Dawn Of War II

by Chris Roberson

  The Navigators probed the void, searching.

  The psykers, Lexicanium and astropath alike, cast their minds into the warp, questing. Niven had told them that the hive mind was most likely on some neighbouring world, an errant spore that had drifted through the cosmos and taken root in the Aurelia sub-sector, and that it was an opportunistic offspring of this isolated infestation that had settled on Typhon Primaris.

  Onboard the strike cruiser Armageddon, Lexicanium Konan lay on a pallet on the floor of his quarters, his senses stretched to their fullest. He could faintly feel the cold, inhuman impressions that Master Niven had shared with him, and that he had shared with the astropaths on board the Sword of Hadrian. Their minds linked, astropath to Lexicanium, they could almost feel that inhuman mind out there, almost touch it, and then…

  Konan sat bolt upright, cold sweat poring down his body.

  He had touched the mind of the tyranid hive, and it was like nothing he had anticipated. This was no isolated infestation. This was a hive fleet.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ADMIRAL FORBES REVIEWED the intelligence relayed to her by the astropaths of the Sword of Hadrian. The tyranids that had been discovered on the planet below - and brought from there to the desert world of Calderis by persons unknown - were far from being isolated spores that had drifted across space into the Typhon system, to take root in the fertile soil of the jungle world. What had taken Typhon Primaris in its grasp was instead just one of innumerable vast tendrils of a previously unknown hive fleet, pushing deep into the Aurelia sub-sector. They still did not know precisely where the hive mind of the fleet was located, the unholy mother who had birthed the monsters which had infested the world below, but they had been able to chart the range and extent of the tendrils, and it was clear that Typhon Primaris was not the only system under threat.

  'How reliable is this intelligence?' Forbes asked her first officer.

  'If it were only a single psyker reporting this, ma'am,' Commander Mitchels replied, 'I think there would still be room for doubt.'

  'But this isn't a single psyker we're talking about.'

  'No, ma'am,' Mitchels allowed. 'Between the astropaths on the Sword of Hadrian, and their counterparts on the Blood Ravens strike cruiser, we have independent verification from more than half a dozen sources.'

  'So…' Forbes said. She paused, tapping her front teeth with a fingernail. 'Fairly reliable, wouldn't you say?'

  Mitchels nodded. 'That was my estimation, ma'am.'

  Forbes scowled. The first officer was right, but it was not the answer she'd wanted to hear. She'd clung to the faint hope that these projections might be in error, or that the threat might not be as widespread as the intelligence suggested. But it was foolish to cling to such hopes any longer.

  'The Emperor protect us,' Forbes said. She called up a map display on the data-slate, and looked again at the tendrils of the tyranid fleet. Her fingertips brushed the display where the tendrils stretched to encircle distant Meridian, capital of the Aurelia sub-sector. 'The Emperor protect us all.'

  THADDEUS LOOKED UP, his youthful face lined and drawn.

  'Meridian?' he repeated, disbelief echoing in his words.

  Sergeant Aramus nodded. They were still awaiting the arrival of Sergeant Tarkus and First Squad to the village, but he'd summoned the other squad leaders - Avitus, Thaddeus, and Cyrus - to apprise them of the most recent news from the ships in orbit.

  'Emperor's Throne,' Cyrus said, an uncharacteristic display for the stoic veteran.

  'We have yet to make contact with Meridian, but Lexicanium Konan and the astropaths on the Sword of Hadrian are working in concert to get word through to Governor Vandis and his people. But the fact remains that the tyranid threat will soon reach Meridian, if it hasn't already.'

  'But surely the Planetary Defence Force would be in a position to respond to any initial incursion…' Thaddeus began, his voice trailing off as he went.

  'When have you known a PDF capable of finding their backsides with both hands and an auspex?' Avitus answered with a snarl.

  Aramus met Thaddeus's gaze, and shook his head. While I disagree with Sergeant Avitus on the capabilities of PDFs in general - and on the qualities of the Meridian forces in particular - I'm forced to agree that a tyranid invasion is almost certainly beyond the scope of their abilities. And that's assuming that they even discover the infestation in time to respond at all.'

  Thaddeus scowled, but knew that Aramus was right. Meridian was a hive world, home to billions of inhabitants. Every square kilometre of the planet was developed to some degree, with habs - enormous cities that stretched from horizon to horizon - covering most of its surface. There were park districts, isolated patches of greenery enjoyed only by the wealthy and powerful - like Aramus's own high-hab family - but a low-hab dweller like Thaddeus had once been would never dream that such places could exist. If a tyranid mycetic spore were to drift to earth and take root in one of the immense ''gardens'', rarely visited and tended only by servitors, or else infest the underhive levels where the authorities never ventured, then the tyranid infestation might progress considerably before those in power even knew it had begun.

  'The grim reality that we must face,' Aramus said, pointedly glancing in Cyrus's direction, recalling the Scout sergeant's constant refrain to the neophytes in his charge, 'is that Typhon Primaris is already a lost cause. This world is subject to a late-stage infestation, and we lack the resources and the time to even consider doing anything to reverse it. But Meridian is the capital of the sub-sector, home to billions, and if even some of those billions are to survive what is to follow, then we need to travel to Meridian with all possible speed and stop the tyranid incursion before it has a chance to take root.'

  Thaddeus nodded, quickly. 'Yes,' he said. 'Agreed. We must go to Meridian.'

  Cyrus glanced over his shoulder at the villagers still gathered in the centre of the village. 'And them?'

  'What about them?' Avitus spat.

  'What is to be done with them?' Cyrus asked.

  'Admiral Forbes intends to evacuate as many as she can, as I understand it,' Aramus answered, 'but as for the rest, may the Emperor protect them, because no one else will.'

  He paused, and then motioned to the Thunderhawks.

  'Now get your squads on board and ready to fly. Any moment we waste here is a moment less that we might spend on saving Meridian.'

  A SHORT WHILE later, Aramus surveyed the assembled villagers. Except for the three youths selected to accompany the Blood Ravens back to the Armageddon, the rest would be staying here, to wait for the creeping tide of tyranid infestation to finally reach this far. Even if he had wished to take the rest of the terrified villagers with them, there wasn't room in the Thunderhawks to carry them, nor space in the strike cruiser for them to be held. He knew that Admiral Forbes intended to begin the evacuation immediately, but with the tyranids encroaching so close, so quickly, he didn't know how her craft would be able to land and take off again safely more than once or twice, if even that often.

  Sergeant Tarkus and his squad had arrived only moments before, and waited in the village clearing while the other squads loaded onto the Thunderhawks. Once they were on board, and First Squad was able to board, they would be ready to lift off, and leave the jungles of Typhon Primaris behind.

  Aramus glanced over at Sergeant Tarkus, who stood a few metres off, his attention on the villagers. The headman and his people, none of whom had slept in some thirty hours or more, alternatively wept, or whimpered, or sang songs of praise to the Sky-Father, begging him to deliver them from the evil spirits even now stalking through the forests towards them. The Headman and the others had not understood why it was that the Noble Sons of the Sky-Father were leaving them in their hour of direst need, and Aramus had been unable to explain matters to them.

  Tarkus kept looking at the villagers, searching their faces, his own expression unreadable. Aramus wasn't sure what it was that the sergeant was looking for, but sudden
ly, it appeared that the veteran campaigner had found it. His expression changed to one of stony resolution, and he turned and marched the few metres to stand by Aramus's side.

  'Anything the matter, Tarkus?'

  'Sergeant Aramus?' Tarkus said, an odd undercurrent to his words. 'Permission to remain on the planet.'

  Aramus was startled. 'Remain? Here?'

  'Yes,' Tarkus added with a curt nod. 'For myself, and as many of the First Squad who wish to join me.'

  'For what purpose?'

  Tarkus glanced over at the assembled villagers, his expression softening. 'My homeworld Erinia was lost to tyranids, long after I was recruited to the Blood Ravens. I was half a galaxy away when I learned it had been consumed by the Hive Fleet Behemoth.' He paused, and looked back to meet Aramus's gaze. 'I had family still on Erinia, and there wasn't a single thing I could do for them, or for Erinia, but to mourn.'

  'And now…' Aramus began, glancing from the veteran campaigner to the villagers.

  'Call it a chance to make amends, if you like,' Tarkus answered. 'I'll stay and try to hold the tyranids off their backs until Admiral Forbes's boats can get them to safety.' Tarkus paused, and smiled slightly. 'If I'm lucky, perhaps the admiral will give me a ride, as well.'

  APOTHECARY GORDIAN STOOD back, wiping his hands clean on a disinfecting cloth. On the platform before him lay the body of Captain Davian Thule, uncased from its sarcophagus, looking more like a corpse lying in state than a still-living being.

  'Begin antitoxin trial Gamma-Nine,' Gordian instructed the medicae servitor who hunched at his side, a syringe held in its mechadendrites. 'Initiate full body readings, recording all findings for later review.'

  The servitor flashed its acquiescence.

  'Administer sample,' Gordian went on, tossing the cloth onto the floor at his feet. He paid no mind to the tiny servitor who scuttled out from its alcove along the wall to retrieve the discarded cloth.

  A tiny drop of amber liquid glinted at the tip of the needle like a gem in the Apothecarion's low light as the medicae servitor brought the syringe near the exposed flesh of Thule's chest. The servitor ratcheted forward, and the needle bit into Thule's chest, the flesh wan and mottled with the effects of toxic shock.

  Apothecary Gordian had already generated nearly a dozen antitoxins which appeared to have an effect on the pure biotoxins in the cultured samples, but so far none of them had demonstrated any efficacy when administered to Thule's body itself. If this latest strain didn't have an effect, he would be forced to return Thule's body to the sarcophagus while he started another antitoxin from scratch.

  The medicae servitor withdrew the syringe from Thule's flesh, and backed away to await further instructions. The probes and sensors mounted onto the platform itself began their work, scrutinising the captain's bodily processes on a wide variety of wavelengths, capturing a dazzling amount of data. But there was only one datum which Gordian sought - proof of the eradication of the tyranid toxins from Davian Thule's body.

  He had worked straight through the night without ceasing, and did not anticipate taking a break any time soon.

  'Emperor guide my mind and hand,' Gordian said in a quiet voice. 'Let this be the one.'

  'UNDERSTOOD, SERGEANT ARAMUS,' Admiral Forbes replied, addressing the vox terminal mounted on the captain's chair. 'Safe hunting. Sword of Hadrian out.'

  Forbes motioned for the light cruiser's communications officer to cut the vox connection with the Armageddon, and swivelled the captain's chair to face Commander Mitchels, who stood to one side of the command dais.

  'Permission to speak, admiral?' Mitchels said in a low voice, his eyes cutting from one side to the other as though worried someone might overhear.

  Forbes saw the blush rising in Mitchels's cheek, and knew that something was weighing heavily on his thoughts.

  'Granted. What's bothering you, commander?'

  'Well,' the first officer began, glancing from one side to the other again before continuing, 'are you certain that a planetary evacuation is the best use of our resources at this juncture?' He paused, and leaned in, almost conspiratorially. 'Wouldn't Governor Vandis likely prefer that we proceed to the defence of Meridian with the Armageddon.'

  A tight smile played across Forbes's lips, and she folded her hands in her lap. 'Leaving aside the fact that we have, as yet, been unable to make contact with Governor Vandis - and far be it from me to second-guess the thoughts of His Most Noble Excellency - we are not discussing a planetary evacuation. There isn't time for that many runs down into the gravity well and up again, for one thing, and not enough resources to house them all on board, for another. What we are talking about is preserving the life of a scant few hundred Typhonians who, but for our intervention, would very quickly find themselves in the belly of the Great Devourer itself. The rest of the Aurelia Battle-group is already en route to Meridian as we speak, and we should be able to join them within a day or two, at the outside, by which time we'll be in a position to lead an attack against any and all orbital elements of the tyranid fleet, and to provide cover for Sergeant Aramus and his Blood Ravens as they wage the ground war.' She paused, and her right smile widened, if only fractionally. 'Or, to put it another way, yes, I am certain that this is the best use of our resources, commander. Or would you prefer to take this seat' - she gestured to the captain's chair on which she rested - 'and instead condemn hundreds of innocents to a painful death for the sake of some slight expediency?'

  Mitchels remained stock still, his expression stricken as though he had just been flogged. For one who thrived on his duties, and on the approval of his superiors, even such a minor dressing-down as the admiral had just given him was enough to chastise him.

  'Well?' Forbes prompted, arching an eyebrow.

  'No, ma'am,' Mitchels hastened to reply.

  'Good. In which case I expect my orders to be carried out. Sergeant Tarkus and his team are on the surface now, securing the site for our landing parties. Let's get those birds in the air, and back on board, as quickly as we can. I don't want to spend any more time at this than is absolutely necessary, but let's save as many as we can before duty calls, shall we?'

  Mitchels snapped off a crisp salute, and hustled to carry out the admiral's orders.

  'Very well, Tarkus,' Forbes said under her breath, her eyes on the forward viewports, 'let's see how many of these poor souls we can grasp from the maw, shall we?'

  TARKUS PATROLLED THE boundaries of the village. He could hear the chittering from the lengthening shadows to the south, and knew it was now only a matter of time.

  Of the six other Space Marines of the First Squad, five had initially opted to remain behind with the sergeant and safeguard the villagers until the Navy boats arrived to lift them to safety. The sixth Space Marine, Brother Mettius, had at first baulked at the idea, hungry instead to travel to Meridian to scour the tyranid infestation from that world, but when he saw that the rest of his battle-brothers had instead offered to remain behind, he quickly changed his vote. It was a somewhat rare thing for Space Marines to exercise self-determination of this sort, as usually their lot was to follow the orders they were given, no questions asked. But given the unusual nature of the assignment, Tarkus and Aramus had agreed to allow each Space Marine the ability to decide his own fate.

  So it was that seven Blood Ravens remained behind on Typhon Primaris when the last of the Thunderhawks rumbled up into the sky, returning Sergeant Aramus and the others back to the Armageddon. That had been more than an hour before.

  Now, with the first of the transports from the Sword of Hadrian already dropping out of the sky towards them, Tarkus and his Space Marines redoubled their watch on the surrounding jungles. The sun was already beginning to set in the west, the end of their second day on the world, and if the experience of the previous night was any guide, the activity of the tyranid invaders would only intensify in the moonless hours of the night.

  There had not been an outright attack on the village itself, as yet. Tarku
s's auspex was picking up movement out in the trees - a considerable amount of movement, in fact - but thus far none of the tyranids had approached the boundaries of the community.

  Tarkus knew that would not last. And if the chittering sounds which grew ever louder were any indication, the tyranid attack would not be long in coming.

  The first of the transports from the Sword of Hadrian was coming in on an approach vector, and would be landing in moments. From where he stood at the village's edge, Tarkus could see the Headman and the rest of the villagers gathered together in a huddled mass at the edge of the clearing from which the Thunderhawks had lifted off only a short while before.

  Had it been like this in the last hours of Erinia, Tarkus wondered? When he pictured the world of his birth, his mind conjured images of the green and growing land of his earliest memories, a peaceful and pastoral world of farms and farmers that provided produce for a dozen other worlds. But having seen the stain of tyranid infestation on other worlds - on Prosperon, now on Typhon Primaris, and on too many others to count - he knew that in its death throes Erinia had no longer been green, and no longer peaceful nor pastoral. It had been overrun by the offspring of the Great Devourer, just as this world was now being overrun before his eyes.

  Had the family that Tarkus left behind on Erinia - brothers and sisters, cousins, nieces, and nephews - gathered like the Headman and his villagers now did, desperate to claim the precious few berths on space-bound craft, too few to accommodate even a fraction of them? Had they known, as they huddled together and cast terrified glances at the surrounding shadows, that the slim hope of rescue would be denied so many of them? And when the last transports had come and gone, had they stayed there, watching the skies, looking for one more transport, just one more, knowing that it would never come?

  The landing craft set down on the clearing, and as the Navy officers climbed down to supervise the loading of the villagers, the natives pressed forward, threatening to plough the officers under in their mad rush for the transports.