by Nick Kyme
In a roar, his brothers answered. In blood and in death.
Before the bridge stood Sicarius and his Lions, as well as a handful of other Adeptus Astartes who could be spared. They fought in the corridors, from behind defensive embrasures and amidst the shuddering staccato of point defence guns whose ammunition ran dry long before the battle had reached its crescendo. After that, the Lions and their master went to their blades and, in the failing light, earned the ferocious reputation of their namesakes.
It had been Sicarius’ plan to take all crew who could be moved from their quarters and to cloister them across only a few decks. It had made them easier to defend, but at greater risk of wholesale slaughter should their defenders be overcome. In upper deck aft-seven, hundreds were slain as a massive horde broke through the cordon of armsmen and Ultramarines pledged to protect them. The enemy attacked with base cunning, overwhelming and killing the Adeptus Astartes first before butchering the armsmen at their leisure. The rest, the deckhands too weak or afraid to fight back, were turned into unwilling cattle for their knives. Every soul aboard the Emperor’s Will heard the massacre across the vox or echoing through the ship’s pipes and conduits, or saw it horribly rendered on pict-casters or remote hololiths. Deck aft-seven was shut off before the end, Haephestus sealing its gargantuan blast doors and emptying the mile-long section of air and light, flooding it with lethal concentrations of hydrogen sulphide and methane. The enemy died in droves, with the exception of their renegade warlords, but it was bitter compensation.
As the deadly fighting ground on, it quickly became apparent that there would be no rout this time, no repelling of boarders. It was the pursuit of annihilation on either side, and nothing in between.
And as the killing continued unabated, the savage drag and pull of the empyrean sea could be felt like a tentacled grasp, as if in trying to flee, the ship had awakened some leviathan of the deep unwilling to give up its prey. A relentless undertow had them, ripping at the ship’s metal flesh, rending her iron bones and battering at her hull until the cacophony of screeching seemed to have no end, merging with the thousands of mortal voices raised in fear and anguish across her body into one agonised chorus.
She bucked and split, a spirited heart straining against a cruel leash. Talons raked her, tearing at her ancient body, pulling at her frame as a colossal sentience pitted its malice against her. But the Emperor’s Will was a venerable ship, and she had seen many battles, ended many foes who thought themselves superior. She pushed hard against the warp, stretching the caul of unreality suffocating her, until her prow pierced its distended mass and broke through.
A shuddering lurch resonated throughout the ship at the sudden and painful translation back into the materium. Tendrils of corposant and the uncanny vestiges of warp matter clung to her frame like supernatural afterbirth. It faded, withering to motes and then to nothing at all, as reality took a firmer hold and the wound in the void resealed to the echoes of a deep, unearthly rage.
She crawled after that, her abused body left beaten and aflame by its violent escape. Cold void snapped at her. Gas and heat and bodies bled from the fissures in her armoured flanks. The ship was whole, but critically wounded.
Down in the catacombs, Haephestus kneeled as if by a holy altar. A trembling hand upon the dying power core, he wept.
‘Praise the Omnissiah,’ he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. ‘Praise Her, oh maiden of the void.’
A FERAL WORLD
Bullet craters marked the walls, and the scorched metal of bulkheads betrayed the presence of fires recently doused. A few makeshift barriers had yet to be cleared, and the grim evidence of bloodstains showed here and there, thinned down to a dark residue but still not scrubbed clean. Maintenance servitors quietly toiled as the bridge tacticarium’s other occupants surrounded their Techmarine, who directed proceedings at a hololithic projection table.
‘A feral world,’ said Haephestus, turning the flickering representation of a planet with mechadendrite fingers. It had several landmasses and even oceans. Mountainous regions jutted from its rural topography, creating vast canyons and defiles. The dense cloud patterns churning in its upper atmosphere suggested volatile storm fronts veiled the entire globe.
‘Inhabited?’ asked Daceus, the holo-light casting his features in sharp relief.
‘There are man-made structures evidential of a crude culture. Yes.’
Daceus raised an eyebrow. ‘Crude?’
‘Rudimentary technology, abundant in untapped fossil fuel reserves. Medieval.’
‘A primitive society then,’ said Helicos, the Primaris lieutenant towering above the others even without his helm.
‘As I said,’ offered Haephestus, ‘feral. But here is something potentially interesting…’ He manipulated the image, which zoomed out as several data markers appeared in the negative space around it and were attached to the globe by straight lines. ‘Energy output,’ he explained, homing in on one of the markers, the largest. The area it connected to flared orange and red like a heat signature. The others were small and blue.
Helicos’ eyes narrowed. ‘What is that?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Haephestus, and everyone in the tacticarium looked at him in surprise. ‘It is immense. A power output that massive, if I were able to harness it…’
Daceus answered for the Techmarine. ‘It could reinvigorate the ship.’
‘In theory… yes. Though it could also be an instrumentation fault.’
‘And does it have a name, this world?’ asked Helicos.
Haephestus shook his head. ‘Not according to the ship’s archives, though admittedly I have only been able to access a small percentage of those records.’
Helicos and Daceus exchanged a glance.
‘So, we would be walking into the unknown, then, and with no guarantees of success,’ said the Primaris Marine, and turned to one Ultramarine in the tacticarium who had not yet spoken. ‘Is it worth the risk? We could send out scouts, see if there are nearby Imperial stations?’
Sicarius looked stern. None of this appealed to him, but with each hour that passed the options shrank. Barthus lived. Drained, shrunken even, but he lived. Through sheer will, or perhaps divine providence, he had a found a way through. From the immaterium, to the uncharted void. In truth, it had brought them no closer to salvation. They had simply exchanged the unnatural threats to their survival for ordinary ones. Haephestus had managed to restore some of the ship’s power, enough to maintain critical systems and limited augur capacity, but they were still effectively becalmed. Without more power, much more, they would not survive. A skeleton crew, dwindling by the hour. Food and other rations were in catastrophically short supply and with negligible capacity to defend themselves from a distance, they needed aid. And soon.
Sicarius considered all of this – he had thought of little else – as he leaned in to the grainy grey image, as if looking for something in the light.
‘Is it reachable?’
‘Two days via atmospheric transport,’ said Haephestus.
‘Then we go,’ said Sicarius. ‘Daceus, prepare a gunship.’
HARD SKY
The gunship pitched against the heavy winds buffeting its shell. Vedaeh gripped her restraint harness like grim death, her eyes pinched shut and a prayer murmuring on her lips. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and unclamped her eyes. Turning her head was difficult. The hold was trembling so much, she was afraid she’d shatter her skull if she tried to move. Reda looked back at her, a reassuring smile on her face. Her helm sat comfortably on her head, far better than Vedaeh’s, which felt like a bucket, and her mirrored goggles reflected the chronicler’s face back at her.
She looked ill, ghastly pale and washed out in the yellow hold light.
‘Is this normal…?’ she roared, fighting the engine scream. She stole a glance at the Adeptus Astartes, meditating and muttering silent oaths over their weapons. Vandius had even disengaged his harness and crouched on one knee, the blade of
his gladius held down and against the deck, the pommel pressed against his forehead. When Vedaeh looked back at Reda the armsman was tapping her right temple. Vedaeh frowned, and only understood when Reda then pointed to her mouth.
With fumbling fingers, reluctant to loosen her grip on the restraints, Vedaeh engaged the vox.
‘I didn’t think it would be this… violent,’ she voxed.
Reda laughed, and to Vedaeh it seemed such an incongruous thing to do in the situation.
‘We are in a metal box, ditching through a lightning storm,’ said Reda. ‘It’s going to be a little bumpy.’
‘That does not alleviate my concerns, Lieutenant Reda.’
‘Lieutenant, is it? A little formal for you.’
‘It feels warranted in the circumstances. How do you do it?’ she asked, seizing the restraint strap as the gunship shuddered in a patch of sudden turbulence. The lamps turned briefly from yellow to red and then back to yellow again.
Vedaeh started to pray.
‘Have no concern, chronicler,’ boomed a deep voice from across the other side of the hold, carrying despite the storm’s fury. It was one of the sergeants, Iulus Fennion, she thought. The friend of Scipio Vorolanus, who sat next to him, head back and eyes closed.
‘Is he asleep?’ Vedaeh exclaimed.
Iulus glanced at him then back to the chronicler. ‘Preparing, as we all are. You are safe with us,’ he said. ‘I will allow no harm to come to you or the other mortals.’ Iulus banged a gauntleted fist against the side of the hull. ‘See? Strong iron from Konor.’
The ship lurched again, pushing Vedaeh up against her harness, and she had to clamp her mouth shut to prevent herself from vomiting.
‘You don’t expect me to believe that this vessel is forged of iron, do you?’ she asked when she had recovered enough.
Iulus laughed. ‘No, I suppose not, but I thought it sounded impressive and might make you feel better.’
‘It hasn’t.’
Iulus laughed again. Louder.
Vedaeh scowled. ‘I’m glad you find it funny, sergeant.’
‘It’ll be over soon,’ he said, warmly. ‘It’s a Thunderhawk, chronicler,’ he added, ‘she’s made for the storm.’
Vedaeh rolled her eyes, and clung on. She felt another’s gaze upon her and saw the Primaris Marine, Pillium, staring at her. He held his spear firmly and in an upright position, like a guard before a forbidden gate.
Reda’s voice came across the feed. ‘He doesn’t want us here, that one.’
‘He saved Olvo Sharna, didn’t he?’
‘I didn’t say he wouldn’t do his duty. I just know he would prefer it if that duty wasn’t looking after us.’
‘I’m still not entirely sure why I am here.’
‘Apparently it’s a primitive culture.’
‘I heard the same thing. It still doesn’t clear up why I’m sat in this deathtrap.’
‘You know primitive cultures.’
‘I’ve read a few books.’
‘Perhaps they need an interpreter.’
‘Perhaps. They speak the language of war well enough…’ Vedaeh’s gaze strayed back to Pillium. ‘He certainly does.’
With the clamour of the storm even the enhanced hearing of a Primaris Marine would not be able to discern what they were saying but, under that unflinching gaze, Vedaeh whispered her next words.
‘He scares me, Arna.’
There was a momentary pause before she replied.
‘Me too.’
Pillium looked as if he were about to say something when the ship bucked hard, like an angry mule trying to dislodge an unwanted rider. A crackle of interference swept across the vox. Vandius was already back in his seat and locking down his harness as Haephestus’ metallic voice radiated throughout the hold.
‘Brace yourselves…’
The ship banked. Hard. Vedaeh felt her body slam against one side of her restraints. Even Reda clung on now, Gerrant next to her, the two exchanging a look that suggested whatever was happening was bad.
Red light flooded the hold as the engine noise cut out and was replaced by shrieking wind shear.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Vedaeh, fear edging her voice.
‘Engine’s out,’ said Iulus over the vox. He had donned his war-helm. All the Space Marines had, and a host of retinal lenses glowed a deeper red in the light-washed hold. They put Vedaeh in mind of blood splashes, and she prayed to the Emperor that the image was not prophetic.
Reda and Gerrant gritted their teeth as the hull started to shake uncontrollably.
‘Are we…’ Vedaeh said haltingly with each jerk of the ship, ‘are we… falling?’
‘Vedaeh…’
‘We’re falling… aren’t we?’
‘Vedaeh…’
She acknowledged her name the second time, trying to shut out the sound of plummeting metal whining through the hull. She looked over at Sicarius, his red gaze blazing like hot coals as the internal lumens shut off and cast the interior of the ship into darkness. She couldn’t breathe. It was like a metal fist had wrapped around her lungs and was squeezing…
Sicarius gestured to his gorget. ‘Your rebreather, Vedaeh… here,’ he said, pointing again to his neck. ‘Put it on.’
She did, clamping it to her mouth and nose, almost hyperventilating in the process.
‘Calmly…’ uttered Sicarius. ‘Calmly…’ he repeated slowly, and Vedaeh felt her breathing stabilise, although the gunship still shook and she felt something strike the hull with a loud clang. Blood thundered in her ears and set her heart beating in a frantic tattoo.
Sicarius said something to the others in Ultramarian battle-argot, the meaning lost on her. Then the ship jinked and turned. Light streamed in, shafts of dull grey slashing against the inside of the hold. It took a moment for Vedaeh to realise the side hatch had ripped off. Air rushed in, and tore Pillium away with it. Her last sight was of Daceus and Vandius reaching for him as Sicarius roared in desperation and despair.
‘Brother!’
Then a blackness fell like a dark curtain suddenly drawn over her eyes, and Vedaeh knew no more.
PART TWO
AGUN
FLASHES
They had Pillium between them, dragging him bodily across the dark landscape. He looked dead, limp like an empty suit of armour only held together by its clasps.
A fire was burning nearby. Vedaeh heard it crackling and could smell smoke, harsh against her nose and throat. She coughed, then spluttered, struggling to breathe, and caught someone’s attention.
‘Up, mortal…’ His voice was rough, curt. He sounded in pain. Her head turned and the eyepatch visage of Daceus glared back. There was blood on his face. And ash from the fire.
‘B-burning…’ she murmured, and felt him take her weight like an adult carrying a child.
‘Haephestus is dealing with it. Here,’ he said, and she felt rough cloth pressed into her trembling hands, ‘put it on.’
Dazed, she wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, only now appreciating how cold it was as the shock began to wear off. Her head pressed against the coolness of his armour. No motor sounds emanated, or the growling of gears and servos. It was silent. Deadened.
‘Hap-happened,’ she rasped, struggling to articulate properly, ‘w-what happened?’
‘Crash landed.’
She felt the heavy trudge of Daceus’ boots as he fought against the rugged terrain. His own cloak flapped in a shearing wind. He turned and she raised her head just enough to see the gunship. Or the wreckage of it. A large section of fuselage had ripped off, including the side hatch through which Pillium had been torn. Rents like claw marks deformed the hull. The nose cone had been dented inwards. Cracks distorted the glacis. A fire had overtaken the engines and a warrior in red armour was trying to douse it.
‘Haephestus…’ she said.
Daceus didn’t acknowledge her but stopped moving to speak with someone else.
‘Are you sure you want him to re
main with the ship?’
‘He says he can rig the beacon,’ answered a second voice, one she also knew but was finding hard to place. The world went grey for a moment but she blinked and forced her eyes to open. She needed to be awake. She didn’t know why, but she knew she had to try to stay conscious.
‘Nothing is functioning,’ Daceus replied. ‘No vox.’ He grunted with the effort of hefting a heavy weight. ‘Not even our armour.’
‘It’s our only means of reaching the Emperor’s Will,’ said the second voice. ‘Haephestus stays. Either he gets the beacon to work or he repairs the ship. We need one or the other, Retius.’
Daceus turned his head, looking at something.
‘Pillium looks bad.’
‘He’s an Ultramarine, Retius. He’ll live. He has to. Argo won’t thank me if, when we return to the Emperor’s Will, I have to tell him I have lost one of his own.’
‘Without Argo, without Venatio…’ Daceus tailed off in silence.
‘You think I erred in omitting them from the landing party?’
‘I think we need more Ultramarines, both here and in the void.’
A gauntleted hand clapped Daceus on the shoulder and Vedaeh sensed him straighten a little, stand a little taller for it.
‘We have always managed with less, brother.’
‘Aye.’
The owner of the second voice stepped into her eyeline. A blurred face slowly resolved, its noble features, a dark beard and hair stirred by the wind. A cloak was clasped around the neck, snapping loudly with each gust.
‘How is she?’ asked Sicarius.
‘I am…’ she began, her voice still a croak but growing stronger, ‘…alive, Cato.’
He looked down at her, those eyes like ice chips laying bare all her secrets. For the briefest moment they softened with concern. ‘My apologies for the heavy landing.’
‘You call that… a landing,’ she breathed, and fidgeted until Daceus put her back down.