[Dawn of War 03] - Tempest

by C. S. Goto - (ebook by Undead)

  The file was a record of the charges against the Ordo Malleus Inquisitor Kravin pressed by Girreaux himself after the Ikrilla Conclave, at which the impassioned Kravin had warned that, unlike the other traitorous Chaos Marines who had fled into the Eye of Terror, the Alpha Legion was recruiting neophytes from within the Imperium, just like the loyal Space Marine Chapters. Girreaux had charged Kravin with heresy, arguing that the once-respected inquisitor was in league with the Alpha Legionaries, and that he was attempting to sow the seeds of panic and suspicion into the Imperium.

  More important, however, was the fact that Kravin was the only Imperial researcher to have made any significant headway into the secretive history of the Alpha Legion. Indeed, it was on his research that the Inquisition and the Blood Ravens based their understanding of the origins of that mysterious Chapter. If Girreaux was right, then the Imperium’s understanding of the Alpha Legion would have to be reconsidered.

  Interestingly enough, one of the only possible sources that could corroborate Kravin’s stories was the extensive archives of the Ultramarines. Despite the renowned scholarship of the Blood Ravens, however, not even they had access to the archives of other Chapters of Space Marines. In his early work, Kravin had postulated that the Alpha Legion and the Ultramarines had been at loggerheads right from the start. Alpharius, the youngest of the primarchs, had felt patronised by the righteousness of Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines, even before the Great Heresy, and he had rejected the teachings of the Codex Astartes. Whether or not this was true, it was indisputable that Alpharius deliberately sought out Guilliman in the Eastern Fringe during the galactic civil war that followed Warmaster Horus’ great treachery.

  The epic battle of Eskrador was depicted on frescos and murals all over the system, since it was there that Guilliman finally slew the traitorous Alpharius. However, the battle was certainly not a victory for the Ultramarines, who were driven from the planet by the cunning of the remaining Alpha Legionaries, suffering immense losses. In some tomes of Imperial history, Eskrador was counted amongst the greatest ever defeats visited on the Ultramarines, since they were bested by superior strategy rather than greater numbers.

  As the ruined and mutilated frigate tumbled, free-floating amongst the debris on the viewscreen, Jonas sighed slightly. Given their particular history, it should be no great surprise to learn that the Ultramarines had rushed to confront the Alpha Legion on Lorn V, but he knew that this would be no consolation for Gabriel. The Blood Ravens also had a long history of conflict with these Chaos Marines; Gabriel himself had recently done battle with them on Tartarus. The Librarian could imagine the chagrin of Ulantus if he had arrived too late or if he had been forced to share the field with the Ultramarines because the Litany of Fury’s battle company—Gabriel’s Third—had vanished off to the other side of the galaxy. Gabriel would blame himself for any such shame.

  “Send a message to Ulantus,” said Gabriel, breaking the silence and turning away from the screen. “Tell him that we will be there presently, and instruct him that I will expect a thorough debriefing on arrival.” He paused for a moment. “Also, inquire about the status of our young neophyte… We need all the recruits we can get,” he added under his breath. “If I am needed, I will be in the chapel with Prathios.”

  The noxious and pungent gases swirled into an eddy as the heavy doors to the Implantation Chamber hissed open, admitting Captain Ulantus into one of the most sacred and secure parts of the Litany of Fury. A harmony of chanting broke over him, as a wave of litanies washed out from the Chapter Priests who were ensconced within the ritually purified space. The captain paused in the doorway, touching his fist to his heart and bowing slightly at the shimmering, blood-red, stylized raven that shone down from the apex of the portal on the far side of the chamber. A clutch of automatic defence cannons clicked and whirred as they tracked his motion from their mountings amidst the archaic runic script that ran around the portal’s archway.

  Ulantus inhaled deeply, taking the poisonous gas fully into lungs without concern for its toxicity. He had long since learned to trust in the functioning of his multi-lung, which filtered all the toxins out of the air before it was infused into his bloodstream. After all, it was not long ago that he had watched the apothecary insert this organ into the crammed chest cavity of Ckrius, the young neophyte who still lay broken and horrified on the surgical table in the centre of the chamber.

  The youth was undergoing the most brutal transformation imaginable—the transformation from boyhood into one of the Adeptus Astartes, one of the Emperor’s own Angels of Death—and he was being pushed through the process at an incredible, unnatural speed. The Blood Ravens could no longer afford the luxury of waiting years for their neophytes to grow into their implants. Their numbers were getting dangerously low, and they had to take the risk of a number of shortcuts, despite the terrible dangers inherent in such a move. Young Ckrius was an experiment in more than one way.

  As the captain entered the sacred space and the door clanked shut behind him, the apothecary looked up from his work and nodded a brief acknowledgement. Although the Blood Ravens observed strict discipline at all times, apothecaries were always excused from the formalities of salutes and official greetings while they were at work; even the smallest hesitation or error might result in the death of their patient. In this case, the young man lying on the tablet was certainly more important to the Chapter than any ritual courtesies—he was a future Blood Raven. The shrouded and cloaked surgeon was a cacophony of chattering augmetic arms and chinking, glittering instruments.

  A black, hemispherical Melanchromic organ was clutched into one of the apothecary’s real hands while a series of mechanical forceps and automated scalpels chattered across Ckrius’ scarred and bloody chest. The cluster of little incisions must have been painful, but the neophyte’s face showed no signs of discomfort; next to what he had been through already, this was nothing. However, the apothecary suddenly stabbed a large metal blade into the youth’s chest and swept it into a broad arc, defining a semi-circle from shoulder to waist.

  Another metal hand reached down and peeled back the perforated skin, revealing the rapidly developing musculature of the would-be Marine’s chest. Ckrius scrunched his eyes against the sudden, tearing pain, but did not cry out. With smoothly choreographed motions, the apothecary pressed the Melanchromic hemisphere down into the neophyte’s chest whilst drawing out threads of nerves from its slick surface. With incredible precision and dexterity, the numerous augmetic limbs positioned and fused the nerve endings into the underside of the skin-flap, hardwiring the organ into the youth’s epidermis. In the future, the Space Marine’s skin would act as a sensitive radiation sensor, triggering changes in the pigment and colour shielding of exposed skin to protect the Marine from atmospheric radiation, thus shielding him from the poisoning and cancers caused by solar activity or dirty weapons.

  The very instant that all the nerves were fixed, the apothecary slapped the skin back over Ckrius’ chest, nodded briskly towards Ulantus, and then turned away, shuffling into the shadows, leaving the terrible torn skin to heal by itself. If Ckrius could not survive this wound, he was of no use to the Blood Ravens anyway.

  Captain Ulantus watched the apothecary disappear into his sanctum through a hidden door to one side of the Implantation Chamber. None except the apothecary were permitted to enter the Sanctum Medicae that adjoined the sacred room, and Ulantus found himself wondering about what the hidden space contained. He was aware that there were a number of secrets hidden within the massive structure of the Litany of Fury, and he permitted himself a faint smile at the irony that the investigative and scholarly Blood Ravens were expected to respect the open secrecy of these places. He knew, for instance, that two of his Librarians, Korinth and Zhaphel, were even then involved in a secret ritual in the Sanctorium Arcanum, into which none but specially initiated Librarians were permitted access. Ulantus knew that the ceremony had something to do with the fall of Librarian Rhamah during the
difficult trip through the warp on the way to the Lorn system, but he had not asked any further questions.

  Librarians occupied a special and revered place in the Blood Ravens, and Ulantus knew better than to pry too closely into their affairs. He knew the dangers of getting too close to the Librarian Fatherhood, and he had his suspicions about the insidious effect that such proximity was having on the Commander of the Watch. He had heard the whispered rumours about Captain Angelos’ state of mind. There were so many Librarians in the Blood Ravens that Ulantus often wondered whether the Fatherhood tended to forget the potential evils and contagion of the unharnessed warp. If he had needed any reminder, then the journey to Lorn was more than sufficient, as Rhamah had sacrificed himself defending the Implantation Chamber from the daemonic forces of the warp. The doors hissed open abruptly, sending a shaft of light piercing through the smoky fumes from the battle-scarred corridor outside. Sergeant Saulh stood imposingly in the doorway. He had arrived back from Rahe’s Paradise aboard the Rage of Erudition only hours before. Ulantus had sent him to bring the cavalier Commander of the Watch back to Lorn to assist in the fight against the greenskins and the eldar. Unfortunately, neither Saulh nor Gabriel had made it back in time to be of any help; but Ulantus had not even asked for a debriefing from his sergeant about the events that had waylaid them at Rahe’s Paradise. His patience with the celebrated captain had worn thin, almost to the point of breaking completely.

  “Sergeant?” Ulantus turned his head to greet Saulh, and the light burst into reflected stars off his grey eyes.

  “The Ravenous Spirit has entered the system. Captain Angelos sends word that he will be here presently. He inquired after Ckrius, captain.”

  Saulh’s tone was unusually formal. Before his recent mission to rein in the flighty Captain Angelos, Saulh had shared Ulantus’ distrust for him. However, he had returned from Rahe’s Paradise with a new-found respect and faith in the Commander of the Watch: Gabriel had been right about the threat to that distant world, after all. Despite his position as Ulantus’ favoured sergeant in the Ninth Company, Saulh felt his sympathies beginning to shift away from the straight-laced Captain Ulantus and towards the flamboyant Captain of the Third Company. Heroism had a knack of obscuring suspicion.

  “Very good, sergeant,” replied Ulantus curtly. He turned his attention back to the youth that was strapped to the ceremonial tablet in the centre of the room. “Inform the good captain that the neophyte is still alive. Tell him…” He trailed off. “Never mind.”

  “Is there something else, sergeant?” Saulh had not moved.

  “Yes, captain. The Commander of the Watch has requested an immediate debriefing on his arrival.” Saulh delivered his line like a messenger, conscious off the effect that the order would have on Ulantus.

  The captain’s jaw clenched and his eyes fixed on the suffering of the neophyte. He could not believe the arrogance of Gabriel: after everything that had happened since he went gallivanting off to Rahe’s Paradise, leaving him to command the Litany against orks, eldar, Alpha Legionaries, and even necron at severely reduced strength and without a battle company. Although he would hate to admit it, if it hadn’t been for the timely arrival of a detachment of Ultramarines, the day might yet have been lost. Whatever it was that had occupied Gabriel and his Third Company at Rahe’s Paradise, it had better have been nothing short of Armageddon. “Of course, sergeant,” he said smoothly. “Inform the captain that we will be ready for him.”

  As the Ravenous Spirit advanced through the Lorn system, closing on Lorn V and the glorious form of the Litany of Fury that hung in a low orbit around that central planet, Jonas and Kohath remained glued to the main viewscreen on the control deck. The space debris grew thicker as the cruiser pushed deeper into the system, and the two Blood Ravens were increasingly surprised by the scale of the conflict that could have left so much wreckage and destruction in its wake.

  In amongst the metallic debris and the tumbling rock, Jonas could identify chunks of greenskin vessels, Cobra fighter gunships, Fury fighters and eldar Shadowhunters. However, there were also fragments of darker material glittering like shadows in the starlight. Even as they watched, the mysterious debris continued to disintegrate and dissolve into the void.

  “Kohath, can you identify that material?”

  The sergeant nodded briskly, realising that the unknown shards of darkness could present a security threat. He flicked a signal to Loren, who was already performing the necessary cogitations at one of the terminals.

  “We have encountered this before, sergeant.” Loren’s voice seemed thin and sibilant in the company of the Space Marines. “In the battle of Rahe’s Paradise, the necron Dirge-class fighters were made of something like this.”

  Knowledge was one of the Blood Ravens’ great advantages: their Space Marines and serf pledge-workers were each fully educated in the vessel classifications used by the Adeptus Astartes, the Imperial Navy, and their major enemies. After the battle of Rahe’s Paradise, Captain Angelos had made sure that the crew of the Ravenous Spirit were thoroughly drilled on the various known classes of necron vessels, including the Dirge fighters that had given them so much trouble in the battle. The material from which these fighters were constructed had eluded all attempts at analysis, a fact that was noteworthy in itself.

  Kohath and Jonas turned as one.

  “Are you saying that the necron have been here too?”

  “That is what the data suggests, sergeant. Yes.”

  The Librarian and sergeant shared a look with one another before turning back to the viewscreen, their minds racing with questions. They had gone decades without even hearing rumours about the ascension of the necron, and now it seemed that the Blood Ravens had encountered them twice in two simultaneous battles on opposite sides of the galaxy. Coincidence was the last word on their minds. “We should inform the captain,” said Kohath, citing due process as much as opinion.

  “I’m not sure that we need to disturb him now, sergeant,” replied Jonas, letting his voice deepen with the implication of significance. “He is in the chapel preparing for his arrival on the Litany of Fury. He may… need a little time.” In the absence of Prathios, Jonas felt a certain paternal kinship towards Gabriel—somebody had to look out for him at this difficult time.

  Sergeant Kohath turned to face Jonas, meeting his eyes and staring evenly into them. Procedure was very clear in situations like this: any evidence of a new threat or information that changed the strategic orientation of a situation should be reported to the commanding officer at once. However, despite his own straightforward nature, Kohath had to concede that the Ravenous Spirit was no ordinary Blood Ravens cruiser. Under the leadership of Captain Angelos, the venerable vessel had witnessed the massaging of a number of conventions and procedures. The idiosyncrasies of the captain were echoed in the operations of his strike cruiser.

  “Very well,” grunted the sergeant. “We are well within range of the Litany of Fury and we may assume that hostilities in this system have been neutralised already.”

  “Indeed,” said Jonas, flicking his eye brows to indicate the viewscreen once again. Emerging from behind the distant and monstrous, glowing gas-giant of Lorn VII, half hidden by a cluster of asteroids and ork war-wrecks, was the sleek and beautiful shape of an eldar cruiser. The long, slender craft bore the green and white markings of the Biel-Tan. Its elegant, great star-sloop, which swept out of the stern like a massive dorsal fin, was holed in three separate places, including a yawning rupture that had torn a third of it clear away. However, the worst damage had been reserved for the breathlessly curving prow, under which could still be seen the remnants of the pulsar lance and other weapons batteries. The whole front end of the vessel had been blasted away, as though it had been pummelled into submission and then destruction by a relentless and impossibly powerful barrage of fire.

  “What could have caused such damage?” asked Jonas as Kohath turned to inspect the distant and improbable wreck.

 
The sergeant didn’t answer. He just screwed up his face in consternation. Whatever had happened here, he was certain that the Ravenous Spirit should have been part of it. No matter how much good they had done at Rahe’s Paradise, they should never have left Ulantus and the Litany to deal with this kind of enemy on their own.

  Something was moving on the other side of the wreckage. Tiny threads of purple and blue energy flickered and glistened like droplets of water cascading down a pane of glass. For a moment, Jonas wondered whether a group of powerful psykers had survived the wreckage of the eldar cruiser, shielded in some kind of miraculous psychic bubble. But as he watched, it became clear that the arcs and streams of energy were not coming from within the husk of the eldar cruiser but from behind it.

  “Loren,” said Jonas calmly, remembering the name that Kohath had used. “Can you enhance and magnify image-sector 18.K?”

  The viewscreen panned and zoomed, clicking into focus once again. The image enhancers dragged the cruiser closer, pulling it in from the far side of the stellar system, and looking through the massive rupture in its dorsal fin, framing the screen with the ragged edges of the hole.

  “Can we get any closer?” asked Jonas, taking a step towards the screen and peering at the poorly resolved picture. The energy trails swirled faintly, and the fabric of space itself seemed to shift and stir slightly in the surrounding area, as though something were moving just under the surface of reality.

  “What do you see, Jonas?” Kohath was looking from the viewscreen to Jonas and then back again. His expression betrayed his confusion: he could not see the odd warp patterns eddying on the far side of the eldar vessel.

  “I’m not sure, sergeant,” answered Jonas honestly, as Loren tweaked the focus and pushed the magnification even further. “But it is possible that we are not entirely alone in this system… Perhaps it is time to alert the captain after all.”

  One the nameless serfs jumped to attention and hurried from the control room to find the Commander of the Watch.