Vaults of Terra- The Hollow Mountain - Chris Wraight

by Warhammer 40K

  The Magister had known about the xenos, and did not care. If he was to be believed, his mistress no longer cared either. Spinoza, he appreciated, did not truly believe in the hunt either. Perhaps they were all right. Perhaps the xenos had got under his skin, preventing him from seeing things clearly. Perhaps this was something that should be put aside now, filed in a drawer for possible future reference, or turned over to the expert hunters of the Ordo Xenos for their consideration. Rassilo might have been overstating the importance of the Project she had so assiduously worked for, after all. Pride was a common affliction among their kind.

  ‘Coming into visual range now, lord,’ Aneela reported, as they pulled past the lumen-flickering bole of another mighty spire-trunk.

  Crowl looked up. The familiar hooked and serrated profile of Salvator’s many hab-blocks jutted up around them. More fires had been kindled in the teeming bowels, sending palls rolling into the sparsely-occupied heavens. As the flyer burned towards its destination, it looked for a moment as if something had gone wrong with the instruments, for Courvain did not exist at all. And then, as they got closer, he saw that its lights were out, save for a dim scatter at the summit of the citadel. Fires were burning at its base, too – a whole gamut of them, strewn across the network of bridges and thoroughfares that bound the place into the grasping roots of the surrounding conurbations.

  ‘Are those… fighters?’ Crowl asked, reaching for the shuttle’s viewport augmentation controls.

  None of them were in the air. The wreckage of what seemed like dozens of atmospheric attack craft littered Courvain’s flanks and the shoulders of the hab-units around. Most were still smouldering, kicking more acrid smoke into an already gauzy fug. The hangar entrances, ground-level portals and upper take-off stages were all mangled and glowing red-hot.

  ‘I am not sure how we’re going to land there, lord,’ Aneela said, running her own scan of the damage.

  ‘Get us in, somehow,’ Crowl said grimly. The more he looked, the less he liked what he saw. ‘There are lights on further up. We’re closer now – can you get anything over the comm yet?’

  She tried again. After a few seconds of the now-familiar static-snarls, the link finally clarified.

  ‘–owl. Throne be praised. Please do not approach the main hanger maws. Repeat – do not approach the main hangar maws. Contamination has yet to be cleared there. If it please you, follow coordinates to be transmitted, and I shall do my greatest to guide you into the service bay on level twenty-three.’

  Crowl recognised the voice – it was Hegain. Why was he directing this?

  ‘What has happened, sergeant?’ Crowl demanded.

  The link went dead for a moment.

  ‘If it please you,’ Hegain voxed again, ‘that is a most difficult matter. Please follow directions – it is not safe in the air. I shall inform the Lord Spinoza you are returned. She can brief you fully.’

  The link cut.

  Crowl looked at Aneela. ‘A most difficult matter,’ he said, dryly. ‘What do you make of that?’

  ‘I do not know, lord,’ she replied, picking up Hegain’s marker trail and guiding the flyer down towards his suggested ingress point. ‘I shall leave that to you to determine, if I may – this approach may be challenging.’

  But by then he wasn’t listening. He was looking at the damage.

  ‘Just what, by the nine devils of all hell, can have happened here?’ he muttered.

  Prayer had filled the hours since her decision. Spinoza had knelt before her altar, her fingers clutching the chain of devotion, her head bowed.

  It had felt good to get out of that foreign plate and don her true robes of office again, but that only fixed the external, not the internal. As her lips moved, at times she felt as if she could almost taste the nerve gas, filtering up from the chambers she had poisoned, wafted by some divine buoyancy by those who had suffered.

  The devotions did little to ease her spirit. After a while, she got back to her feet. She put her armour back on, not because she felt it necessary, but because it made her feel like herself again. Whatever came next, she would face it in her full regalia, her weapon ready, her allegiance displayed.

  She checked her backed-up comm feeds. The Courvain traffic was predictable enough, albeit with the addendum, sourced from multiple emitters, that the Lord Crowl had returned.

  That ought to have made her glad. He was her sanctioned master, and his absence had no doubt contributed to the debacle here. Instead, though, all she felt was dread. Perhaps he would be angry. It might even be good to provoke anger from him, rather than the world-weary lethargy that marked his usual speech and manner. Or perhaps he would be crushed, witnessing for himself the vengeance of those whom he had chosen to cross.

  In addition to all that, there was now another element from outside, one that had seemingly been delayed by the jamming devices used by the enemy during the assault.

  Priority message to all members of the Holy Ordos of the Emperor’s Inquisition operating on Terra or within standard void passage range of Terra, issued by the Office of the Representative to the High Council.

  She read on, and took in the full statement. So that was that. Crowl’s ambition would have to be curtailed now. Clearly the contagion she had witnessed at the Hall of Judgement had spread rapidly. It was impossible not to wonder what must have transpired to have forced the Representative’s hand. Disorder on a planetary scale was hardly unknown in the Imperium – she had witnessed it herself under Tur’s tutelage, together with the suitable responses and their continent-scouring consequences – but this was no ordinary planet. Any systematic unrest on Terra would have to be dealt with on its own terms, spire by spire.

  Her summon-chime went off. She was being asked to attend the council chamber again. Crowl had wasted no time.

  She drew in a deep breath, adjusted her cloak, and left the chamber. As she walked through the narrow ways, the candles fluttered in their pools of wax, untended for too long. The air tasted even more metallic than usual, no doubt due to the curtailing of the citadel’s circulatory pathways. The surroundings were so similar to the way they always had been, and yet, there could be no doubt, everything had changed.

  The passageways were crowded. Revus had managed to pull as many souls as possible above the Corvus Ring before the situation became critical, and now there were adepts clustered in every chamber and intersection, some sitting disconsolately, others attempting to go about their business as if nothing much had changed. When they made the aquila to her as she passed, it was impossible not to imagine their eyes following her afterwards, perhaps pitying, perhaps judging.

  She reached Crowl’s rooms. Here, too, the council chamber looked much as it had done before, with the high-polished table, the patterned rugs lost in semi-darkness, the crystal decanters and the recessed lighting. Revus had arrived ahead of her, and was already seated on the far side of the table. He looked exhausted. Crowl was in his usual place, also back in his familiar robes. He had a half-empty goblet in one hand. As she entered, he beckoned for her to take a seat.

  Awkwardly, he shuffled forwards on to his elbows, moving with some stiffness. There was a strange aroma coming from him, something toxic. He didn’t look noticeably worse, physically speaking, than when they had last spoken. Something, though, had changed – like a strut, hidden but structural, snapping. He had been sick before. Now, he looked wounded.

  ‘Spinoza,’ he said, as she took her seat. ‘I thank the Throne you are preserved.’

  ‘And that you are too, lord,’ she said, trying not to make that into a lie. It wasn’t, not truly, although it was so hard to summon the right level of feeling. Why was that? Why, even now, was she still struggling with these same things?

  She caught Revus’ eye, and saw how his habitual front had been restored. Aside from the fatigue, he looked much as he always did – like a granite outcrop, weather-worn, i
mmutable.

  Crowl turned to him first.

  ‘So, tell me from the start,’ he said. As he reached for another sip, Spinoza could see the faint tremble in his fingers.

  ‘It was my error, lord,’ Revus said, baldly. ‘I pursued a lead, ­hoping for evidence of Gloch’s presence within Salvator. I found what looked like a killing – a contact of a contact. I brought the bodies back here, wishing to draw something from the killer’s corpse, something to work on. But there was no killer, merely bait. While we were examining the cadaver, a locator-beacon emitted, giving away our involvement.’

  ‘It broke through the sensor-wards?’ Crowl asked.

  ‘Evidently. And also got through our routine scans on the way in. I do not say this to excuse the error.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  Revus was sitting perfectly upright, his spine ramrod straight. ‘We enacted lockdown,’ he said. ‘I attempted to recall all offsite personnel, and put a check on movement at the gates.’

  ‘But that was not enough.’

  ‘They reacted too quickly. They were too numerous. I do not believe, given what was sent here, that anything could have prevented them gaining access. Once inside, they took control rapidly, and we lost a great many of our people. I pulled back to the upper levels once it was clear that we could not expel them by force.’

  Crowl took another draught. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Unknown. We captured several, but their minds have been altered. Subjects, both living and dead, are still held here. Erunion is working on them.’

  ‘And they wanted to destroy the citadel?’

  Revus hesitated. ‘Only if they failed to capture its master.’

  Crowl smiled sourly. ‘I see. Did they mention what they wanted with me?’

  ‘They do not know.’

  Crowl nodded. He reached the end of the goblet, and got up to pour more. ‘And that led you to enact the Corvus protocol.’

  Spinoza leaned forward a little. ‘I gave the order,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Spinoza,’ said Crowl, taking his seat again. ‘Do carry on the tale now.’

  ‘I returned to the citadel after the fighting had already started. I concur with Captain Revus’ assessment of the situation – we were being overrun. I was presented with the simple choice – enact the protocol, or attempt to hold the bastion. I judged that we could not do the latter.’

  ‘You tried, though.’

  ‘We held out for as long as we could.’

  ‘You agree with that, Revus?’

  ‘I do,’ Revus said.

  ‘Damn you both,’ Crowl muttered, drinking again. There could be no mistaking it now – his hands were shaking. He swallowed, then looked up at the ceiling, stretching his arms out across the tabletop. ‘The one requirement. The one requirement. Keep it secret.’ He drew in a long, bitter breath, then shot a look of uncharacteristic venom at Revus. ‘You did not think, at any point, that this corpse could have been planted?’

  Revus shook his head, just a fractional movement. Spinoza might have answered in his place then, pointing out that bodies were brought in and out of Courvain all the time. This whole thing had started with one such cadaver, hauled out of Gulagh’s flesh-strippers and given over to Erunion for study.

  ‘You surprise me,’ Crowl said, bitterly. ‘And you disappoint me.’

  Silence fell. For a long time, none of them spoke. The ticking of a clock could be heard in the recesses of the chamber.

  Eventually, Crowl sighed wearily. ‘I have been the custodian of this place for many years. Too many, perhaps. In all that time, we never dared to use it. I had half-forgotten it was even there, before this all started.’ He stared sullenly into the veneer. ‘I could not allow Gorgias to be present for this. It would have broken him. He is undergoing work, and will awaken soon, and then I will have to try to explain. I do not relish that prospect.’

  ‘If you wish it, lord–’ Revus started.

  ‘Do not dare,’ Crowl shot back, instantly. ‘Say nothing about penance, or resignation, or punishment. We have so little strength left, and so little time. It is done. It was always going to be hard to keep our names out of this.’ He turned to Spinoza. ‘What did you discover, before you returned?’

  ‘Nothing, lord,’ she said. ‘No investigations are active. The records of the orbital cordon have been erased. It was a dead end.’

  Crowl nodded again, slowly. ‘Just as it was at the Nexus,’ he said, allowing, so it seemed, a fractional resentment to enter his voice. ‘Closing ranks, covering over, forgetting orders were ever given.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I met the creature responsible for Vinal’s ship being scuttled. The Speaker has, it seems, repented of her involvement, and it was unwilling to divulge any useful information. So there is nothing for us there. The identity of the third conspirator is still hidden. It may be that he or she is the only active partner now, though they are clearly aware of us now. We must assume these killers will return, and in greater numbers.’

  Spinoza found herself looking at her hands, and lifted her head. ‘The wider city is in some disarray, lord,’ she ventured. ‘Travel is becoming perilous. It may be that the danger has abated, for now at least.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ said Crowl. He took another swig, and this time tiny beads of wine remained on his lower lip, glistening in the candlelight. ‘But, for ourselves, we cannot rest. We must keep moving. We must keep enquiring. This must not be allowed to run away from us.’

  Revus was like a tombstone now, mute and deferential.

  ‘They have struck us,’ Crowl went on, clenching one fist into a tight claw. ‘They have wounded us, and that shall be the weakness. There will be something. Something they have neglected to hide. And when we find it…’

  He seemed to run out of words.

  ‘With respect, lord,’ Spinoza offered, gently, firmly, knowing it was likely futile but still choosing to try, ‘you will have seen the unrest in the city outside. If the Project even still exists–’

  ‘It exists.’

  ‘–if the Project still exists, there will be other burdens on the High Lords now. Their attention will be turned towards the Palace.’

  Crowl shook his head, a jerky movement that made the sinews of his neck stand out. ‘No, no,’ he muttered, opening his fist, then closing it up again. ‘That is what they wish you to think. That is the great trap.’ He looked up at her, and she was shocked to see the fervour in his old eyes. ‘Everything is linked. The Throne. The xenos. The anomaly. I do not see how, yet. I do not see how it can be. But it is. I looked into its eyes. You understand that? I saw what it intended. This is not a single thread, but a whole braid, twisting, twisting.’

  Now Spinoza noticed a flicker of alarm in Revus’ otherwise blank expression.

  ‘They struck us first. That betrays fear. They had to destroy us, in this one hit, and they have failed. Now we must strike back, strike while the iron is bloody.’ He grinned, a flicker of a smile that extinguished again almost instantly. ‘The error is theirs. I have yet to see how we can turn it yet, but I will do. This cannot be the end. It is just another step on the same path.’

  She was tempted to say a number of things in reply to that. She was tempted to say that they still had no idea who had attacked them, and that was of critical importance. She was tempted to say that if the Speaker’s office and the Adeptus Arbites had decided to lay their involvement to one side, then perhaps that meant the whole affair was dead now and they were merely opening themselves up for destruction by pursuing it. She was tempted to say that a xenos infiltrating the Palace, as serious as that was, paled into insignificance besides the prospect of losing the Throneworld to anarchy.

  But one look at her master, just then, told her that this was not the time nor the place. She shared a significant look with Revus, before bowing her head.

  ‘By your will, lord,’ sh
e said, quietly.

  Chapter Sixteen

  After that, Spinoza waited some time before going to see him. The captain was as occupied as ever. He threw himself into his work, seemingly as some kind of penance. Or perhaps it was just easier to keep busy.

  Eventually, however, even he had to rest. She observed him heading down towards the senior officers’ refectory, and followed him. If he’d noticed her, he gave no sign, but headed to an auto-dispenser and poured himself a cup of caffeine. He pulled a protein-stick from the counter next to it, then went to sit, alone, at the far end of one of the long tables.

  She retrieved a drink of her own – heated water, flavoured with a little sucrose-essence – and went to sit opposite him. For a while, he sipped his caffeine, chewed his protein-stick, and did not acknowledge her at all.

  Spinoza looked around her. The refectory was virtually empty. A couple of adepts were hunched at the far end of the chamber. A menial worker looked to have fallen asleep from exhaustion in the opposite corner. Normally, she would have reported that one for discipline, but things were hardly normal.

  ‘You do not like me much, do you, captain?’ she said, taking a sip.

  Revus looked up. His eyes were ringed with grey, his cheeks were sunken, his chin bristling with wire-brush stubble. ‘Why would you think that, lord?’ he asked, not sounding terribly concerned either way.

  ‘Ever since I arrived,’ Spinoza said, ‘that is the impression I have gained.’