‘Where’s the dialogus?’
Thieus ran into one of the adjacent rooms, and emerged dragging Margene beneath the arms. Her skin was blackened and cracked, and jagged pieces of shrapnel jutted out of her arms and legs. She left a trail of blood as Thieus dragged her.
She wheezed loudly, turned her blind, lidless eyes towards Ulrich, and died.
Thieus lowered his head.
Ulrich kicked something heavy across the floor.
Chavis saw that it was a man-portable grenade launcher, and a likely picture of events formed in his mind. Another unit of the governor’s guards had come in through the roof. They had surprised the inquisitor and Sister Margene. In the ensuing fight, someone had used explosives in a confined space. The end result couldn’t be anything less than death. It was all very neat.
He reminded himself once again that there was almost always something misleading about things which appeared to be simple.
‘Her body,’ Ulrich said. ‘Perhaps we should take it with us, and return it to her sisters.’
Chavis blinked. This mission had so far cost the lives of eleven Tempestus Scions, and not once had Ulrich suggested that their corpses be recovered.
‘Why would we do that, sir? Sentiment is a waste of time and resources. We need to focus all our resources on getting you back to the hab-crawler.’
Ulrich said nothing further. He simply walked past the burning stacks of the Cantos and down the stairs to the waiting groundcar.
Before they arrived back at the Taurox, Chavis’s monitor informed him that Byrdgon had died. While Erdon and Thieus filled the tank with the pilfered fuel, Chavis took a moment to peer into the containment cylinder. The tentacle segment was lying very still, the cilia flaccid. He did not know why, but he felt certain it, in its own way, was staring back at him.
‘Let’s be on our way, tempestor,’ Ulrich said. ‘Leave the xenology to the experts.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The hatches closed, the engine started, and the transport rumbled away from the nameless city. Above them, in the clear sky, a flaming object fell, trailing black smoke behind it. It was followed shortly by another.
Then another.
Then another.
‘The time has come, the sky descends! The Murderess and her agents must be destroyed, so that a new world may be born. Your Goddess commands it…’
– Cantos Continuous, M41
Chapter Eight
Erdon’s right eye was black and swollen, his hands red and blistered from handling the volley gun. Chavis had smeared his upper leg with an auto-cauterising thermic gel, sealing his wound with a thick layer of scar tissue. It itched beneath its dressing. Neither man complained. In fact, neither man had said anything since leaving the ruined city.
Behind them, the other passengers were quiet as well. Ulrich had gone back to his place beside the containment chamber. Devries had the Martyr’s Gift medi-kit open on the seat next to him as he dug the bullet out of his arm and covered the hole with suture tape. Savdra and Thieus sat across from one another, helmets off and heads down.
The silence was broken when the air outside was filled with a high-pitched screaming that grew in volume. Everyone in the Taurox heard it. The Scions snapped to a state of alertness, for it sounded exactly like a bomb falling from a great height.
The sound grew into a roar. Brandt, Thieus, Devries, and Savdra each looked out of one of the viewing slots above their heads. They saw no sign of any missile coming towards them, but they did see a fireball. The nucleus was a large, dark mass, wreathed in orange flames. It trailed sonic booms as it passed overhead, and the Taurox rocked from side to side. The fireball landed several kilometres to the south of them, sending up a titanic cone of dirt and shaking the ground.
‘Just a meteor,’ Devries said as he sat back down.
‘That was actually fairly close,’ Erdon said.
‘It was,’ Chavis agreed. ‘I’m going up to the turret to take a look.’ He opened the hatch above his head and raised his chair.
The wind that battered Chavis’s face was hot and smelled of ash. The impact crater to the south sent a pillar of grey smoke into the air. Aside from that, however, the land stretched out dead and flat from horizon to horizon. Centuries of oceanic flooding had erased any hills or valleys that might have once been here, and left the land so salted that not even the hardiest of weeds could survive. The sky above was pale blue and cloudless, but stained by multiple smoky black lines.
Chavis tried to recall if Lysios was known for particularly violent or spectacular meteor storms. The dialogus would have known, he thought. If only she hadn’t died.
Behind him, the Taurox sent up a tall plume of dust as it sped across the wasteland. It made them an easy potential target. While he considered ordering Erdon to slow down, he noticed that theirs was not the only dust cloud being generated. He retracted the seat back down inside the Taurox and sealed the hatch.
‘It’s possible that we’re being followed,’ he said.
Ulrich suddenly looked worried. ‘We’re being followed?’
‘Possibly, I said.’
‘By whom?’
‘I can’t tell. They’re quite some distance behind us.’
‘Threat level?’ Erdon asked.
Chavis shook his head. ‘Minimal, if any at all. They won’t catch up. Whatever it is they’re travelling in isn’t nearly fast enough.’
The meteors continued to streak across the sky, growing in frequency with every passing hour. Chavis checked behind them regularly and the other vehicles, whomever they belonged to, continued to follow along. Shortly after noon, the hab-crawler came into view. From the ground, it appeared as a gigantic block of machinery that rumbled along slowly on mammoth treads. The settlement proper rode on top like a collection of low buildings built on the back of a turtle. Access ramps trailed behind it. When they had left the crawler the previous day, these ramps had been clear. Now, they were packed with rickety carts and hundreds of people on foot. Men, women, and children were pushing and shoving one another, all trying to make their way up the ramps and onto the crawler.
‘Reduce speed, tempestor?’ Erdon asked.
‘We haven’t the time. Plough through. They’ll move. Or not.’
Ulrich had risen from his seat beside the cylinder and made his way to the front. He peered through the front window slits at the tumultuous crowd. ‘Use your smoke launchers,’ he said. ‘They’ll scatter.’
Erdon said nothing, but simply thumbed a series of switches on the control panel before him. From either side of the vehicle, there came a soft chuffing sound. Metal canisters bounced into the crowd and began spewing thick clouds of choking grey smoke. Gasping, the people drew back.
The Taurox ascended the ramp, and turned onto the winding street that led to the landing field. This too was filled with people. They poured out from the patchwork buildings and gathered on the low rooftops, pointing up to the sky where fiery black streaks now fell like rain.
The mob only worsened as they approached the field. All around them were people laden with bags and cases, or bundles of clothing and provisions wrapped hastily with plastek cords. They were shouting and crying. Many of them were pressed up against the metal fence that cordoned off the landing field from the rest of the hab-crawler. On the other side of the chain-link, the Battle Sisters had established two semi-circular barricades with three women behind each. An additional pair of women stood just inside the single entryway.
Erdon did not slow the Taurox at all until they came to the gate. Chavis spied a few weapons in the crowd: long, barbed poles, spearguns, and even a few of the kinetic bullet rifles the governor’s guard had used. He could also hear something of what the people were shouting. They were screaming at the Sisters to save them, or to do something, or to let them come in and board the shuttle. The two Sisters rolled the gate open, and shut it once more as the Taurox passed.
The Canoness emerged from the doorway of the control tower, f
lanked by two Battle Sisters armed with storm bolters. The three of them walked with determined strides directly into the path of the Taurox. Erdon brought the vehicle to a screeching halt just as the front grille of the engine housing touched the Canoness’s chest plate. She stared up into the front viewing slits with a look of indignant fury.
Ulrich felt a twinge of anxiety. ‘Here are your orders, gentlemen,’ Ulrich said, loud enough for all of the Scions to hear. ‘I want the containment cylinder taken aboard the lander at once. Then, contact our ship in orbit and tell them that we will be returning within the hour. Do not let Canoness Grace or any of her Sororitas get in your way, or attempt to slow you down. This is our mission. Not theirs.’
He exited through the rear ramp, pausing for a moment to rest his hand on the cylinder. The tentacle within had long since stopped moving. It was regrettable, he thought. A living specimen would have been a much more impressive prize than a deceased sample.
When Ulrich stepped onto the landing field, the Canoness and her two charges came around the side of the Taurox and blocked his path. ‘So,’ she said sternly, ‘I see you have returned.’ Her eyes flashed down to the blackened metal plating behind the repaired quad tracks.
‘Indeed, Canoness,’ Ulrich said. His tone was cordial with a touch of venom. ‘You’ll be happy to know that my mission was a success. I’m sure you’ve been praying for me.’
Canoness Grace watched as Thieus, Brandt, Savdra and Devries exited down the ramp and fell in behind Ulrich. ‘Where is Sister Margene?’
Ulrich met the Canoness’s withering gaze and said simply, ‘She died.’
Canoness Grace lifted her chin slightly. ‘How?’
‘Heroically.’ Ulrich could tell that she was waiting for him to elaborate, but he said nothing more. Neither of them blinked. At the gate, the crowd grew louder. Several more of the meteors streaked across the sky.
Erdon and Chavis began to bring the containment cylinder down. The sight of it caused Canoness Grace to speak at last. ‘What is that?’
‘That,’ Ulrich said, ‘is the concern of the Inquisition, and not the Adepta Sororitas.’ He turned his back to her and walked away to join Chavis and Erdon.
‘Inquisitor Ulrich!’ she shouted. ‘I know that you are here conducting the business of the Ordo Xenos. If that container has anything to do with an alien life form, I demand to know about it!’
Ulrich whirled around, incredulous. ‘You demand? Did I not just say that this was no business of yours?’
Canoness Grace pushed her way past the four Scions before her. ‘Everything that takes place on this world is my business. I am in charge of all operations on Lysios.’
‘Then I am happy to inform you that I am leaving Lysios.’
The Canoness thrust a finger at Chavis and Erdon. ‘You two, open that container for inspection.’
The two Scions exchanged a glance, but did not stop.
Ulrich couldn’t help but smile when he saw the Canoness’s face go livid. ‘Gentlemen,’ he called to Savdra, Thieus, Devries, and Brandt, ‘time to go.’
The four Scions started moving towards the lander’s boarding ramp. Ulrich gave the Canoness a curt nod, and turned his back to her once again.
The inquisitor and the Scions were at the foot of the lander when all eight of the Canoness’s command squad moved in and blocked their way. Their boltguns were in positions of readiness. Chavis and Erdon stopped, and set the cylinder down. Ulrich slowed his pace and turned around to find Canoness Grace glaring at him.
Chavis caught the eyes of his men. Slowly, he lowered his hand to hover above the butt of his bolt pistol. Erdon and the others gave nods that were almost imperceptible. The moment this degenerated into a firefight, they would be ready.
‘Tell your Sisters to clear out of our way,’ Ulrich said to Canoness Grace.
‘Show me what you have in that canister,’ she replied.
Ulrich grasped the pommel of his sword. ‘No.’
Chavis heard the sound of something striking a metal surface. He glanced around, certain that one of the Battle Sisters was responsible. They were standing perfectly still, filled with tension. The noise, he realised, had come from inside the containment cylinder.
‘If you won’t open it,’ the Canoness said to Ulrich, ‘then I will.’
Chavis saw movement behind the glass. He opened his mouth to speak when suddenly, the tentacle slammed itself against the container. It twitched, and its cilia started waving. Its skin glowed from within as it drove its consciousness like a thunderbolt into Canoness Grace’s mind.
Chapter Nine
Dessecran was a night world. For ten months out of the year, the tiny planet lay in the shadow of two gas giants. For the other three months, however, the sun shone bright and clear. None of this mattered to Magda Grace, though, because she was underground where the day would never break.
The sewers ran for kilometres in all directions. Some of them were big enough to drive a tank through, while others could barely accommodate a single person. What they all had in common were the constant drip of water, the flickering lumens built at even spaces along their length, and the monsters.
Grace was thirty-two years old. She was a humble Battle Sister, and her hair was still as black as pitch. She stood ankle-deep in raw sewage, but the stench didn’t bother her. She had been down here for so long that she was immune to it now. In her hands she cradled a storm bolter with double clips and a halogen light strapped to the top. Eight more magazines dangled from her belt. To her left and right, the bodies of nineteen fellow Sororitas bobbed in the mire. She was the lone survivor.
The monsters had arrived months before, raining down from the sky in bloated, slime-coated pods. At first, the people of Dessecran had thought that it was a meteor shower, but they were soon proved wrong. The pods cracked open, releasing millions of horrors that bit, and scratched, and slaughtered, and fed.
Dessecran was being invaded by tyranids.
Rumours persisted that the Imperial Navy was on its way. Any day now, people said, a flotilla of starships would arrive in orbit and several million Imperial Guardsmen would liberate the cities. Those rumours had been circulating for eight months now. Grace doubted they would ever come true. So, the defence of Dessecran was left up to the Sororitas of the local convent. She, and others like her, were the only ones holding things together on this world.
The creature Grace was stalking was a specialised member of the warrior caste. The xenobiologists, before they had all been killed, had called it a lictor. These beasts could move swiftly and soundlessly through nearly any terrain, and were excellent at hiding. They liked to stalk individual prey, corner them, and then devour their brains. No one on Dessecran was certain why this was, but rumour had it that by eating the brain, the creature stole the memories of the person being killed. It was certainly not beyond reason. The tyranids had displayed all manner of strange and hideous abilities since they first made planetfall. Some of them, it was said, even used sleeper agents to corrupt and take over religious enclaves.
Grace had been pursuing this particular creature for some time now, ever since it had ambushed her Canoness and devoured her brain. Every member of the convent had sworn revenge. Although it had been wounded many times, every Sister who had gone after the beast was now dead.
She wheeled around just in time to see the lictor drop from somewhere up above her. She fired her weapon. A cluster of bolts struck its chest. Bits of chitin and soupy blobs of pus exploded outward. It made a gibbering sound that might have been a cry of agony, and lashed at her with its claws. Grace tried to move aside, but the water slowed her down. The armour plates around her right shoulder were broken clean away. Ceramite fragments flew up into her face. She squeezed her eyes closed, but when she opened them again, her vision was obscured with blood. The skin above her eye and on her cheek felt as if it were on fire.
Above the lictor’s shoulders sprouted a pair of segmented, serrated spikes. It drove both of them
down at her. By all rights, Grace should have been ripped into three vertical sections. But her armour held fast. She thanked the Emperor, and struck the beast again in the face with her hefty storm bolter. Once more, her efforts seemed in vain.
The lictor’s claws flashed across her chest like giant scissors. Grace staggered back with the impact. She glanced down, expecting to see her guts push their way out of the lacerations and spill like discarded waste into the sewer water. Instead, her breastplate was barely scratched.
‘Blessed is He who is my shield,’ she recited. ‘Truly, the Emperor protects those who call upon Him.’
Seconds went by with neither one of them able to inflict damage upon the other. Grace began to get the impression that the lictor was becoming angry and frustrated, if such a thing were possible.
The lictor lunged at her. She twisted to one side, and jammed the barrel of her storm bolter down against the side of its face. She pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space. The dead bulk of the thing dropped into the stinking wet. She looked down at herself in awe. Her armour was torn in multiple places, but only her shoulder plate had given way. The side of her face burned like hellfire, but she considered it a blessing. From this day forward, as long as she lived, she would venerate the Emperor who had blessed her armour to such a degree, and she would eradicate the tyranid threat wherever it dared to show itself.
The Canoness staggered backwards, clutching her head. It took a moment for her to remember that she was an iron woman of eighty-three, not a thirty-two year old novice, and that she was on Lysios, not Dessecran. She touched the scar that ran along the side of her face. The creature in the containment chamber had used some kind of mental power on her, violating her thoughts and memories. The attack had taken only a heartbeat, but in that flicker of time, they had been linked.
‘Inquisitor,’ she said, ‘order these Scions to step aside. This specimen of yours has got to be destroyed.’
Shield of Baal: Tempestus Page 8