Savona laughed. ‘So I’ve noticed, gutter-poet. But what do I care for your fears? They can follow me or be damned. Either’s fine so long as they make up their damned minds.’ She leaned on the rail, watching the mutants. ‘I joined our fates to that of the Clonelord because I thought it was the only way to keep the Twelfth in fighting shape. Instead it only sped up the rot. It’s as if he infects everything he touches.’
‘Maybe he does,’ Bellephus said. ‘Maybe he always has. Maybe we should have died out with honour, rather than letting Fabius and Fulgrim pull us back from one abyss, only to tip us over another.’
‘Is that bitterness I hear?’ Savona said. ‘Or regret?’
‘Both,’ Bellephus said. ‘Neither.’ He looked at her. ‘Desire and regret are both part of the same serpent. Desire leads, regret follows. You cannot have one without the other, else both are worthless.’
‘Very pithy. Come up with it yourself?’
‘No, more’s the pity. Another legionary said it. Narvo Quin.’
‘And where is this philosopher now?’
‘The same place as most philosophers. Dead.’ Bellephus knocked a knuckle against the rail. ‘The last I heard, he went looking for Fulgrim’s bower and never returned.’
Savona chuckled. ‘That’s the one thing I’ll never understand about your kind.’
‘Just the one thing?’ Bellephus asked.
Savona ignored him. ‘Why bother looking for the gods or their servants?’ she said. ‘In my experience, if they want you, they’ll find you quick enough.’
As she spoke, a vox-chime sounded. She stepped back from the rail.
‘Speaking of which…’ She activated her vox. ‘Yes?’
Fabius’ voice broke through the static. ‘Are you finished with your preparations?’
‘Almost.’
‘Then report to the bridge. I want to review our strategy.’
‘Again?’
‘Yes. And we will do so until I am certain you understand it.’
With that, he cut the link. Savona looked at Bellephus. He bowed floridly.
‘After you, my lady.’
Arrian ceased sharpening his blade as Fabius severed the vox-link. The look on the Chief Apothecary’s face said it all. Savona’s petulance was trying, even at the best of times. But she had her uses, and was more trustworthy than any other warrior of the 12th. Most, like Varex, were only one setback away from treachery.
He peered down the length of his Falax blade. Satisfied with the edge, he sheathed it. He drew the second, and began the process all over again. The sonic whetstone made a soft hum as he ran it along the curve of the blade.
‘Must you do that here?’ Gorel demanded. He stood nearby, beside Marag and Duco.
Arrian paused and considered a number of responses, and then decided on the one guaranteed to annoy Gorel.
‘Yes,’ he said, and continued honing his blade. As he did so, he covertly studied the other three Apothecaries.
Gorel’s body language spoke loudly of resentment. He did not wish to be here, and made no effort to hide that fact. Gorel’s pedigree was unknown. He was probably a renegade from one of the milkblood warbands that had sprung up after the dissolution of the old Legions. He’d never fought against his brothers, because he had none. To him, the Long War was nothing more than someone else’s history.
Marag, on the other hand, was in an amiable mood. Then, he rarely seemed otherwise. Arrian suspected that he regularly dosed himself with a variety of narcotics, though whether out of addictive need or simple experimentation, he couldn’t say. The Fallen was an oddity, even among the Consortium.
Of the three, Duco seemed the most eager. Like most of his kindred, the Night Lord had always enjoyed a good raid. Duco met his gaze and nodded in acknowledgement. Arrian returned the nod. Of the three, he liked Duco the best. The Night Lord was a practical sort, and his ambitions were safely aimed outside of the Consortium.
Gorel turned. ‘What’s this?’ he grunted. ‘What has that fool done now?’
Arrian followed Gorel’s gaze as Skalagrim’s voice reached him.
‘Come, little pups. Sit. Observe. And be silent.’ The Apothecary was trailed onto the deck by a pack of Homo novus children. Most were only a few years old, but were larger, stronger and more alert than a normal child their age would have been. Each of them bore the marks of the packs from the gunnery decks – Skalagrim favoured them above the others for reasons that escaped Arrian.
‘Why?’ he asked, as Skalagrim drew near.
‘They were getting underfoot. Little bastards took down one of the overseers on the lower supply deck. Hamstrung the poor brute and had his guts out before anyone realised.’ Skalagrim grinned. ‘They’re learning quickly. More quickly than the last ones.’
‘Each generation is an improvement on the one before.’ Arrian watched as the children scattered, seeking perches and crannies to hide in. ‘Why bring them up here?’
‘I thought they might learn something from this.’
Fabius turned at that. ‘Did you?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes. Their education is my foremost concern at this moment.’
Fabius snorted and turned back to his data. ‘You are responsible for them.’
‘I never thought otherwise.’ Skalagrim sauntered towards the strategium dais. ‘So have they arrived yet? Or are we too late?’
‘No,’ Fabius said. ‘They have not appeared yet. But they will. They cannot resist easy prey. It is against their nature.’
‘Your time among them was well spent.’
Fabius considered the statement. ‘Yes, I suppose it was.’
‘Any idea why they want to kill you?’
‘No.’ Fabius’ fingers moved across the control panel. ‘But it doesn’t matter, really. Eventually, someone would have come after us. Whether it was the aeldari or Abaddon or even my former brothers – the identity of the foe isn’t important.’
‘I’d say it is, but then, I lack your brilliance.’
‘It is good that you are willing to admit your failings, Skalagrim.’
The former Sons of Horus legionary smirked. Arrian considered chastising him for his disrespect, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. It wasn’t as if Skalagrim would moderate his behaviour because of it.
‘Why are there urchins on the observation deck?’ Saqqara asked as he arrived, trailed by Savona, Bellephus and Khorag. The former Death Guard was accompanied, as ever, by his pet – a lolloping, slug-like beast. It left a trail of slime behind it as it bounded excitedly towards one of the children. The boy yelped and began to climb out of the beast’s reach. Friendly though it was, the creature’s touch was lethal.
‘How else are they supposed to learn, Saqqara?’ Fabius said, without turning from the display. ‘Are you volunteering to take over crèche-duties, perhaps?’
‘One might ask as to why we have crèches on a warship.’
‘If one wanted to look foolish.’ Fabius turned. ‘These children are weapons, Saqqara. Their training begins early, and often. The best way for them to learn is to observe.’
Saqqara looked down. Several of the children were studying him with flat, unwavering gazes. Each of them held makeshift weapons. He frowned and tapped one of his daemon-flasks.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Fabius said, turning back to the display.
‘So, now that we’re all here,’ Skalagrim said, cutting a glance at Savona, ‘have you devised a strategy yet, or are we just going to watch as a world is butchered?’
Fabius stirred. ‘Yes. We will strike in three phases. The first phase will be a multilateral assault, designed to disrupt the initial drukhari attack. Savona will be in command of this. You will assist her, as will Arrian.’
Skalagrim glanced at Arrian, who nodded.
‘And when you say disrupt, y
ou mean kill them, yes?’ Savona said.
‘As many of them as you like,’ Fabius said. ‘Their initial attack is almost always a distraction – a way to preoccupy any defenders my facilities might have, while the killing thrust slips in through the webway. Which brings me to the second phase. I will establish a command position in the cache itself. Gorel, you and Marag will accompany me.’
‘Why us?’ Gorel asked.
‘Would you rather accompany Savona?’ Arrian said. Gorel shot him a glare and fell silent. Fabius nodded in thanks, and continued.
‘Khorag, Duco and Bellephus will enter the webway through the active portal in the ship’s aft launch bay and take up position to spring the jaws of our trap when the foe arrives.’ Fabius called up a rough map of a section of the webway. ‘I expect them to make an attack from one of these three transverse nodal points. While the Peleus-Tertius gate has some defences, they are entirely automated and likely ill-maintained in my absence.’
‘Never trust a New Man to do an Astartes’ job,’ Bellephus murmured.
Fabius glanced at him, but did not argue the point. ‘The third phase will be void-based,’ he continued. ‘Saqqara will assume command of the Vesalius.’ He looked at the Word Bearer. ‘The enemy have a single vessel, but a small fleet of escorts. It will be your task to keep them occupied.’
Saqqara frowned. ‘Easy enough to accomplish. But I’m surprised you are not planning to engage them before they reach the planet.’
‘We have no way of telling where they will emerge from the webway,’ Fabius said. ‘I have calculated no less than ten potential exodus points within striking distance of the planet. It will be up to you to respond – and swiftly – when the signal is given.’ He fixed the Word Bearer with a stare. ‘But not until the signal is given.’ He looked around. ‘That goes for all of you. We must draw them in before we can bloody their nose. They must be convinced that this victory is as easy as all the others. Else they will scatter before we can close our trap about them. If I must sacrifice this world to do that, so be it.’
‘You are a cold soul,’ Saqqara said.
‘At least this way, some may survive.’
‘Rationalisations,’ the Word Bearer said.
Fabius turned. ‘Do you have some objection to this plan, Saqqara? Or are you merely griping for its own sake?’
Saqqara smiled. ‘My only objection is to the hypocrisy. You profess to love these creatures – to cherish their lives above your own. And yet here you are, sacrificing them so that you might have a few moments’ advantage against your foes.’
Angered by Saqqara’s disrespect, Arrian’s hand fell to the hilt of his blade. But he did not draw it. Saqqara felt his gaze and glanced at him. The Word Bearer had a knowing look on his face, and Arrian realised that this outburst might well be because of his earlier taunts. He forced himself to relax.
Fabius stared at Saqqara for a few moments. ‘Saqqara… even after all this time, you still don’t understand, do you? You still don’t comprehend the purpose of my work.’
Saqqara’s smile faltered. Fabius’ gaze held him, the way a serpent might entrance a bird.
‘It is not to preserve these creatures or those – rather, it is to preserve the species as a whole. It is not love that guides my hand, but necessity. If a hundred must die to preserve a thousand, so be it. If a million here must die to preserve potential billions in the future – then I will gladly cut their throats myself.’
He looked down at the children crouched at his feet. Their dark gazes never wavered. Gently, he stroked the head of the closest with paternal affection. The child murmured in pleasure at his creator’s touch. Fabius smiled.
‘I will do what must be done, whatever the cost.’
Chapter Eight
Peleus-tertius
Fabius rose from his restraint throne as the signal-rune flashed on his display. ‘Up, brothers. And remember, this world still believes that it serves the Imperium, so you are lackeys of the False Emperor today – try not to kill anyone who doesn’t have it coming.’
‘I still say this is a waste of time,’ Gorel said, as he joined Fabius at the compartment hatch. ‘What is the point?’
‘The point is to bait the trap properly, Gorel.’ Fabius glanced at him. ‘And put on your helmet. No one is going to want to see that lump of raw meat you call a face.’
Gorel pulled on his helm with a recalcitrant grunt, as the hatch shuddered open and the ramp extended. Fabius was the first out, followed by Gorel and Marag.
The sky above was lit by an orange sun, and its light slid like water across the crystalline domes that crowned the capital. Flocks of avians circled the thickets of transmitters and vox-receivers that dotted the uppermost reaches of the domes. Rising above them all was the orbital conduit that connected Peleus-Tertius to the orbital dockyards that colonised parts of the upper stratosphere.
Peleus-Tertius was not large by the standards of the Imperium. A modest world, owing minor agri and industrial tithes, it had only one population centre worth the name – the Cluster. From a distance, it resembled a vast, tottering tower. Only when one was up-close did one truly understand the intricate complexities of its design.
The Cluster was not a traditional hive, as arable land was too valuable to waste on something as superfluous as human habitation. Rather, it was a series of interlinked, thousand-kilometre-long scaffolds, each balanced on great anchoring columns of ferrocrete as wide around as mountains. Shanty-communities of scrap metal and wire netting clung to these columns like barnacles to a ship’s hull. Others spread like rust across the underside of the lowest scaffolds, suspended within a sargasso of chains and cabling. At the base of each column was an enormous industrial agri-facility, responsible for the processing of foodstuffs.
While the lowest scaffolds were only several kilometres above the vast fields that spread out below the Cluster, the highest scraped the underbelly of the troposphere. It had grown one generation at a time, expanding to accommodate a growing population of menial labourers, Administratum drones, and the like. As new scaffolds were built atop the old to accommodate the ever-increasing population, new structures rose along their edges, connected by metal ramps, staircases, transit shafts and access routes.
The fortified enclaves of the ruling families crowned the highest points of the support columns, protected from harm by curious crystalline domes of archaic construction. Each of these domes was ringed by hundreds of landing platforms of varying size and purpose, from the personal to the industrial.
Fabius and the others were crossing one such platform now, leaving their Skylance gunship to be tended by the servitors. He glanced back at the transport. The gunship had been repainted white and scoured of all heraldry. It was a square thing, older than the city it was currently touching down in. It had last seen action in a blockade-run two centuries before, and still had the scars. It also had no daemonic taint, making it the perfect vehicle with which to conduct inspections of his holdings in certain regions of space.
He’d made it a point to visit Peleus-Tertius at least once every few decades after his initial seeding had taken root. His creations had infiltrated every level of society, from the manufactorum workers to the gubernatorial dynasty. Every hundred years or so, he came, took samples and played the genial primogenitor. The local populace thought he was one of Guilliman’s sons, or perhaps a scion of Dorn, come to test them for potential aspirants.
As was tradition, their arrival was greeted with all due pomp and circumstance. Jubilant throngs of citizens sang hymns to the Corpse-Emperor and the air was filled with flower petals, released from on high by flocks of cyber-cherubs. Armoured security forces wielding shock-batons and riot shields held back the crowd as Fabius and his entourage approached the planetary representatives awaiting them at the other end of the walkway.
Fabius wore heavy white robes over his armour, and a white hel
m marked with the caduceus of the Apothecarion. His armour, and that of his followers, had been cleansed of offending smells or suspicious sigils, and their heraldry obscured by folds of black silk. Marag and Gorel followed him, trailed by their more presentable attendants. No mutants or stimm-addicted slaves.
‘This is farcical,’ Gorel murmured over the vox.
‘But necessary,’ Fabius said. ‘This planet is still technically part of the Imperium, for all that it belongs to me. If we arrived openly, some overly efficient drudge would likely send a request for aid from the nearest garrison-world. And then where would we be?’
‘Why not simply let them do so? Let our milkblood cousins do the fighting.’
‘And risk them discovering my cache-facility? I think not. Now smile and wave, there’s a good servant of the Corpse-Emperor.’ Fabius raised his hand, and the crowd redoubled its singing. Men and women fainted, overcome by the ecstasy of seeing the Emperor’s chosen in the flesh. Petals rained down in thick sheets.
It was all a bit much. Fabius fought to keep his stride even, aware of how many eyes were on him, and how many spy-picters were trained on his entourage, scanning them from every angle. These little worlds were hives of conspiracy. The pettier the fiefdom, the more its rulers indulged in skulduggery to keep themselves amused. And of course his children encouraged this, even as he’d taught them.
Armoured soldiers awaited them at the end of the walkway. They wore matt-black armour with yellow highlights, and carried heavy lascarbines. They crashed aside, revealing Planetary Governor Fetzer and his wife, Zella. Both were exemplars of Homo novus – tall and strong, with pale violet gazes and hair the colour of sun-bleached grass. They bowed low, as was proper.
‘Pater Mutatis,’ Fetzer said. ‘It has been too long.’
‘Careful, boy,’ Fabius said. ‘That is not a name to say in public.’
‘Rest easy, Benefactor,’ Zella said. She tugged on her collar. ‘Vox-baffles, built into our regalia. A necessity of late.’ She turned. ‘Come.’
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