Kryptman watched as the xenos went to work on the grox carcass. The three monsters buried their chitinous heads in the beast’s flank, the raw musculature of their bodies twisting and arching as they rent and gobbled prey-flesh in a chugging, instinctual motion. It was disgusting to behold.
‘From observing the attack on the second prey specimen, we can confirm that each strike – although appearing mindless – is in fact precisely targeted. All major organs required for life have been punctured or ruptured, with the exception of the rather primitive brain. Predator specimens are now attempting to ingest tissue and complex proteins to drive their demanding metabolism.’
Gore-smeared, the beasts started to wander from the decimated carcass, their movements twitchy and inquisitive. Their tongues swung from their skulls like obscene, slimy eels and their dead alien eyes were everywhere. One approached the screen and seemed to regard Kryptman, who stared back at it through the transparency of the viewport.
‘It is... worse than I had initially thought,’ the inquisitor confessed. ‘The information from the data-codex was suggestive of a single driving consciousness directing the invading tyranid swarm. Reports seemed to indicate that certain larger monstrosities – acting as a form of cellular node – prompted the lesser creatures to attack in disciplined patterns and powerful concentrations. Without these synaptic nodes, localised swarms were less effective and prone to discombobulation.’
Kryptman watched the beast as it tongued the armourglas. It wasn’t thinking. Something far more alien was taking place in the creature’s mind. The inquisitor felt its bottomless desire, simultaneously empty like the void yet more intense than the light from the brightest star.
It didn’t just want to kill him; it wanted to assimilate him. To absorb his flesh and craft atrocity from it. To become one with his essence, the building blocks of his existence, and rob him not just of his life but of the future of his entire race.
‘This construct, not unlike the documented xenos species Corporaptor ymgarli, demonstrates a congregative brood-communion. Here in the vivisection pit, having no synaptic contact with their tyranid kindred, these gaunts are operating on a pre-engineered, aggresso-cooperative instinct. This makes them perfectly designed for front-line, advance deployment, making the gaunt sub-species the most likely encountered in the early stages of a tyranid invasion. The data-codex confirms this.’
While the beast continued to watch the inquisitor, its kindred had wolfed down the remains of the grox. Now they proceeded to systematically test their confines, picking at the metal and armourglas with their scythes. They lashed out at the servo-arms and mechadendrites, and tore the stasis field colonnades out of the floor.
‘The tyranids employ a myriad of biological weaponry,’ Kryptman resumed his commentary. ‘Reports show that the Gaunti alone has been engineered to deploy both ranged and close combat armament. This includes symbiotic ballistic weaponry that launches live, parasitic organisms. Conversely, a typical Gaunti gladius – if such a thing exists – favours the simplicity of face-to-face killing with razor-edged claws. More than a match for plasfibre, carapace or even power armour. Add to this the powerful bounding motion and flesh-tearing jaws and you have a lethal xenos predator.’
Kryptman turned from the screens. The gaunt still peered through the armourglas at him.
‘Magos Orm, please begin Stage Two.’
The xenobiologos manipulated the controls, guiding robust servo-arms and restraint-appendages at the monsters. They began to retreat with skittish suspicion, hissing and spit-snarling at the cage of heavy-duty claws and hydraulic pincers closing in on them, bounding off the walls, screens and floor plates in an effort to remain out of reach.
‘Initiate a threat protocol,’ Kryptman instructed.
Orm brought the largest and most threatening servo-claw aggressively in on one of the beasts, prompting the monster to slash out with its own scything talons. Leaping up between the closing pincers, the gaunt perched on the claw and began slashing at the compression pistons and power lines.
‘Increase.’
Two smaller adamantine grapplers came at the attacking beast, clamping it about the fore-scythes. At the gaunt’s furious glottal hissing, its kindred killers launched themselves at the mechanical restraints – mounting the reinforced arms on the tips of their claws whilst anchoring themselves with their whip-like tails, the horrors began to snag the servo-appendages with their needle-filled maws.
‘Maximal threat, magos, if you please,’ the inquisitor said to Orm, prompting the tech-priest to manoeuvre a tertiary set of mechadendrite restraints out from the nearby wall.
Snatching the three beasts from one another, the remote arms dangled the xenos above the pit floor and soon supported them by auxiliary servo-shackles and clawed fetters. Kryptman watched as the magos expertly rearranged the purchase of the restraints and spread each of the alien beasts out above the vivisection pit floor.
The tyranids heaved with all their alien might but the armature held them in place. As they rasped and spat their inhuman frustration, cranial block restraints moved in to keep their thrashing heads still.
Kryptman resumed his narration. ‘Gaunti gladius operates on the individual instinct to hunt and kill, although brood methodology dictates that this instinct yields greater dividends when employed in large numbers. The data-codex suggests that under certain circumstances, individuals might cooperate or even “strategise”. Presumably, this effect is further enhanced at the level of a full swarm in the presence of the larger synaptic relay organisms.’ He nodded to Orm. ‘Magos, commence Stage Three: the surgical vivisection.’
‘Proceeding, inquisitor,’ Orm replied as her machines went to work. ‘Also, deploying ballistics for ranged weapons testing,’
With the predator specimens splayed, a servo-arm bearing a multi-barrelled apparatus moved into place above the first. A targeter on the arm zeroed in on the beast’s exposed shoulder carapace.
‘Ballistics in three, two, one. Mark.’
With a brief flash, the automaton weapon fired its foremost barrel upon the restrained monstrosity. A las-bolt ricocheted off the shell-like carapace, prompting the gaunt to hiss its displeasure. The servo-arm descended to almost point-blank range and fired again, resulting in a small explosion of burned chitin and a squeal from the tyranid creature. The servo-arm retreated above the beast to reveal that the second shot had barely penetrated the creature’s organic armour plating.
‘Having already detailed the construct’s devastating physical capabilities, it seems ranged combat is our best option against these xenos beasts,’ Kryptman extrapolated. ‘By far the most common weapons available in the Imperium are las-based in their technology, but as we can see, strikes in the nineteen to twenty-two megathule range struggle to penetrate the fused, chitinous plates sported by many bio-constructs. Even successful penetrative blasts would be fortunate to hit an essential organ in Gaunti gladius’s sparse physiology.’
As Kryptman spoke, the weapon-arm cycled to present one of the chunkier barrels in the attachment. The targeter guided the automaton in on the snapping beast’s other shoulder.
‘More effective is the 0.998 calibre boltgun. Standard issue within the Adeptus Astartes, although rarely employed elsewhere within the Imperial military. Observe.’
The attachment on the servo-arm blazed away, chugging mass-reactive shells at the creature. They impacted and shredded the gaunt’s talon arm from its body almost as an afterthought; the scything blade-limb clattered to the deck as the alien obscenity screeched in instinctual fury rather than pain. Its shoulder was nothing more than a ruined stump of spurting gristle.
‘Beyond the greater penetrative and overall stopping power of bolt weaponry, the large bore explosive ammunition has the advantage of being able to amputate – and therefore neutralise – the tyranids’ integral weaponry. Recent advances in the development of bolt ammunit
ion have led to variants that prove even more effective against such engineered breeds.’
Kryptman watched the barrels cycle once more and reposition above the monster’s straining abdomen. The servo-arm bucked as it put a single high-velocity bolt into the beast’s abdomen. There was no detonation, yet the screeching intensified.
‘Hellfire rounds, in which the uranium core of a standard shell has been replaced with a mutagenic acid found to be effective against certain xenos species.’
The ragged hole left behind by the shot continued to grow as the edges melted away to create a cavernous crater in the thing. Its cries became choked gargles.
‘Still, we may note, the predator specimen lives.’
The servo-arm cycled back to the previous barrel that cleared and locked with an automated click. The targeter brought the boltgun attachment in above the creature’s spitting maw, and it fired once, blowing the monster’s ugly head from its carapaced shoulders.
‘Kill-shots with standard mass-reactives should therefore be restricted to the cranial casing.’
Another mechadendrite manoeuvred in past the weapon-arm and positioned itself above the gnarled chest of the second test subject. Instead of barrels, the automaton limb mounted an arrangement of thick needles and helix-hypodermica.
‘Proceed,’ Kryptman ordered.
Rather than rotating, the arrangement shot forward with hydraulic force, ramming the nest of reinforced needles down through the creature’s breastplate. Plungers and siphons pumped various liquids and gases through, and Kryptman waited a moment but the gaunt continued to snap and seethe in its restraints.
‘We have tested a wide range of state-diverse toxins, Adeptus Mechanicus-engineered poisons and over one hundred naturally occurring venoms. Almost all have demonstrated little or no effect on the tyranid corpus-chemistry.’ Kryptman took a step back from the armourglas screens. ‘Magos, you are authorised for the deployment.’
Warning klaxons blared, and green lights on the hypodermica arm changed to red.
A larger needle shot out from the centre of the arrangement on a pneumatic carriage. It brutally punctured the gaunt’s chest, prompting it to shriek.
The effect on the creature was instantaneous – it began to tremble within its restraints but the tremors soon turned to spastic jerking. Venting steam from its cracked dermis, chunks of the beast dropped to the floor, its macabre organics disintegrating into both gaseous and liquefied residue that splattered to the pit floor in a sludge-pool of wasted flesh.
‘The only real success we have enjoyed was with the introduction of the Inquisition’s own biological weapons. This is a weakened derivative of the Life-Eater virus, typically deployed during a planetary Exterminatus order – a tactic that even the holy ordos do not employ lightly. Not even the xenos can withstand the Life-Eater.’
While Kryptman had directed the ballistics and toxicological experimentation, a multi-attachment surgical limb had been busy at work on the third predator specimen, under Orm’s expert control. Las-scalpels, surgical saws and field blades had worked up through the tyranid creature, amputating limbs and harvesting internal pseudo-organs before depositing the remnants in stasis caskets for further study. Magos Orm had worked swiftly with her remote toolery to excise and dismember the bio-construct from its clawed feet all the way up to its truncated neck. With the rest of the creature variously in pieces and in stasis, somehow it still managed to work its needle-fanged jaw in an instinctual snapping motion.
‘The living surgical vivisection of the third xenos subject has been a success,’ Kryptman announced, producing a data-slate and scanning down it, ‘with the complete specimen recovered for further analysis, documentation and testing. The creature has demonstrated... a considerable resilience to shock and biological commitment to its genetically-engineered purpose. The chitin-carapace and skeletal structures stand up well to conventional blades, necessitating the use of chain- and power-tools.’ The inquisitor grinned. ‘The close combat equivalents of these tools would be expected to stand the best chance of wounding tyranid constructs at close quarters on the battlefield.’
Orm brought a rotary bone saw up behind the gaunt’s head, cutting open the cranium from the rear. The beast’s maw continued to snap even as she cranked open the skull and went to work on different parts of the thing’s horrid brain.
‘Psi-occulus augury has previously revealed dissipating fields of a psychic presence,’ the inquisitor narrated, ‘suggesting that certain parts of the brain might be responsible for the synaptic connection indicated earlier. This might be our first evidence of a grand insect-style agglomeration or gestalt consciousness, connecting all tyranid creatures by way of a single “hive mind”.’
The beast’s eyes burned with the blankness of alien hatred. As Orm removed the final and most primitive part of the brain, the monstrosity’s jaws fell slack.
‘One final surprise was the discovery of a birthing tract,’ Kryptman noted with a mixture of technical enthusiasm and despair. A bionic appendage holding an open stasis casket rose to display a collection of fleshy, vein-threaded sphericles. ‘This means that the predator subjects are able to reproduce independently once they have made planetfall, replacing expected losses and fortifying the vanguard swarm. We shall endeavour to raise these specimens to adulthood under laboratorium conditions in order to facilitate further testing.’
He placed his palm upon the slate, imprinting and closing the file.
‘This concludes the investigation.’
Kryptman turned to find Arch-Genetor Vandrasarc looking at him with unbridled horror. Screwing up his ancient face, the priest shook a trembling finger at the vivisection pit.
‘Get those specimens off my world,’ the arch-genetor said bluntly, before trudging from the chamber.
Kryptman looked to Magos Orm, who merely shrugged.
‘Amphitheatre lights,’ the inquisitor muttered.
Above the secured inner chamber, lumen strips snapped into life, illuminating a crowded observation terrace that looked down upon the vivisectorum. The lancet screens were filled with rows of power armoured figures – hundreds of them, helmetless, standing in sombre silence. Space Marines, all, in battle plate of midnight black, polished to light-swallowing oblivion. Each bore the Chamber Militant symbol of the Deathwatch upon their pauldron.
A grim officer with scarred face and a neat, silver beard stepped forward and activated the observatorium vox-hailer.
‘Very educational, inquisitor,’ the veteran said in a voice of stone. ‘Now you have shown us the specifics of this xenos contagion, tell us where we may find this foul species so that we can end them.’
‘Here,’ Fidus Kryptman replied, with equal gravity. ‘Soon.’
The Deathwatch officer nodded in solemn satisfaction. Kryptman clasped his hands behind his back and stared up at him.
‘But captain – understand that should you fail to halt the tyranid advance, they will soon be everywhere.’
‘The Deathwatch do not fail, inquisitor.’
A Sanctuary of Wyrms
Peter Fehervari
-BEGIN RECORDING-
We walk blindly along a knife-edge slicing into oblivion. If we misstep we fall from our path. If we walk true we fall with our path. Perhaps there is a difference, but I have come to doubt it. Nevertheless, I will honour the Greater Good and allow you to draw your own conclusions from the facts.
I have little time, but even in extremis one must observe the correct protocols. That is what it means to be a tau amongst savages. Whatever else I have lost to this diseased planet, I will not lose that. Therefore know that I am Por’ui Vior’la Asharil, third-stream daughter of Clan Kherai. Though I hail from a Sept of worlds where the wisdom of the water caste is eclipsed by the ferocity of the fire caste, my family has served the Tau Empire with grace since the dawn of the first colonies. As I serve with this, my final
account.
And so I shall offer you a beginning. Let it be the grey-green murk that is the perennial stuff of Fi’draah, my new world. As I stepped from my shuttle the planet seized me in a stinking, sweltering embrace and wouldn’t let go. Blinking and choking in the smog, I heard harsh voices and harsher laughter; then someone thrust a filtrator mask over my face and I could breathe again.
‘The first time is like drowning,’ my saviour said. ‘It gets better.’
I don’t recall who the speaker was, but he lied: breathing this world never got any better.
‘You have evidently made powerful enemies for one so young, Asharil,’ the ambassador said without preamble, peering down from the cushioned pulpit of his hovering throne drone. His voice was soft, yet vibrant. It filled the spacious audience chamber like liquid silk, the weapon of a master orator. His summons had followed directly upon my arrival and I was mortified by my dishevelled state.
‘I do not understand, honoured one,’ I blustered, stumbling between respect and revulsion for the ancient who presided over our forces on this remote planet. O’Seishin’s authority was a testament to the excellence of our caste, but he reeked of years beyond the natural span of the tau race. His flesh had aged to deep cobalt leather, barely concealing the harsh planes of his skull, but his eyes were bright.
‘This is a terminal world,’ he continued, ‘a graveyard for broken warriors and forgotten relics like myself, not a proving ground for the hot blood of youth. Who did you offend to get yourself posted here, Asharil?’ He smiled, but his eyes belied it.
‘I walk the water path,’ I answered, seeking the natural poise of our caste. ‘My blood runs cool and silent, so that my voice may weave–’ O’Seishin’s snort cut me short like a physical blow.
‘I am too old for wordplay, girl!’ He leaned forwards and a strand of spittle escaped his lips. ‘Why have you come to Fi’draah? Who sent you?’
‘Honoured one…’ I stammered, struggling to avert my gaze from the lethargic descent of his drool. ‘Your pardon, but I requested this posting. I have made a study of the language and customs of the humans’ – I deliberately used the gue’la word for themselves – ‘and Fi’draah offers most excellent opportunities to deepen my insight.’
Hammer and Bolter Presents: Xenos Hunters Page 22