The Ultramarines Omnibus

by Graham McNeill

  ‘I am Tynen Heras, my lord. I have come to take you home.’

  ‘Well it’s about time,’ snapped Beauchamp irritably. He was damned if he’d show any gratitude to a servant. He pointed at the box and said, ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I took the liberty of signing for your personal effects, my lord,’ replied Heras, opening the box. Inside was a pile of cash, some jewellery, a deck of cards and—

  Beauchamp’s eyes widened at the sight of the plain black opiatix inhaler the raven-haired woman from the Flesh Bar had slipped into his pocket, just before his arrest. He smiled slyly, slipping the inhaler into his palm as he pocketed his effects. He decided he could be magnanimous after all, and nodded towards Heras.

  ‘My thanks, Guilder Heras. You have done your leader a great service today.’

  ‘My lord,’ acknowledged Heras, lifting the empty box and rising from his chair. He circled Abrogas and rapped on the door.

  ‘I shall return this to the officers and then we shall be on our way, my lord.’

  ‘Yes, you do that, I am anxious to return home.’

  The door opened and the man hurriedly left.

  Left alone again, Beauchamp could feel the weight of the inhaler pressing into his sweaty palm and ran his hand over his stubbled chin, feeling the need grow within him.

  No, he couldn’t. Not here. Not in the Arbites precinct. There would be pict-recorders hidden in here.

  But it was too late: the idea had taken hold.

  It would be his own tiny bit of revenge on the Adeptus Arbites, to break the law within their own stronghold. The idea was too delicious to resist and he giggled suddenly, feeling an overwhelming urge to take the entire inhaler’s worth of opiatix in one huge hit.

  But that would be stupid: he’d be tossed back in the cells. Especially if it was as strong as the first batch that had gotten him arrested in the first place.

  No, just a small draught then.

  Well, perhaps a little more.

  No more than half.

  Beauchamp lifted his hand to his mouth, as though preparing to yawn and placed the nozzle of the inhaler against his lips. He tasted the plastic of the mouthpiece, felt the familiar anticipatory surge of pleasure just before he pressed the dispenser button and heaved in a breath.

  Hot grains of opiatix surged down his throat and into his lungs.

  Immediately, Beauchamp knew something was wrong.

  By the Emperor, what the hell was in this?

  But by then it was too late for Beauchamp Abrogas.

  Blazing heat raced around his body, his nerves were on fire and shrieking agony knifed up his spinal cord. His legs convulsed spastically and his hands clawed at the table, ripping the nails from his fingers and leaving bloody trails in its surface. He screamed in agony and heaved his body from the chair, crashing into the concrete floor.

  His entire body felt as though it was on fire.

  Alien chemicals distilled from ingredients so lethal they were thought to be mythical now mixed with those the Surgeon’s aide had given him at the Flesh Bar.

  His brain felt like it was boiling within his skull. He clawed at his head, tearing out great clumps of hair. Beauchamp rolled to his knees, screeching like a banshee, every movement sending hot bolts of pain through his body. Molten lava filled his bones as he somehow managed to haul himself to his feet, slamming his body against the door.

  He could form no words, but beat his body bloody, insane with the agony ravaging his nervous system.

  The door opened and Beauchamp barrelled into an Arbites judge, knocking him from his feet. He ran blindly.

  Shouts followed his mad dash, but Beauchamp was deaf to them as he shambled in a random direction, not knowing where he was going, but unable to stop moving.

  He dropped to his knees, alien fire searing his body from within.

  Shouting voices surrounded him.

  When the chemical reactions churning in his bloodstream had absorbed enough of his body’s fuel to reach critical mass, they achieved their final state of existence.

  Pure energy.

  And with the force of a dozen demolition charges, Beauchamp Abrogas exploded.

  FIFTEEN

  THE SHOCKWAVE OF Beauchamp Abrogas’s explosive death ripped the front of the Arbites precinct house off, collapsing it in a billowing cloud of dust and smoke, and blew out the windows of every building within a kilometre of the blast.

  Barely seconds had passed before the engines of the tanks idling before the walls of the marble city roared into life and surged towards the city gates. Two Leman Russ Conquerors from the Kharon barracks opened fire on the bronze gates, the heavy shells blasting them and a sizeable portion of the walls inwards. When the smoke cleared, a twenty-metre breach was visible and the armoured vehicles ground over the rubble and into the city.

  Swiftly two dozen tanks roared along the cobbled streets towards the Imperial palace while others spread out towards peripheral landing platforms, and troop carriers moved to secure strategic cross-roads and junctions that led to the centre of the city. Rebel PDF soldiers debarked from their carriers and sprinted through the manufactorum districts, seizing control of key factories and munitions stores.

  There was resistance to the take-overs, and vicious battles erupted in the streets between the PDF troops and groups of workers loyal to the Shonai cartel. More fires were sparked as stray shots hit chemical containers and more than one raging inferno was ignited as the battle spread further into the manufactorum district.

  Within the marble city, the lead tanks sped across Liberation Square, fanning out to avoid the gunfire from the palace turrets. Macro-cannons blasted huge craters in the square and several tanks erupted in geysers of flame as the huge projectiles smashed through their armour and detonated their ammo stores.

  But as more tanks poured into the city, the servitor gunners were swamped with targets and simply could not take out enough tanks to prevent them from reaching the walls of the palace and the smoking Adeptus Arbites precinct house.

  Dozens of burning wrecks littered the square, but too many tanks were penetrating the palace’s defensive cover. For some reason, its energy shield had not yet activated and battle cannon shells began dropping within the walls of the planetary governor’s fastness.

  The defence turrets were the first targets, each tank trading shots with the palace gunners. Each defensive turret was swiftly bracketed and destroyed, crashing from the walls in bright flames.

  Explosions rained down indiscriminately on the palace, buttresses and columned arcades that had stood for thousands of years blasted to rubble by the high explosive rounds, the ornate frescoes and galleries within destroyed in a heartbeat. Dark explosions mushroomed all across the gleaming structure, toppling gilded archways and blowing out stained glass windows of ancient wonder and priceless beauty.

  The great bell tower cracked, twin detonations blowing out its midsection. The tower sagged and, with ponderous majesty, toppled into the palace grounds, the bell that had been brought to Pavonis by her first human colonists tolling one last time as it impacted on the cobbled esplanade and exploded into great brass shards.

  Other tanks began shelling the walls of the Arbites precinct, but here they met fiercer resistance. The power fields incorporated into the precinct’s walls were, thus far, holding the worst of the damage at bay, crackling and flashing with energy discharges. A few tanks attempted to lob shells over the walls and into the precinct, but their guns were incapable of elevating high enough or firing at a low enough velocity to land their shells within the judges’ compound, and every shot was long, detonating within the hab units further east.

  But as more shells slammed into the energy fields protecting the walls, it became clear that it was simply a matter of time until they failed and the wall would be reduced to rubble.

  Both the palace and the Arbites precinct house were living on borrowed time.

  ARIO BARZANO STRUGGLED out from under a pile a timber and plaster, wipi
ng a trail of blood from the side of his cheek where splinters had cut him. He scrambled to his knees as yet more blasts thundered against the palace walls and crawled towards Mykola Shonai.

  He dragged the governor’s limp body from beneath shattered remains of her desk and pressed his fingers against her neck. He pulled her away from the wall, keeping low and out of sight from the smashed window. Swiftly he examined her, checking for any serious wounds, but finding only bruised flesh and lacerations from the flying glass.

  Satisfied that Mykola Shonai was alright, Barzano crawled across the debris-strewn floor of the office to check on the room’s other occupants. Jenna Sharben didn’t seem too badly hurt, though she cradled her left arm close to her chest. She gave him a curt nod of acknowledgement and jerked her head towards the prone form of Almerz Chanda, who lay beneath a buckled section of wood panelling. The governor’s aide groaned as Barzano threw off the wreckage.

  ‘What happened?’ he slurred.

  ‘It seems the tanks in Liberation Square decided to try and remove the governor by more direct means,’ answered Barzano, helping the bruised man against the wall. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘I don’t think so. A few cuts perhaps.’

  ‘Good, don’t move,’ advised Barzano, casting wary glances at the wide cracks in the ceiling as more rumbling explosions

  shook the room. He crawled to the remains of the wall where the window had once been and furtively poked his head around the ragged stonework.

  Scores of Leman Russ tanks filled the square, some of them burning wrecks, but many more grinding towards the palace, their guns elevated to fire on the upper levels. The room shook, and plaster dust floated from the groaning ceiling as timber split and cracked. The lower reaches of the palace were in flames, the vaulted entrance now nothing more than a pile of fire-blackened stonework.

  In the wake of the tanks came scores of Chimera armoured fighting vehicles, all heading in the direction of the palace and Arbites precinct.

  He rolled back to where he’d left Mykola Shonai. She was starting to come round and he wiped blood and dust from her face.

  She coughed, opening her eyes, and Barzano was pleased to note the absence of fear. Shonai pushed herself upright and surveyed the devastation wreaked in her personal chambers.

  ‘Bastards!’ she snapped, attempting to stand. Barzano kept her down as another volley of shells struck the palace a series of hammer blows.

  He looked over at Jenna Sharben who knelt beside Almerz Chanda and nodded.

  ‘We have to get out of here, Mykola. I don’t think there’s any doubt that things have deteriorated, is there?’

  Despite the destruction around her, Shonai grinned weakly and shook her head. ‘I suppose not’

  She pressed her hand to her temple and winced, ‘All I remember is a terrific explosion and next thing I was lying on tile floor.’

  Shrugging off Barzano’s helping hand, Shonai rose unsteadily to her feet and brushed her robes of office clear of dust as the door to her chambers was wrenched from its frame by a battered looking Sergeant Learchus. The giant warrior ducked into the room, followed by the two warriors Uriel had ordered remain with the inquisitor.

  ‘Is everyone alright?’ demanded Learchus.

  ‘We’ll live, sergeant,’ assured Mykola Shonai, striding past Learchus and into the undamaged outer chambers, ‘but we

  must act with haste now. Our enemy is at the gates and we have little time.’

  Learchus picked up the stumbling Chanda in one arm as Jenna Sharben and Ario Barzano followed the governor’s retreating back. Dozens of palace guards and soldiers ringed her, as though seeking to make up for their failure to protect her from the shelling. Suddenly Shonai stopped, her head cocked to one side and spun to face them. ‘Why isn’t the energy shield up?’

  Barzano paused for a moment. ‘That’s a damn good question actually,’ he said at last. He opened a channel to his quarters and Lortuen Perjed. ‘Lortuen, old friend. Is everyone there alright?’ After a long silence, Perjed finally answered, ‘Yes, we’re all fine, Ario. What about you?’

  ‘We’re alive, which is something, but we’re getting out of here and heading for the Vae Victus. I want you to gather everybody and make your way to the landing platforms on the east wing roof. We’ll meet you there.’

  He shut off the communication and turned to Learchus, saying, ‘Sergeant, I need you and your men to get to the aerial defence control room and find out why the shield isn’t up. Do whatever needs to be done to raise it.’

  Learchus looked ready to mount another protest, but Barzano cut him off, waving at the dozen palace soldiers. ‘Don’t worry about my safety, sergeant. We have enough protection here, I’m sure.’

  The sergeant didn’t look convinced, but nodded and handed the swaying Chanda to a pair of grey uniformed soldiers. ‘I’ll show you the way,’ offered a young defence trooper. Learchus grunted his thanks and the four set off at a jog towards the control room.

  THE ONCE GRIM and imposing facade of the Arbites precinct house looked as though a siege titan had taken its gigantic wrecking ball to it. The entire west face had caved in, exposing plascrete floor slabs and twisted tendons of reinforcement. Huge metre wide cracks stretched from ground to roof and giant holes gaped in the building’s fabric.

  Casualties were high and the compound was choked with rubble and dust. Blood-covered judges pulled wounded comrades from the wreckage and dug for survivors while medics desperately tried to seal wounds and breathe life into crushed bodies.

  Virgil Ortega pushed his way through the shell-shocked throng, trying to make some kind of sense of the events of the last few minutes. The precinct house was in ruins, and he tried to fathom how such a disaster could have occurred. It wasn’t a shell impact: that much was certain, since the blast had exploded from within. There was no way anyone could have smuggled a bomb inside, but how else could it have happened?

  Explanations and retribution could come later. If there was a later, he reflected, listening to the deafening thunder of shellfire as the traitor tanks attempted to batter their way in. Hastily he mentally reprimanded himself for that tiny heresy. He was a warrior of the Emperor, and while there was life in his body, there would be no surrender.

  He grabbed every man that was fit to fight, shouting his orders to them. This was the first strike in armed rebellion, and when the walls failed, they were sure to be hit hard.

  His breath came in short, painful bursts and his head pounded viciously. He’d only just discharged himself from the precinct infirmary and his splintered ribs still ached fiercely, but he’d be damned if he’d sit this fight out.

  He would have preferred to mount his defence from within the precinct, but its structure was far too unstable and looked ready to collapse at any moment. Gun batteries on the crenellated battlements added some heavy punch to the defence, but many of these had been damaged in the explosion and subsequent collapse.

  Satisfied that he was making all possible precautions for the defence, he returned to the huge gates of the precinct house where he’d left Collix with the vox-caster. Collix was blood soaked, his carapace armour dented and dust covered. Virgil had been pleasantly surprised at how the young officer had changed in the last few days. He had matured into a fine officer and Ortega was glad he had survived the explosion.

  ‘Any luck?’ asked Ortega.

  ‘Nothing yet, sir. All the other precincts are off the net. We’re being jammed.’

  ‘Damn it!’ swore Virgil. This was much worse than he’d feared.

  ‘Try the PDF net,’ he suggested.

  ‘I’ve tried that already. It’s jammed solid.’

  ‘Well keep trying and call me if you get anything,’ ordered Virgil.

  Collix nodded and returned to the communications gear.

  Ortega stared out over the rubble-strewn ground before him. The defensive perimeter of the precinct house extended three hundred metres from the front of the building’s structure with ang
led walls, tank traps and concealed ditches providing a layered defence that his hastily prepared fire teams were even now rushing to occupy. But what should have been a-dear field of fire was now littered with giant slabs of rock and steel. When the enemy breached the walls, they would have plenty of cover.

  He glanced over to the buckled roller doors that protected the precinct’s vehicle hangar. Inside, he could hear the three Leman Russ tanks the judges had available, their engines idling. Hopefully they could yet surprise their enemy.

  A massive explosion from the walls and a whipcrack of blazing energy announced the failure of the walls’ protective power fields, the machine spirits within them overwhelmed by the weight of fire. Seconds later a portion of the wall blasted inwards and a whole section collapsed.

  This was it, the attack was coming and Virgil knew that with the limited time and resources available, he’d done as much as he could. Now he would see if it had been enough.

  DANIL VORENS LOWERED his smoking laspistol and returned his attention to the viewscreen before him. A stunned silence filled the defence control room, the technicians agog at what had just happened.

  Lutricia Vijeon stared in open-mouthed horror at the corpse lying in the centre of the room with a ragged hole where its face had been. The old man had come in waving his pipe and screaming at them to raise the energy shield, cursing them all to hell for allowing traitors to defile the palace walls.

  She had been surprised that Vorens hadn’t already raised the shield, and was about to voice her concerns when the old man had burst in. She didn’t know who he was, but understood that his clearance must be extremely high to allow him access to this command centre.

  He’d raged at Vorens, who had calmly drawn his pistol and shot him in the face.

  Vorens had holstered his pistol and turned his gaze upon the control centre technicians.

  ‘Anyone else have any objections to my not raising the shield?’ he asked mildly.

  No one said anything, and Lutricia felt a deep shame burn in her heart. This was murder and treason. Safe within this reinforced structure, they could feel only the barest hint of the artillery bombardment that was pulverising the rest of the palace, and she muttered a brief prayer to the Emperor for His forgiveness.