report it planetside, during the start of the Feast? + + +

  [Maska] + + + If I have to be. We can’t let something like this go. + + +

  [Shelim] + + + I’m telling you, it’s a drone malfun– Wait… + + +

  [Maska] + + + Your systems are reading them now too, aren’t they? + + +

  [Shelim] + + + Throne preserve us. + + +

  [Maska] + + + What? Captain Shelim, come in. + + +

  [Shelim] + + + Your scans haven’t finished identifying them yet, have they? + + +

  [Maska] + + + Beyond the fact that they’re Imperial, no? + + +

  [Shelim] + + + Maska they’re… they’re Adeptus Astartes warships. + + +

  [Maska] + + + By the God-Emperor. + + +

  [Shelim] + + + I’ll patch through to Pontifrax immediately. + + +

  [Maska] + + + I’ll send a verification burst with what data we have. Close the vox-channels too, immediately. + + +

  [Shelim] + + + Too late. They’re hailing us. + + +

  [End of transmission intercept]

  _________ Chapter VIII

  Khauri was with Sharr and the rest of the Third Company’s command squad as the Carcharodons fleet completed its warp jump into the Piety System. The void brethren of the Third had barely spoken to their new Librarian since they had departed from the rest of the Nomad Predation Fleet, and in truth he was thankful. He had spent most of the voyage in cryo-sleep, unwilling to impose himself on his new brethren.

  ‘We have been cleared to approach in-system,’ Shipmaster Teko told Sharr, glancing up from the bridge’s oculus stands. ‘The local Imperial Navy monitors are standing off and we are being supplied with anchorage coordinates for Piety Five. We’re approximately nine hours out.’

  ‘Any word from the Ecclesiarchy?’ Sharr asked.

  ‘We received a request for vox contact from the Theocratica complex on Piety Five, but I haven’t responded to it yet.’

  ‘Good. Maintain our silence. The less we become embroiled in local protocol, the faster we will be able to uproot the xenos menace. Time is of the essence.’

  The fleet progressed deeper into the Piety System, defence monitors and passing cargo haulers shying out of their prowling, silent path. Khauri kept his eyes on the hololithic chart below the bridge’s command dais, watching the phantom green orb representing their destination growing steadily closer. Below decks he knew the rest of the company were making ready, arming and armouring themselves with their ancient, composite battle gear. The Third was going to war, though just how hard the fight would be remained to be seen. If the xenos had not yet penetrated Piety V’s upper echelons – and if the Ecclesiarchy could be convinced to aid the Adeptus Astartes in the purge – Khauri doubted even the most vicious cult would be ab
le to resist for long.

  If the Ministorum denied them assistance or, worse, had been tainted, the Carcharodon Astra would find themselves tested.

  ‘Brother Khauri,’ Sharr said, drawing his gaze away from the chart. ‘A moment.’

  He followed the Reaper Prime to the rear of the command platform, where the murky lighting of the bridge’s displays barely reached.

  ‘You have been silent for much of this voyage, Brother Librarian,’ Sharr said. He had not yet donned his helmet, and the shadows at the edge of the bridge hung heavy about his pallid features. Only his sharpened teeth caught the glint of the cogitator screens and oculus stands.

  ‘You have not been visited by any portents regarding this expedition?’ he went on. ‘No visions?’

  ‘My cryo-slumber was long and deep,’ Khauri said. ‘I did not see anything that speaks of our fate upon this world, or the wider destiny of the Chapter.’

  Sharr said nothing for a while. When he next spoke, his tone was a little less brusque.

  ‘Perhaps I have just grown too accustomed to the guidance of the Pale Nomad. I suspect you feel the same way. We should consider it a blessing that our actions are not weighed down with prophecy and myth.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Khauri allowed, not wishing to be drawn with opinions on his mentor. ‘I am here to assist you in any way I can, Reaper Prime. If I have news, I will share it with you.’

  ‘Good,’ Sharr said. ‘You know as well as I how vital this mission is. The very existence of the Chapter rests on our ability to unearth and uproot the xenos as swiftly as possible. In doing that we will have to confront the cult’s patriarch and the leader-hybrids it surrounds itself with. They will likely be potent psykers. We will need you, Brother Khauri, and all of your abilities if we are to vanquish the Great Devourer.’

  ‘I understand,’ Khauri said. ‘I am with you and your company to the end, Reaper Prime. We will not fail the Red Wake or the Pale Nomad.’

  They returned to the centre of the bridge together. Korro and the entirety of his squad had joined the company’s command elements, the looming bulk of the Red Brethren making even their fellow Space Marines seem small.

  ‘You sent for us, Reaper Prime?’ Korro asked, his voice emanating from his helmet’s external vox.

  ‘I did,’ Sharr said, as Khauri took post beside him. ‘We will be making planetfall on Piety Five within the next four hours. I would like the Red Brethren to be part of our initial contact with the Ecclesiarchy.’

  ‘You wish to leave them in no doubt as to our intentions,’ Korro surmised.

  ‘Precisely,’ Sharr said. ‘They will aid us, or they will be slaughtered along with the xenos they are harbouring. There is no time for anything less.’

  ‘Very well, Reaper Prime,’ Korro said. ‘I will prepare my squad for Thunderhawk insertion.’

  ‘Let us hope the clergy submits,’ Sharr said, his gaze lingering on Piety V’s holo-representation. ‘Otherwise their shrine-cities will burn.’

  Strike Leader Kordi finished his combat preparations. He had donned his Mark V armour and mag-locked his chainsword and Phobos-pattern bolter to his hip. Around him the rest of his void brothers were likewise clamping on the final pieces of their battle­plate, the armoury resounding with scrapes, clacks and the low murmurs of the rites of war.

  ‘Bands,’ Kordi ordered. His primary serf, Trayn, stepped forwards and held out the leather cords hung with the talons and fangs Kordi had collected over the past century. He fastened one around his left vambrace and the other around the hilt of his chainsword. They were the only affectations he bore on his armour, besides the exile markings that ran like oceanic swell along its greaves and pauldrons.

  ‘Helm,’ he said. Trayn hefted the heavy Mark V helmet, complete with its veteran’s red jag, and passed it to him. She had been his foremost serf for the past four years, ever since the former rogue trader had become entangled with his squad during the purging of a remote jungle moon, deep within the Under-Sectors. She had been left with a choice – remain on the moon as the rot-canopies were consumed by the fires of annihilation, or renounce her Warrant of Trade and accompany the Carcharodons into the Outer Dark. She had chosen the latter, though it had been many long months before she had finally surrendered her hopes of escape. Now she was Kordi’s most diligent serf, responsible for overseeing the integrity and sanctity of his power armour. She offered him his helm with her shaven head bowed, but he caught the slight smile that flickered across her starved face. There was no greater satisfaction for the Carcharodon’s slave than to help prepare her master on the eve of a combat insertion.

  Kordi resisted the urge to address her, and instead turned towards the service corridor that had been opened in the armoury’s side. It led directly from the equipment plinths to the shuttle bays and drop pod terminals that studded the White Maw’s underbelly. The Reaper Prime’s orders had been clear – Fourth Squad, along with First, Eighth and Ninth, would constitute the first wave to make planetfall, as soon as the captain had made contact with Piety V’s rulers. They were not expecting immediate hostile contact, but they were prepared for it nonetheless. Kordi found himself ­hoping the xenos showed themselves immediately – the mood among his squad and, he suspected, among the company as a whole was a bloody one. The Ashen Claws had dishonoured them on Atargatis, and their departure from the rest of the Nomad Predation Fleet had been another slight. For all of their doctrines of restraint, the Carcharodon Astra wanted blood.

  The Reaper Prime had assured them all they would have it.

  Rannik and Nzogwu set out for the Cloisterum Devotati towards the end of Piety’s long night cycle. They had slept for a while in their supplicants’ accommodation in the Observance building, where Welt and Rawlin had remained. The astropath was troubled, plagued by waking nightmares, and Nzogwu didn’t want to vex him further with what could prove to be a combat operation. Both Rannik and the inquisitor had swapped their formal garb for loose fatigues and under-shirt flak vests. While they weren’t obviously bound for trouble, neither were they adopting the appearance of the other supplicants any more. Rannik was just glad to have dumped her dress on her bedroom floor.

  ‘The devotati aren’t expecting us,’ Nzogwu said. The two ordo operatives were seated side by side in the air-conditioned back of a servitor-manned landcar, laid on by the Observance. They were approaching the limits of the shrine-city, where the smaller, more dilapidated churches and devotariums gave way to the slums of the pilgrim camps. The Cloisterum Devotati was situated on the boundaries, where the Ministorum-sanctioned majesty of Pontifrax met the fervent poverty of those who came to worship it.

  ‘We’re not operating off anything other than the fact the attackers last night were from the Cloisterum?’ Rannik asked. ‘We’ve not even had their identities confirmed yet. Don’t the devotati operate out of numerous smaller chapter houses beyond their headquarters?’

  ‘This is an opportunity to see how high the corruption goes,’ Nzogwu said. ‘We’re not going to be subtle about this. They’ve pressured us into acting. Now it’s our turn.’

  ‘No holds barred then,’ Rannik said with a smile. ‘Just the way I like it.’

  ‘That’s why you’re here and Rawlin is watching over Welt,’ Nzogwu said, looking out of the landcar’s tinted window. Outside the shrine-city was still slumbering, dawn about an hour away. The great doors of the shrines and temples had been barred and locked, and even the alms queues and the devotional lines of the poorer supplicants had dispersed for the night. The streets were a blur of shadow-wreathed statues and gothic archways, devoid of life.

  ‘No word from Damar?’ Rannik asked.

  ‘Not yet. He and Tibalt are moving in on one of the smaller chapter houses near to where they’ve established themselves in the slums. Whether the corruption is emanating from the upper echelons of the devotati or the lower, we’ll unearth it tonight.’


  ‘Ten minutes to destination,’ clicked the servitor driver’s monotone voice over the landcar’s intercom.

  The vehicle began to climb Justicia Hill towards the Cloisterum Devotati, its tyres rumbling on the cobbles. Originally the headquarters of Piety’s ruling sect had been a humble monastery, housing a few dozen cloistered brothers. Now it was a sprawling complex of dark stone and iron-barred windows that dominated the top of the Justicia, rising like a black fortress above the sea of shacks and hovels that stretched out from the edge of Pontifrax. The entrance was protected by a checkpoint barrier gate, manned by a squad of frateris. The landcar slowed and stopped automatically, and Nzogwu lowered the window as two of the militiamen approached.

  ‘I am Inquisitor Augim Nzogwu, of the Ordo Hereticus,’ he said, holding up his rosette. ‘I am here to visit the halls of the Devotati.’

  The first militiaman glanced at his comrade, clearly unsettled.

  ‘The monks know of your visit, my lord?’

  ‘They do not. Nor am I required to announce myself beforehand.’

  ‘I will… have to vox ahead, lord.’

  ‘Very well, but in the meantime remove this barrier and give me open passage.’

  The frateris glanced from the landcar up the cobbled slope to the grim entrance arch of the Cloisterum, before nodding.

  ‘Of course, my lord.’

  Nzogwu lowered the window as the frateris raised the barrier gate and the transport set off once more.

  ‘How far is that rosette going to get us?’ Rannik wondered out loud.

  ‘Far enough,’ Nzogwu said, his voice stiffened with determination.

  The landcar passed in through the archway and slowed to a stop once more in the courtyard beyond. It was a wide space, ­cobbled like the approach route, the buildings surrounding it gothic structures of dark arched windows and leering stone gargoyles that loomed out of the shadows.

  ‘Remain on station,’ Nzogwu ordered the servitor as they exited the transport. A cool night breeze struck Rannik as she stepped out onto the cobbles. Before her were two heavy-looking doors, studded with black iron. The only light in the courtyard emanated from a lantern above them, casting a flickering glow across the steps leading to the foreboding entrance.