Hammer and Bolter Presents: Xenos Hunters

by Edited by Christian Dunn

  Few men would ever see this lonely artefact as it kept its silent vigil down the years. Inside it dwelt only clicking cogitators and thrumming data-stacks. The tireless machine-spirits meticulously marked off the span of centuries as they watched for signs their masters would wish to know of. The tower was called Watch Station Elkin and served the organization known as the Deathwatch.

  If the machine-cant of the unliving occupants of Watch Station Elkin could be eavesdropped upon at this juncture, it would have revealed a flurry of activity. Relays opened and closed with a rapid chatter analogous to excitement at the first brush of distant energies.

  Anomalous contact detected: Bearing/98.328. Azimuth/67.201. +

  Moments passed as a faint ethereal breeze caressed the far-flung sensor nets of the Watch Station. Weeks or months away in realspace, events had occurred that only now had crossed the intervening distance to reach the artificial eyes and ears of the Station. The spreading ripples betrayed much to the watching machine-spirits. Their brass-bound cogs and gears ground the information into powder, reconstituted it, and sieved it back through data-stacks filled with information on every known contact signature, human or alien. A match was quickly found, one that was disappointingly mundane.

  Contact identified. Analysis confirmed: Warp egress signature of Imperial Pilgrim-class transport vessel verified. Location: Teramus system. 38AU from star, 68 degrees above plane of the ecliptic. +

  Lenses locked onto the origin point of the warp signature picked out tell-tale twinkles of light, ones racing far ahead of all tertiary emissions. The clattering cogitators suddenly sped up to fever pitch.

  High energy discharges detected. Spectral output gradient indicates xenos-specific origins. +

  Cogitators II through IV assigned to verify. Processing… Contact confirmed. Cogitators V through XXII activated for cross-correlation. +

  Institute automated blessing protocols. +

  “Blessed be the Omnissiah, blessed be his coming and going, blessed be his servants, blessed be their instruments. Grant us the wisdom of His clarity this day.” +

  Automated blessing confirmed. Cogitators V through XXII now active. Begin analysis. +

  Confirmed. Data-stack inquiry confirms weapon signatures most closely match eldar lance parameters. Logged as high probability xenos contact. Activate all remaining idle cogitators. Institute automated celebratory catechism. +

  “Praise be to the Machine-God, through Him our purpose is found.” +

  The full attention of the Watch Station was now bent on the distant Teramus system. Weeks or months ago, alien-built weapons had been fired in a system that should have no xenos within a hundred light years. Perhaps once in half a century, Watch Station Elkin might detect such an event and such was precisely the purpose for which it was constructed. Slower ripples of energy were arriving now, laggardly waves of electro-magnetism and tardy infrared that betrayed the complexities of the unfolding drama. Each nugget of information was dissected with infinite care and precision; all was logged and recorded by the watching machine-spirits in an ecstasy of purpose.

  Tertiary contacts detected. Engine trace analysis indicates estimated twelve plus unidentified system vessels on intercept course with primary contact.+

  Broadband high power transmission detected. Imperial standard gamma level encryption. Origin point: Pilgrim-class vessel. Recording.+

  ‘…Repeat. This is the Penitent Wanderer Imperial transport out of Dhumres. Our warp drive is damaged. Unidentified vessels closing in. We’re running but we can’t stay ahead of them for long. For the love of Terra, any Imperial vessel in the area please assist. Repeat.’

  Voice print confirmed human origin. Conjecture: Captain of Penitent Wanderer. Speech patterns indicate heightened stress levels. Conjecture: Under attack. +

  The doomed pleas of the long-dead captain were taken and preserved in crystal and silicon for later examination, assigned with a low priority. Charters and logs were cross-examined to confirm the existence of the Penitent Wanderer. Its five-hundred year history of hauling pilgrims and convicts between Dhumres and Vertus Magna were appended to the growing report as a minor footnote.

  Confirmed. Additional low power transmissions detected. Unknown sub-Alpha level encryption. Cogitators II through IV assigned to breaking encryption. +

  Unfocused plasma dispersal detected. Conjecture: Drive loss on Pilgrim-class vessel designated Penitent Wanderer. +

  Confirmed. Alpha level encryption defeated. Signal content as follows: +

  ‘There she is, boys! Didn’t ‘ole Buke tell you there’d be a soft touch for the taking today? Aren’t I good to you? Now run her down careful, mind. I don’t want her all spread across the belt like last time. Get this right and there’s a year’s worth of red sacra in it for everyone, got it?’

  Voice print confirmed human origin. Conjecture: Leader of system ships. Speech patterns indicate non-dispersed non-militaristic command structure. Conjecture: Pirate. +

  Subsequent transmission source from Penitent Wanderer detected. Confirmed low power broad band signal. +

  ‘Engines are out! Hull integrity at thirty per cent! Their weapons cut straight through the plating like it was nothing! Anyone in range, please help! This is Penitent Wanderer under attack in the Teramus system… Emperor’s teeth they’re coming aboard… Even if you can’t get here in time just make sure these bastards pay, get them, I–’

  Subsequent transmissions terminated at source. Naval data cross-reference confirms pirate activity reported around Teramus system. Penitent Wanderer logged as overdue, believed total loss. Situation unresolved. +

  The dispassionate crystal eyes of Watch Station Elkin observed the dying moments of the Penitent Wanderer as the pirates closed in on their prey. The lightning-flicker of xenos weaponry had died away and nothing now remained to excite the interest of their masters, but the machine-spirits faithfully continued recording every detail of the month-old attack. The Penitent Wanderer was boarded, gutted and left drifting in the void. The pirate ships vanished back into the slowly tumbling corona of rock around Teramus’s star and beyond the reach of the Watch Station’s most sensitive detectors.

  A report was filed and flagged in the data-stacks alongside hundreds of other incidents. With their work complete, the cogitators subsided into endless slow matriculations once more. In a year, a decade, or a century, their masters would come for the know-ledge accumulated by the Watch Station and decide whether to act upon this particular report. Perhaps the nameless captain and his crew would be avenged, perhaps not. To the machine-spirits, and to their Deathwatch masters, simple vengeance was an emotion of no consequence.

  Far from Watch Station Elkin and months later, a group of its masters did indeed meet in conclave at the great citadel of Zarabek. A towering edifice orbiting a dying star, Zarabek had once been the last holdfast of the race of Muhlari, a xenos people of tremendous antiquity that had claimed to have walked the stars when mankind was still in its infancy. The Deathwatch had ended the Muhlari centuries ago, slaying their den mothers and burning their sacellum of knowledge in the Purgation of Zarabek. The mighty fortress was purged by promethium fires from top to bottom as the Deathwatch consigned the Muhlari to the Book of Extinctions.

  Afterwards, seeing Zarabek as a place both strong and well-hidden, the Deathwatch took it as one of their own. Zarabek became a Watch Fortress, like and unlike a hundred other hidden places scattered across the galaxy and used by the alien-hunting Deathwatch to keep vigil. Generations of serf-artisans began the work of chipping away the obscene carvings of the extinct Muhlari and rendering the fortress fit for service. Centuries later, the ghosts of the unfortunate Muhlari would scarcely recognise their own holdfast. The sinuous, curving Muhlari script covering Zarabek’s lofty halls had been completely obliterated with ranks of statuesque Imperial heroes and crowding lines of angular High Gothic creed; elegantly curved pill
ars and arches had become sharp and angular; vast open spaces once filled with light and life were now dark and sepulchral.

  Now the sternly chiselled faces of past heroes overlooked a company of living warriors close to blows. A dozen different Chapter icons were displayed by the assembled Space Marines: fists, claws, daggers, wings, flames, skulls set against green, red, white, yellow, silver and more. Save for this single link back to their parent Chapters, all present wore their power armour repainted in unrelieved black and bearing the silver skull icon of the Deathwatch. Despite this symbolic unity, barely submerged Chapter rivalries were coming to the fore and threatening to break the company apart.

  ‘How can you speak such words? Are we not the Emperor’s chosen warriors? Are we not vowed to seize the enemy by the throat at every opening and tear him asunder? Your cowardice sickens me!’

  Gottrand’s words rang through the grim silence of the Hall of Intentions like a clarion call, arousing snarls and imprecations from his fellow warriors. A score of hulking figures armoured in ceramite and plasteel surrounded him. For Space Marines of the Holy Emperor of Mankind, accusations of cowardice are a matter to be expunged by blood.

  Gottrand grinned back at them all without fear. His sharp teeth and long, plaited hair marked him as a member of the Space Wolves Chapter as much as his grey shoulder pad marked with the icon of the wolf rampant. Such wild talk was expected among the brothers of Fenris, where the youngest Space Marine warriors, Blood Claws as they are called, are measured in worth by their gusto and carelessness of danger. His present companions evinced little appreciation for his savage brand of courage.

  ‘Curb your tongue, wolf-cub. Your childish jibes have no place here,’ grumbled Battle-Brother Thucyid. His own shoulder bore the black mailed fist against yellow that was the icon of the Imperial Fists Chapter. Stoic and meticulous by nature, the Imperial Fists contrasted the headstrong Space Wolves as night contrasts day.

  ‘While lacking in tact, Brother Gottrand’s point is well-made,’ offered Brother-Sergeant Courlanth, his shoulder marked by the quartered crimson and gold of the Howling Griffons Chapter. ‘What purpose do we serve if not to fight the alien? Why come so far from our respective Chapters, only to sit idle in defiance of the sacred vows we’ve taken?’

  Courlanth addressed these words not to the assembled Space Marines, but to one who sat apart from them on a throne forged of shattered alien bones and broken xenos weaponry. Watch Captain Ska Mordentodt glowered down at his squabbling charges with undisguised contempt. No Chapter badge or icon was borne upon his armour except for the silver skull of the Deathwatch. Which Space Marine Chapter Mordentodt originally hailed from was as unknown and as unknowable as the man himself.

  Centuries of devotion to the Deathwatch vigil had rendered the watch captain a distant and forbidding figure. When Mordentodt finally spoke, the company present quieted instantly, not out of fear – for Space Marines know no fear – but out of respect to one that has long sacrificed the fellowship of Chapter brethren for the lonely vigil of the Deathwatch.

  ‘Your vows are ones of obedience and service – a sacred charge to stand vigil among the Deathwatch,’ Mordentodt grated. ‘The defiance you speak of is defiance only of my authority as captain of this fortress.’

  ‘Such was not my intent, watch captain, as well you must know,’ Courlanth said with contrition. ‘I wished only to add my voice to Gottrand’s that the reports from the Elkinian Reach are disturbing and bear further investigation. Xenos weaponry appearing in the hands of pirates must surely fall within the remit of the Deathwatch.’

  ‘A great many things fall within the remit of the Deathwatch,’ Mordentodt replied grimly. ‘Hrud migrations, necrontyr tomb-sites, xenarch raids, malgreth sightings, genestealer infestations and more, much more, fall within the remit of this single fortress and the handful of battle-brothers your Chapter Masters permit to stand vigil here.

  ‘In truth, a hundred battle companies would be insufficient for the task. The xenos swarm and multiply beyond the Emperor’s Light in such numbers. Where would you have me pluck the brothers needed to chase these pirates into their holes? What should remain unwatched while some of you indulge yourselves in the pursuit of glory?’

  Courlanth bowed his head. ‘Such decisions are yours and yours alone to make, watch captain. Though this is not my first vigil in the Deathwatch, I am but newly arrived at Zarabek and know nothing of the other commitments you speak of. My apologies if I spoke out of turn.’

  Mordentodt made no response to the Howling Griffons sergeant, only gazing stonily out across the faces of the assembled Space Marines for several long moments. At this, a young Techmarine bearing the icon of the Novamarines on his right shoulder quietly stood forward and calmly returned Mordentodt’s basilisk glare when it was snapped onto him.

  ‘What is it, Felbaine?’ Mordentodt growled. ‘Do the machine-spirits seek to usurp my command as well?’

  ‘No, watch captain, I wished only to draw to your attention certain details in the reports I brought back from Watch Station Elkin.’

  ‘I see – more advice. I have a veritable feast of it laid before me this day. Out with it then.’

  ‘I wish to be specific in one regard. The weapons used in the attacks closely match the signature of those used by the degenerate eldar. My xenos-lore is feeble compared to some present, yet even I know that the eldar wield blasphemous technologies of the most potent kind. To find such technology in the hands of pirates is exceptional to say the least.’

  Mordentodt’s eyes glittered at the mention of the eldar. ‘So these pirates found a wreck and looted it,’ the watch captain murmured with less conviction. ‘It remains a matter of small and distant import compared to many of the others confronting this fortress.’

  The Techmarine shook his head regretfully, his single bionic eye and the complex swirl of electoos that marked his cheeks flashing in the gloom. ‘With respect, watch captain, even the finest savants of the Adeptus Mechanicus have struggled to maintain eldar artefacts in operative condition. For mere pirates to use and continue to use these weapons, they must be getting help from somewhere or someone – and I believe that is what is truly significant about this matter.’

  Mordentodt sat back in his throne, contemplating the Techmarine’s words. The implications were clear to all present. Some bargain had been struck between human and alien in the Teramus system. In the eyes of the Deathwatch there was no greater crime. Mordentodt eventually nodded grimly.

  ‘Good. Well done, Felbaine. You apply logic to the problem while others do battle to see only who can bark the loudest. Know also that the Elkinian covenant of Ordo Xenos has also demanded – demanded – action be taken in the Reach due to the virtual cessation of shipping between Dhumres and Vertus Magna because of these pirates. The damned inquisitors call upon us because the Imperial Navy is too weak to act and the Imperial Guard too slow… Courlanth, you spoke in favour of this mission – will you now fulfil your oath to accept it?’

  ‘It is my sworn duty to do so, watch captain,’ Courlanth replied, ‘and my honour to serve the Deathwatch in any way I can.’

  ‘Spoken like a true Howling Griffon,’ Mordentodt grunted. ‘I meant what I said about other commitments – I can spare no more than five battle-brothers for the Teramus kill-team, including you. Choose now those you would have accompany you from among those here present.’

  Courlanth’s voice was strong and steady as he named his companions one by one without hesitation. Each came to stand beside him to be eyed jealously by those not chosen.

  ‘I name Brother Maxillus of the Ultramarines for his sharp aim and his honourable role in shared dangers past.’

  ‘I name Brother Thucyid of the Imperial Fists for his strength and stoicism in adversity.’

  ‘I name Brother Felbaine of the Novamarines for his knowledge and wisdom.’

  ‘I name Brother Gottrand for h
is fervour and to spare those who remain behind at Zarabek from his wailing if he were not permitted to come along.’

  This last drew a chuckle from his companions, most of all from Gottrand himself. Mordentodt did not even crack a smile.

  ‘Set aside thoughts of your Chapters,’ the watch captain warned. ‘All are as one in the Deathwatch. Your only concern should be whether your remains will be returned to your brothers garlanded with honour and success, or failure and ignominy. Get to the arming halls and ready yourselves, the strike cruiser Xenos Purgatio departs for the Teramus system within the hour. Do not fail me. Do not fail the Deathwatch.’

  The arming halls of Zarabek had been rebuilt from the walled enclosures that had formed the Muhlari sacellum of knowledge. The inquisitors of the Ordo Xenos had pored over the contents of the sacellum for weeks before ordering its complete destruction, to the predictable dismay of some of the attending Adeptus Mechanicus representatives. The Deathwatch had attended to the matter with customary thoroughness, grinding the delicate crystal data repositories into powder, mixing it with the crushed bones of the Muhlari, and shooting into the heart of the dying star nearby.

  Now brass cages filled with racks of armaments enclosed the sacellum where libraries of data crystals said to encompass the whole length and breadth of the known universe had been stored. The far end of the cavernous halls was the realm of the Forgemaster. These glowed with ruddy light and rang with a cacophonous hammering where a thousand servitors worked beneath the Forgemaster’s direction, churning out munitions for the Deathwatch’s endless war against the xenos in all its forms. Everything was made here, from the humblest bolt shell to hundred-metre long cyclonic torpedoes built for the ruin of worlds.

  Maxillus emerged from the cages and greeted Sergeant Courlanth with a clenched fist salute. Dark-haired and square-jawed, Maxillus looked every inch the archetypical warrior of Ultramar – so much so that the black of Deathwatch looked incongruous covering his armour. The Ultramarine easily held the hefty weight of a slab-sided Crusade-pattern boltgun upright in his other hand, the weapon’s pistol grip fitted so perfectly into his fist that it looked like an extension of him.