by Various
The Raven Guard loomed over me. Every detail of him is frozen in my memory. Brother Yuvin, he was called, according to the script on his right shoulder pad. His armour was hung with ribbons of parchment, and decorated with many battle honours. A campaign badge was on his right knee. This guy was a veteran of the first order. Funny, I thought, that if things had turned out differently, I’d be wearing that campaign badge too and he’d be about to kill someone else.
He raised his axe. He was huge, four or five times my weight in his wargear, a head and shoulders taller than me and much more massive. The axe alone would have been more than I could lift. There was no way I could fight this man one on one and hope to survive, for all the power earth caste weaponry gave me. The axe came down. Its blade flickered with the tame lightning of a disruption field. I barely threw myself out of the way. The axe carved a long gouge out of the guard post floor, the disruption field banging away as it shattered atomic bonds and sent the fabric of the floor to ash. I scrambled backward in a sitting position. I fired at him again. I didn’t even think of going for my combat knife, there was absolutely no point. As it was, I might as well have been throwing gravel at rockcrete for all the damage my weapon did.
I prepared to die a traitor’s death.
Chapter Eight
We tear through their undefended rear with great fury. Their automated guns, driven by unclean spirits, are silenced by Brother Horsk’s meltagun. His artistry with this weapon is unsurpassed in our Sixth Company, in all the Chapter I would argue. I have willingly taken wagers on this matter, and have won most.
Down onto a small group of their warriors we fall. They are obscured by my exhaust trail as I descend. My entire being shakes with the thrust of my jump pack, making my vision blur. It is not until my boot soles ring upon the unfinished plazas of their illegal settlement that I notice the nature of our foe. They are humans, traitors who have turned their back upon the Emperor of Mankind and thrown their lot in with these xenos. It is then that I see the tracing pulse blink brightly. This is the correct place then. I am pleased with the efficacy of our intelligence.
What would make these men turn? I think. Some say that the tau are progressive, and their offers of equality and friendship are sincere. I am no fool. I do not believe as Biologian Tulk believes, and Inquisitor Gallius half believes, that there is some psychic or biochemical coercion at play. I doubt Tulk has seen much of the Imperium beyond the precincts of his own forge worlds. Gallius most certainly has, but men such as he are as preoccupied as the likes of Tulk; they see their task before them and are so blinded to the greater picture. In my quieter moments, after conflict, I have wondered at the injustice I see in the worlds I have visited, for it brings to mind the terrible woes our Primarch Corax suffered himself at the hands of the Technarchy of Deliverance before their rule was overthrown by the Emperor in aeons past. I can understand the temptation the tau present. These water caste need nothing more than half meant promises of freedom. On many worlds long forgotten, this would be enough to sway the hearts of men.
But this they do not understand – the alien is perfidious in his ways, they cannot be trusted to keep to their oaths. Their codes of honour, if they possess them, are different to ours, and one cannot rely on their word. It is said by the Ecclesiarchy that mankind is the apex of evolution, that there is no higher form of life. If there were, the preachers say, then why are the sons of Terra so numerous? The tau believe it is their destiny to rule the stars. In actuality, they are nothing but pretenders.
And no matter how fine the inducement, there is no excuse for treachery. We dwell in a time of suffering, so that mankind might persist. Who is to shirk this responsibility? No man, whether he be the lowliest servitor or the highest adept of whatever order, low-born, noble, savage or civilised has the right to decide his own fate thus. To turn one’s back upon the Emperor is to deny Him one’s service, and in doing so to deny one’s service to Mankind as a whole. I do not deny my service. I do suffer in His name for all humanity. What then am I to think of those I protect turning their hand against me, no matter their situation?
So I have understanding of their decisions, but I have no sympathy. Sympathy…
[A further emotional resonance disrupts the rip briefly. It is tied with the memory of the companion. There is the sensation of soft lips upon his, a fleeting sign of affection long ago, but it is an important memory for him, no matter how deeply buried. There is but a shadow that passes over our reading, and it is gone.]
I think all this as I land and eviscerate four of them with my bolt pistol, one shot apiece. They do not have time to react. Their xenos-gifted equipment is admirable, but cannot stand against the arms of the Emperor. Their deaths are just. I feel no shame. They have betrayed us all.
We are into the processing centre easily. Weapons fire patters off me as the traitors recover their wits. The rounds of the traitors’ guns are strong, but lacking in the necessary mass to penetrate our battleplate. Their energies are quickly absorbed by the layers underlying the adamantium and plasteel of my war harness’s outer shell. The rest die at our hands. Horsk melts the locking mechanism. By the time he and I have prised open the door, the servo mechanisms and fibre bundles of our armour thrumming with the effort, the majority of the human traitors guarding the facility are dead. I spare a quick glance for my visor’s tactical overlay. Yuvin has been separated from us, but is engaging a smaller group of human traitors. He will keep.
‘Quickly! Into the atrium! Our targets are within.’
I, Raayvak, Kolinthinor, Roak, Kaaw and Horsk follow our grenades into the interior. The lights go out, either turned off to hinder us or extinguished by our attack, I cannot tell. Men are screaming. Many run for the doors, some prostrate themselves. All are met by fire from Usk, Braakor and Kanthin outside. I consider telling them to cease their fire, each and every one of the men inside here are Imperial soldiers, but they are also potential turncoats, else they would not be in such a centre, and none will ever leave Agrellan unless it be under tau colours. Better that ten good men die so that the eleventh not raise arms against the Emperor.
The confusion works in our favour. My visor picks in outline the tau whisperers. My armour’s cogitators analyses their badges and markings. None are of high rank. They are not the one we seek. I shoot them down. Then, I have him. A positive match with the images given to me by Shrike. An officer of their diplomatic corps. More, he is the specific officer.
‘There! That one! Take him!’ I point. The tau looks right back at me, but does not run. He is wounded, but lightly. Is he in shock? Some species have feeble constitutions.
Roak makes for him. The others are hacking at the rest of the Tau’s whisperers. They shove men out of their way, chopping them down if they do not move. Many do not. Some are certainly dazed, others perhaps seek to protect their captors. How fickle is men’s loyalty.
Shouts over my vox. A scream. I bring up the vital signs of my squad. Yuvin is dead. I look out of the door. Bulky shapes are coming down outside, the tau commander and her bodyguard. Here is a challenge for us. Their armour is powerful, mounting many weapons systems of great efficiency. But the tau are by nature, or have been made by reliance on such devices, soft and weak. In combat they are no match for us.
I ignite my jets, setting ablaze a huddle of men. I fly from the building, axe swinging. I barge one elite from my path, and damage another with a blow from my axe. It hops back quickly on the flame spears of its own flight unit. Threat indicators blink with urgency in many parts of my helmet. The bodyguard all carry melta-type weapons. They are falling back to bring them to bear, boxing me in. Their skills are lesser, but their flight packs are quicker than ours. I stand to lose most of my squad.
By the command node, the Catachans’ attack is faltering. More of the tau are turning their attention to our fight.
There is no honour to be had dying here. I check the trace in my visor. The betr
ayer of traitors is close by, very close, and lives.
‘Fall back, oh brothers of the Raven. Melt into the shadows!’
My men obey. Three – Yuvin, Usk and Kolinithor are down. Yuvin and Usk dead, Kolinithor hindered by a damaged jump pack. He struggles to shuck it off. I watch as he is attacked from two sides. As he goes for the enemy on his left, a plasma round from the right lays him low.
With regret I notice Roak has not caught the water caste, although last I saw he had him gripped around the chest.
‘Success eludes us,’ he communicates. ‘Alas I was driven off by the ferocity of a xenos slave-guard.’ A deep furrow has been scored across his breastplate, but he is not harmed. I am glad. For Roak to be bested by a xenos, it must have been ferocious indeed.
‘Fall back!’ I cry. I would feel shame in our failure, if failure it were. But to fight with wisdom is the mark of our order, and there are other plans afoot. I contact Brother Raavan, serving as commander in my stead aboard the Swift Vengeance, and bid him make ready. The hunt is on. The hunt…
Attack from the shadows, I think. Like the gods who dwell on the moon. Always from the shadows. I am a boy again. I will have my vengeance.
[Another hunt. We are losing him. We must be careful. His sanity is in the balance. This mind rip is torturing us all. He remembers. He remembers things long ago. He defies us. We are on a walkway, a sliver of stolen metal in our hands, waiting. Waiting for the man who defiled the one we loved; our companion. He defies us!]
Chapter Nine
O’Hye’esera was there, the three ’ui in her Crisis team in close support. She came rocketing in like the Raven Guard had, only with more grace. They too fired as they landed. There was a cry of pain from behind me. The air shimmered with the beams of the Crisis team’s fusion guns. One of the Raven Guard was vaporised where he stood. The one about to kill me was distracted just long enough for me to roll out of the way of his killing blow. Before he could recover, a line of searing blue plasma packets hammered into his side. He was flung sideways as they detonated against his armour. Droplets of red-hot metal sprayed everywhere, some of it catching me and charring its way through my combat suit. By the time I’d batted it off my flesh and got to my feet, the after-images the plasma burst had burned into my vision were dimming, and I was treated to the sight of the Raven Guard falling back on jets of orange fire. Three of their number were dead or dying, and had been abandoned. Helena was down, not too far off. It didn’t look good for her. Holyon was a bloody smear across the construction matrix.
I looked at the one who’d nearly ended me. He was dead, his arms flung out, the power plant on the back of his armour ruptured and leaking coolant everywhere. His armour had been stripped of paint by the plasma. In places it still glowed dull red, where it had cooled it was discoloured with heat; grey with a purplish sheen. A gaping hole was in his side, the flesh and bone within charred black. Wisps of smoke escaped his broken eye lenses.
So died a champion of humanity. I felt no triumph. I’d been raised on stories of the valour of such men since the cradle. If anything, I felt sick, like I’d finally crossed a line I could never go back over. Sure, I’ve killed a lot of men in my time, most of them for the Greater Good, and I hadn’t been responsible for the death of this warrior. But this was not a man who had died, this was a Space Marine.
I’d been party to the slaying of a hero of my kind.
Tau’va.
I still don’t like to think about it.
The racket of battle receded. My body flooded with stored-up fear, and I started to tremble. I felt sick. It’s always the way after a fight for humans, it’s a chemical thing in our brains, so I’ve been told.
‘The gue’la are retreating! All units, stand down and return to your posts. O’Hye’esera, prosecute pursuit as you see fit. Earth caste prepare for resumption of duties.’ That was the Ethereal Aun’kira. He’d got through unharmed then. Looking at the node, it had taken minimal damage. Away to the north, the sounds of firing diminished. I caught sight of the Knight retreating, energy field cast around its back as it pounded across the dirt and vanished into the woods. Aircraft were coming in from the east, nine of them, ready to hunt it down. By far the most damaging element of the Imperial raid, the Knight left scores dead, and several wrecks burning, not least the shattered remnants of the Riptide. Smoke billowed from its own side where it had been holed, but it had definitely come off better from the encounter. Volley fire from our own side became erratic as fire warrior la’rua broke forward in pursuit. From the vox-chatter, they were taking it carefully. The Catachans were falling back with discipline. This was no rout. Their objective had certainly been to distract us from the Space Marines attack, and it had been fulfilled. There was no reason for them to stick around and die.
‘Goliath! Othelliar! Come in.’ The remainder of my squad reported back. They weren’t far from me, the rush of battle stopped me from seeing them, even though they were practically in front of me, you know? We rejoined each other.
‘Helena?’ asked Goliath. He had a soft spot for her, and his voice was shaky.
‘Hit, I don’t know if she’s dead or not, Holyon’s had it,’ I said, pointing at the chunks that had been our mendacious friend. As it turned out, Helena wasn’t dead, but she lost her left arm just above the elbow. A bolt took her there. The shrapnel from its explosion would’ve killed her, were it not for her armour, for which I give thanks to the earth caste. I hear her rehabilitation’s going well, and that she’ll be able to rejoin the gue’vesa auxilliary corps soon enough.
I didn’t know any of that at the time, I suspected she was dead but didn’t want to have to deal with the fallout of saying that to Goliath. My head was swimming with the after-effects of the fight. I had to pull it together. ‘Fio’la medical teams are on their way,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to leave Helena in their hands now. Come on, let’s check on the por’el. I’ve got a bad feeling from all this. This wasn’t a random raid.’
I went to the processing centre. People in disposable respirators were streaming from it, shepherded under the guns of shas’la. There was a fan of bodies lying around the main entrance, blasted to pieces. Although I’d watched the Space Marines gun them down, my earlier assumption that the enemy were going for the prisoners was wrong. The casualties among the gue’la prisoners were collateral damage.
The same couldn’t be said for the dead water caste.
‘Help the shas’la!’ I ordered Goliath and Othelliar. ‘I’m going to find the por’el.’ I ran into the building. The poles and light ribbons that divided up the space into orderly areas for queuing were all smashed down. Fires guttered in bolt-round craters in the walls. The lights were out, and the sun shining in through the open doors did not reach all the corners. Smoke writhed blue as it crossed the square of illumination, a square that picked out a tableau of bloody horrors just for me. Here, a pair of fio’la medics sought to stabilise a human whose legs were tattered ribbons. He was shaking and coughing up blood, jerkily moving forward as he tried to sit. The fio’la held his hands and babbled soothing-sounding Tau’noh’por at him. In front of me, a circle of twisted limbs and broken torsos were laid out like the petals of a bloody flower around the crater of a grenade detonation. People were screaming and crying. Medics were running around, frantically handing out breathing masks. Fire warriors were hauling shell-shocked prioners of war out of the hall. And dotted around, the corpses of water caste. Half a dozen of them were dead, hacked brutally apart.
I began to panic.
‘Por’el Skilltalker!’ I called. ‘Skilltalker? Skilltalker!’
I shoved at the milling humans, searching for a glimpse of blue skin amid brown, black and white.
‘Calm yourself, gue’vre. I live.’
I span around, searching for him.
‘I am behind you, against the wall.’ His mellifluous voice was croaky with smoke, and perhaps the po
ison of the air – the atmosphere scrubbers were off, and the toxins of the outside had worked their way inside.
I spotted him, and hurried over. He was having a wound dressed in his arm. One sleeve of his robe had been cut away to allow access to it. His-ever present water caste hat was missing, and the comms vane he wore in his ear opening torn away. I was relieved to see a medical respirator had been pushed on his face. He was spattered all over in tau and human blood.
I slung my carbine and dropped to my knees beside him, earning myself a look of annoyance from the medic. I didn’t care. ‘Are you all right, por’el?’
‘I am touched by your concern, Gue’vesa’vre J’ten,’ he said. He sounded wearier than I’d ever heard him. He was troubled by the carnage, and his eyes did not meet mine.
‘Por’el, I am done here,’ said the medic. ‘There is minimal damage. The wound on your arm is not deep. You will have bruising on your chest from where you were grabbed, but nothing more.’
Skilltalker flexed his hand and nodded. His wiry muscles moved under the plastic dressing. ‘Thank you, fio’la. Now go, many others are in greater need of your attention.’
I stood and extended my hand. Skilltalker grasped it and I pulled him to his feet. He dusted himself down, but this only smeared blood over his robes. He held his hands up and frowned at them.
‘Grabbed you? They were coming for you, to capture you,’ I said. ‘That was what this was all about.’
He looked at me a moment, then smiled. ‘Why yes, friend J’ten. Of course. Many of the Imperium’s worlds have elected to join with us for our mutual benefit. Your erstwhile masters are so blinkered in thought that they assume we have some covert means of encouraging treachery. Perhaps they impute uncanny powers to us, as they do to our beloved ethereals.’ He laughed. ‘Do not be so discouraged. This is a sign that the Imperium is desperate, that they attack the talker and do not address our words. But then, words cannot be so easily killed. It is easier to fight a tangible foe.’