Hexachires’ mask twitched, as if startled. ‘If you can help me, then I would be a fool not to accept. Very well. I will do as you request.’ He loomed over Veilwalker. ‘But know this, if you play me false, I’ll turn your farce into a tragedy.’
‘Agreed.’ Veilwalker turned away, but paused. ‘One thing more.’ She looked up at him. ‘The daemon is dangerous.’
Hexachires snorted. ‘I am aware.’
Veilwalker laughed. ‘Not for the reasons you think!’ She stepped back. ‘All those and more. She is cunning, this one. And careful. But this is our story.’
She looked at Oleander. He felt a chill run through him as he considered his reflection in the mirrored mask.
‘And only we get to dictate its ending.’
Chapter Fourteen
Omega Protocol
The children moved swiftly and elegantly. The aeldari strain was strong in this generation. Their opponent kept up with them, but only just. He fought not to kill or even to wound, but merely to count coup. A tap of his fingers meant they were dead.
Fabius glanced around. The chamber they sparred in was large, and partially open to the elements. It had been a garden once, and was still populated by trees and plant-life, all gone feral now. His creations honed their skills here, under the watchful eyes of his servants. Training cages occupied the far wall, and recommissioned combat-servitors wandered through the chamber, awaiting their next challenger. Adult Gland-hounds sparred in chalk circles, or hunted one another through the thick canopy of entwined branches that stretched like spiderwebs overhead.
As he watched them fight, Fabius recalled his own trials. He had not truly understood their purposes, or why he’d been taken from his family. The flesh-tithe had rarely been spoken of openly in the noble houses of Europa, and it wasn’t until after he’d become an aspirant that he’d learned of it. He remembered little about those days, traumatic as they had been. He’d been older than most, but younger than some. The Apothecaries of the Legion had ripped him asunder, and built a patchwork being to take his place. A creature of science and alchemy, as in the old family stories. And just as in those stories, he had turned on his creator, along with the rest of his brothers. There was a lesson there, or perhaps several.
A child rolled, scrambling aside as the Space Marine’s hand flashed down, narrowly missing her.
‘Very good,’ the warrior rumbled. Pero was a Jhariuk – a harrowmaster – of the Alpha Legion. At any one time, he was responsible for multiple ongoing Legion operations, both military and otherwise.
He’d also once killed Fabius. It had been a long time ago, and in another sector, but the memory was a vibrant one. Pero had been the only member of his kill-team to survive, but that had been small comfort at the time. That the Lernaean Proxies had sent him as a representative spoke as to the seriousness with which they regarded these negotiations.
It had taken him almost an hour to ‘kill’ ten of the fifteen children selected for the test. Fabius kept the time on the chronometer built into his vambrace. The remaining five showed no signs of tiring. They leapt and sprang, rolling beneath his almost-gentle blows, and raked practice knives across his bare flesh. Their opponent had discarded his armour for the trial, and wore only a simple loincloth. The children’s blows left streaks of colour, to mark their success. The darker the streak, the more grievous the blow.
The children were of the latest generation of Gland-hounds. Naturally born, but with a few additional genetic and physiological tweaks to fine-tune their bodies and minds for the task ahead. The oldest was only twelve cycles, the youngest, six. In other circumstances, of optimum age for gene-seed implantation.
An alert-chime sounded, and he blink-activated a hololithic overlay. A scene of carnage greeted him. Snow and blood. A burly figure crouched over a dead daemon-beast. One of a great herd, now scattered in bloody chunks across the nearby tundra. His scout had found its quarry. He tapped his vambrace, activating the sensory bafflers built into his armour.
‘Princeps Gorgus?’
The burly figure turned, cortical implants rattling. ‘Fabius. I wondered if that was you.’
He was a hulking example of an unaugmented human, nearly as tall as an Astartes, and almost as wide. Clad in thick furs over a faded uniform, he more resembled some barbarian chieftain than the Titan princeps he was.
‘I heard you were dead, Manflayer.’
‘More than once, princeps.’
Gorgus laughed and drew a knife from his belt. ‘True enough. You’re the only man I ever met who dies as often as Lucius the thrice-damned Eternal.’
Fabius frowned. ‘Hardly that frequently.’
Gorgus pointed the knife at him. ‘Says the man who sent a servitor, rather than coming in person. A lesser man might have been insulted.’
‘Thankfully, you are not a lesser man,’ Fabius said, somewhat stung by Gorgus’ dismissal of his herald. The servitor was designed especially for its task, with an enhanced musculature and a reinforced skeleton, as well as a holo-projector built into its remoulded cranium. It was almost as hardy as a Space Marine, and capable of receiving a holo-transmission across vast distances. He’d sent fifteen of them out, seeking those who might provide him the aid he so desperately needed.
So far, Gorgus was the only one to respond. The princeps had fought alongside the Third in the final years of the Heresy. There had been little glory to go around in those days, but Gorgus had never been one for martial honours. The princeps had more… visceral cravings.
‘No, I am not. Why are you interrupting my hunt this time, Fabius?’
‘I find myself in need of allies.’
Gorgus peered at him. ‘Are you in trouble, then?’
‘You might say that, yes.’
‘Of your own making?’
Fabius frowned. ‘You might say that as well.’
Gorgus laughed. ‘Last time, you promised me beasts to hunt, Manflayer. I want something more to sink my fangs into than some pox-ridden mutant behemoth. Something truly indescribable. Can you give me that?’
‘All that and more. Have you ever hunted drukhari, Princeps Gorgus?’
Gorgus frowned and sat back. ‘No,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Not my usual sort of prey. Are they interesting, at least?’
‘Swift, cunning, utterly depraved.’
Gorgus grinned, displaying filed teeth. ‘That sounds promising.’ He looked down at the daemon-beast and sank his knife into its shimmering hide. Sawing through its flesh, he grunted, ‘Help me with this, would you?’
Fabius grimaced, but directed the servitor to kneel and help Gorgus pop open the daemon’s ribcage. Its skeletal structure was gelid – glistening like melting ice. Gorgus stabbed his knife into the twitching grasses and reached into the cavity. He growled softly and wrenched the daemon’s heart free of the web of muscle tissue and arteries. The heart steamed in the morning light, and frost crept down Gorgus’ forearm, causing his gloves to crackle. ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured. He bit into the heart with relish, chewing noisily. It sounded as if he were eating ice.
‘Will you aid me, princeps?’ Fabius asked impatiently.
Still chewing, Gorgus looked up. ‘I suppose I still owe you, for giving me my pack.’ He regarded the god-machine that towered over them. The Reaver Battle-Titan bore no heraldry, unless one counted the hundreds of trophies that hung from its carapace. Most were dead, but some still bore the spark of life – daemons never knew when to surrender to the inevitable. Around the god-machine, Gorgus’ pack waited, attentive to their master’s needs. Warhounds, once. Now just hounds. Their crews were long dead, and the machine-spirits bent and broken to Gorgus’ will.
It had taken Fabius weeks to make the proper modifications to Gorgus’ mind and body, and to the Reaver’s throne mechanicum, to enable him to control the Titans. In return, Gorgus had aided Fabius in establishing control over the di
sparate elements of the Third during the Legion Wars.
‘That debt was paid,’ Fabius said.
‘My debts are paid when I say they’re paid, Manflayer.’
‘I wasn’t arguing.’
‘Good,’ Gorgus grunted. ‘Transfer the coordinates. If I decide to help, I will come. If not, I will not.’
‘That is all I ask.’ Fabius cut the holo-link as his chronometer chimed. ‘Time.’
Pero stopped, fingers just shy of tapping one of the remaining quintet of children. ‘How long?’
‘An hour exactly,’ Fabius said.
Pero straightened. ‘They’re not even breathing hard.’
‘Endurance is more important than strength, I find.’
‘Sometimes,’ Pero said. He stepped back, and inclined his head respectfully. ‘A most engaging session, my friends. Be proud of yourselves.’
The children looked at Fabius, and he nodded. ‘As he says – be proud. And as a reward, you may have the next half-cycle free, to do as you wish.’ He paused. ‘Try not to kill each other.’ They scattered through the gladiatorium, laughing.
Fabius signalled to a mutant swaddled in pus-stained rags and wearing a mask made from discarded carapace plates. It shuffled forward bearing a surgical tray with a fluted decanter and two glasses on it.
‘Something to drink?’ Fabius asked, taking a glass.
‘Wine?’
‘From the vineyards of Sublime.’ Fabius took a sip. ‘What do you think?’
The Alpha Legion warrior drank deeply before answering. ‘Adequate.’
‘The drink – or their capabilities?’
‘Both. They are faster than me, but more fragile. One on one, they will never be a match for a Space Marine. Two on one, three – the odds of success improve significantly. With more training, better stimulants… they might be a threat.’
Fabius frowned. ‘Might be?’
Pero shrugged. ‘I am no seer. Merely a humble soldier.’
‘Not that humble.’
‘I speak only truth, save when it is expedient to do otherwise.’ Pero scratched at the scars on his chest. ‘We can use them. Especially if they breed true, as you claim.’
‘They do.’
Pero watched several of the older Gland-hounds spar. ‘We want them young.’
‘How young?’
‘Young enough for the schola progenium.’
Fabius paused. ‘You will train them?’
‘Enough to accomplish their tasks.’ Pero looked at him. ‘They are capable of… restraining their baser urges at that age, yes? It wouldn’t serve our purposes to have them start eating the other students or fomenting revolt.’ He hesitated. ‘At least not until they’re ordered to do so.’
Fabius nodded. ‘Of course. But I cannot promise that they will comply. Independence is bred into them.’
‘Save where you are concerned.’
Fabius didn’t reply.
Pero smiled. ‘They call you Pater Mutatis when they think you aren’t listening.’ He glanced at the mutant servants stationed throughout the chamber, ready to attend to the needs of the Gland-hounds. ‘Then, maybe they aren’t wrong. You give them purpose, a sense of unity, where others see them only as chattel.’
‘I make some use of them, yes. What does it matter?’
‘Is it pragmatism – or pity?’
Fabius snorted. ‘Why does it have to be either, Pero? In point of fact, I give them little thought. I required menials, and the mutants are willing. That is the end of it.’
Pero nodded. ‘As you say.’ He took another sip of wine. ‘Have you given any more thought to our proposal?’
‘You mean moving my operations to a secure facility under your jurisdiction?’ Fabius looked down his nose at Pero. ‘As I said before, I have no interest in sacrificing my freedom for the dubious advantages of your protection.’
‘You may come to regret that, and sooner than you imagine.’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘A warning. Our grudge is settled, but… there are whispers.’ Pero paused. ‘Then, there are always whispers when it comes to you.’
‘Through no fault of my own, I assure you.’
Pero snorted. ‘Fabius, we both know that’s not the case. It’s only luck – or the blessings of the Dark Gods – that have kept you alive this long.’
Fabius looked at him. ‘Tell me. Without making a riddle of it, please.’
‘Someone is searching for you, albeit in somewhat oblique fashion. On K’sshpar, a troupe of xenos performers staged a certain play before the Karellian Despot… The Misfortune of Count Sunflame. On Feshtain-Six, a masked singer set the aristocracy of Hive Jormun at each other’s throats – in the ensuing slaughter, your name was carved into the thigh bones of the eldest child of each great house. Drukhari traders have visited the dream-markets of Sublime and the portent-sellers of Tumbaq, seeking word of a mon-keigh fleshcrafter they call Manflayer.’ He paused. ‘A dozen worlds have been burned in as many weeks. Worlds that followed the will of Pater Mutatis.’
Fabius frowned. ‘Thank you for the warning. Unnecessary as it might be.’
His grip on Torment tightened, and the daemon-shard within gave a psychic whine. Hexachires was still hunting for him, even as Melusine had warned. He would need to depart on his… pilgrimage soon.
‘I expected something of the sort. For now, I have other matters to attend to. I leave you in the capable hands of my servants. If you will excuse me?’
‘Think on my offer, Fabius,’ Pero called out.
Fabius didn’t reply. He spied Zargad Ket standing at the edge of the chamber, overseeing his charges. The crèche-master had a disapproving look on his face.
‘It is necessary,’ Fabius said, as he joined Zargad.
‘I am aware.’
‘The Alpha Legion, for all its flaws, takes care of its assets.’
‘As if we cannot.’
Fabius looked at him. ‘We cannot. That is why I reached out to the Proxies – among others.’ He leaned on Torment, drawing strength from the artefact. ‘Most of them have yet to respond. We are lucky they were willing to… overlook our previous history.’
Zargad was silent for a moment. ‘I heard you experienced a setback. Casualties?’
‘A few,’ Fabius said, after a moment. ‘Marag among them.’
Zargad let loose a soft sigh. ‘Ah. Now I see why you sent Arrian to tell me.’ He was silent for a moment, watching the children at play. Then, ‘How did he die?’
‘Not well.’
‘What death ever is?’ Zargad looked at him. ‘His body?’
‘Gone.’
Zargad nodded again. ‘Then I suppose he will forgive me if I do not perform the proper rites. Did you kill the ones who killed him?’
‘Some. The rest are likely on their way here… or soon will be,’ Fabius said. ‘I want you to prepare the crèches for immediate evacuation to Omega Redoubt.’
Zargad stared at him. ‘Has it come to that then?’
Fabius nodded. ‘I believe it has. This galaxy has become too hostile for us. We must retreat and begin anew. I have enacted the Omega Protocols – every New Man capable of making the journey here will do so. Those that are not will begin chrono-locking my caches and destroying any access nodes.’
‘You would abandon reality itself,’ Zargad said, with some surprise.
‘In a heartbeat, if it meant preserving all that we have done here.’
‘So much work – lost…’
‘Work can be recreated. More samples can be collected. Discoveries remade. But my creations are precious. They carry within them the seeds of the future. I will not see them destroyed.’ He gestured. ‘Some will go to new masters – new protectors. But Omega Redoubt will suffice for the others.’
‘And what
of the rest of us?’
Fabius looked away. ‘Omega Redoubt is not meant for us.’
Zargad snorted. ‘No. Of course not. Are we to fight, then?’
‘And die, if need be.’
‘All very well and good for you to say, Clonelord. Death is beyond you.’
‘Say rather that I am beyond it. And perhaps not for much longer.’ Fabius shook his head. ‘Once, we would not have questioned such a course.’
‘We were as children then. We know the truth of this life, now.’ Zargad smiled thinly. ‘I have kept out of the Twelfth’s internecine feuds. And I have no wish to rejoin the Legion. Marag is dead. What is there for me, but this?’
‘You have your own experiments.’
‘But this was – is – my obsession. The perfection of a species.’ He laughed. ‘How many of us have you infected with your particular mania? You’ve subordinated us, made us extensions of your will and now – you ask us to abandon them?’
‘I ask you to defend them. To do as we were designed to do, one final time.’ Fabius paused. ‘I will need you to go with them.’
‘What?’
‘The children. The ones going with the Alpha Legion. Someone will need to see to them. Guide them.’ Fabius looked at him. ‘Protect them, until they are ready.’
Zargad looked away. After a few moments, he nodded. ‘Very well.’
Fabius clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good. I will inform Pero.’ He turned as Arrian approached. ‘Yes?’
‘I’ve gathered them in the atrium, as you requested,’ Arrian said.
‘All of them?’
‘All who remain.’
Fabius sighed and ran his hand through his thinning hair.
‘Very well. Best to have it all done at once.’
‘What do you think he wants?’ Skalagrim murmured.
Duco didn’t reply. The Night Lord was determinedly antisocial, save when it came to Khorag. Everyone liked Khorag. Even as they all hated Saqqara. After a few moments of silence, Skalagrim sighed and turned his attentions elsewhere.
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