Burias threw off his harness and stood up unsteadily. Using the rail-holds above his head he hauled himself hand over hand towards the front of the shuttle. Once inside the control cabin, Kol Badar punched a blister-rune and the hatch was sealed behind them.
The crew of the Idolator had long been fused with their controls, and what remained of their flesh was covered in runes and sigils of binding. They stared ahead with sightless eyes, their entire existence dedicated to serving their infernal masters. They would not repeat what words were spoken in their presence even were they capable of speech.
“The Council need not know all the details,” said Kol Badar slowly, his eyes intense.
“They will need to be told something,” Burias hissed, “unless we do not return to Sicarus at all.”
“No, that is not an option. No warrior of Lorgar has ever turned from the XVII Legion. No, we tell the Council the truth.”
“The truth?” asked Burias.
“Yes, that the Dark Apostle Jarulek was treacherously cut down by the traitor Marduk, who was envious and covetous of his hallowed role,” said Kol Badar, “and that Marduk was subsequently slain for his misdeed.”
“You wish to lie to the Council?” asked Burias, his voice incredulous.
Kol Badar did not have a chance to answer, as warning lights lit up across the consoles of the shuttle. The Coryphaus moved swiftly towards the pict screens flashing with a stream of data, and swore.
“What is it?” asked Burias in alarm.
“A tyranid spore shower,” answered the Coryphaus.
It was heading right towards them.
“Admiral,” said Gideon Cortez, flag-lieutenant of the Hammer of Righteousness. “The master of ordnance has a firing solution. Request approval to launch torpedoes.”
“Approved,” said Admiral Rutger Augustine.
He was standing at the forward observation deck with his hands on his hips, watching the battle unfold before him. The strategy of maintaining a blockade in front of the encroaching tyranid menace and decimating any world, inhabited or not, in its path still rankled with Augustine, but such were his orders.
Most of the enemy hive ships were still tens of thousands of kilometres away, but he could see them: immense, sentient creatures kilometres long with skin thick enough to endure living in deep space, their vile bodies armoured in segmented carapace easily as strong as the hull of the mighty Retribution-class battleship he stood in. It almost defied logic that creatures as large as this could exist in the universe. The largest of the bio-ships was easily a match for the Hammer of Righteousness, and rivalled her for size, and there were hundreds of smaller living ships that shoaled around the largest organisms. The smaller creatures ranged from the size of light cruisers all the way down to the size of attack craft and interceptors. The smallest bio-ships flew in dense clouds around the large hive ships, like swarms of angry bees around their mother-hive, and several Cobra-class escorts had already been destroyed by them when they had ventured too close.
The tyranid fleet was a terrifying prospect to face at close range, and Augustine had decreed that no Imperial vessel approach within six thousand kilometres of it. Even so, the xenos bio-ships were capable of startling bursts of speed that had at first taken the Imperials by surprise, and Augustine had lost the light cruiser Dominae Noctus and its entourage of frigates and escorts due to this unexpected trait.
A pair of hive ships had swung towards the Dauntless-class light cruiser as she had been turning to starboard to make a strafing run across the flank of the hive fleet, breaking from the formation of bio-ships.
Though the commander of the Dominae Noctus had seen the danger, he had been powerless to pull away fast enough. The cruiser had desperately unleashed the fury of a full broadside into the two bio-ships training in on him. Augustine had watched the destruction unleashed on the living organisms on one of his flickering pict screens, and had seen the carapaced hides of the beasts rupture beneath the barrage, spilling bio-fluids into space. Still, the bio-ships had continued on, spitting streams of acid that melted the side of the Dauntless light cruiser and launching swarms of smaller creatures, exhaling them from gill-like rents in their sides.
A trio of Sword frigates had nobly moved into the path of the behemoths, seeking to draw them away from the floundering light cruiser, and two of them were overwhelmed as boarding chrysalides were excreted from the hive ships, clamping onto and cutting through their hulls before overrunning their decks with swarms of warrior organisms.
One of the bio-ships was drawn by the bait, and turned on the last remaining Sword frigate, while its twin closed on the doomed Dominae Noctus. The rest of the fleet had watched in growing horror as immense hooked tentacles shot forth from the prow of the bio-ships, locking onto the hulls of the light cruiser and the frigate, drawing them into the immense living beasts. More tentacles wrapped around their hulls. The Sword frigate was crushed utterly beneath the pressure and ripped in half. The Dominae Noctus lasted little longer, for the tentacles drew it in close to the hive ship, and its hull was rent by the immense, bony beak concealed at the heart of the mass of tentacles. For an hour, the creature gorged upon the light cruiser, its hull almost entirely obscured by the tentacles that wrapped around it, and Augustine had listened in stoic silence to the screams of the dying as bio-acid and feeder organisms had been spewed into the interior of the compromised ship.
Augustine had no intention of losing any more of his fleet to the xenos fleet, and the Imperials were engaging the tyranids only at medium to long range.
The Hammer of Righteousness’s dorsal lance batteries had taken a heavy toll on the advancing tyranid fleet, but the xenos ships continued on relentlessly, absorbing the casualties they suffered and pushing ever forwards. The bio-ships mortally wounded by the long distance barrages were devoured by the other hive-ships, who would doubtless use the genetic material to spawn more of their foul kind.
Augustine felt a shudder beneath his feet as the prow torpedo tubes fired, and he watched with satisfaction as the six immense, plasma-core projectiles, each almost eighty metres long, powered through the gulf of space towards the largest of the hive organisms.
Lance batteries from the rest of the fleet stabbed into the closest bio-ships, and other torpedoes impacted with fleshy bodies several kilometres in length. Tentacles flailed in death-spasms, and thousands of tiny organisms flew into the mighty wounds in the hides of the immense beasts, latching onto flesh and each other and excreting a cement-like substance over themselves to form a living bandage, sealing up wounds even as they were caused.
The largest of the hive ships veered to avoid the flagship’s torpedoes, but its immense bulk turned slowly, and it was clear that it could not avoid the impacts. Smaller bio-ships interposed themselves, and three torpedoes exploded prematurely as they slammed into the sides of the lesser vessels. The last three plasma torpedoes hit their target, and gobbets of flesh the size of city blocks were blasted from the behemoth’s flank.
“Order the Valkyrie to pull back,” said Augustine to one of his aides. “She is getting too close.”
“Yes, admiral,” came the response, and the order was quickly passed on.
“Ground invasions have commenced on both the Perdus moons,” said Gideon Cortez, Augustine’s trusty flag-lieutenant, his face grim.
Augustine sighed wearily. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had slept. Plenty of time to sleep when you are dead, he thought.
He had already ordered the destruction of six inhabited Imperial worlds in this sector, but at least those worlds had been successfully evacuated before he had been forced to order their destruction.
Trying to give the citizens of the two moons as much time to evacuate as possible, Augustine had moved the blockade forward, so that the fleet could hold back the tyranid advance for as long as possible. Now, he looked down upon the twin moons, orbiting the gaseous giant nearby, and he cursed that he could buy them little more time.
&nbs
p; “Percentage of the populations evacuated?” he asked, already dreading the answer.
It had been estimated that the twin moons of Perdus Skylla and Perdus Kharybdis would require three journeys of the bulk transport ships available, at the minimum, for a complete evacuation. As far as he was aware, only one journey had been completed.
“Less than thirty per cent,” replied Gideon.
“How many are left?” asked Augustine. He didn’t really want to know the answer, but felt that he ought to know how many people he was condemning to death.
“On Perdus Kharybdis, around eighty million,” said Gideon in a quiet voice.
“Eighty million,” said Admiral Augustine in a weary voice, “and Perdus Skylla?”
“No more than twenty million.”
“The evacuations were more successful there?”
“No,” admitted Gideon Cortez, shaking his head. “The population of Perdus Skylla is but a fraction of its twin, mostly labourers and mine workers.”
“One hundred million loyal souls, and we are going to eradicate them, like that,” said Augustine, clicking his fingers together.
“Some might say it is a blessing, sir,” said Gideon, “better than being devoured by the xenos.”
“Yes, you are quite right,” snapped Augustine. “They should be thanking us.”
Gideon gave him a hurt look, and the admiral sighed.
“I’m sorry, Gideon,” he said quickly, “that was unfair. How long would it take to do one final evacuation run!”
“The carriers are already en route for a final pickup,” said Gideon, “though they will need an escort. Six hours, they’ll need, according to the logistics reports.”
“Order the left flanks to close up, with the Cypra Mordatis at the fore,” said Augustine after a moment of deliberation. “We can buy them six hours.”
Feeling Gideon still hovering behind him, Augustine turned to face his flag-lieutenant, one eyebrow raised.
“You have something to say, Gideon?”
“Can we really hold them for another six hours?” asked the flag-lieutenant, his voice low to avoid any of the other crew members overhearing his words.
“I don’t know,” admitted Augustine, “but we owe it to those people to try.”
Gideon still did not look happy.
“You can’t save them all,” he said.
“No,” agreed Augustine, shaking his head, “I cannot.”
The Idolator banked and jinked from side to side as hundreds of mycetic spores, fired by the hive fleet still some ten thousand kilometres from Perdus Skylla streamed down towards the surface of the moon. Each of the cyst-like chrysalis organisms was filled with a deadly warrior cargo, which would scour all life from the doomed world. They fell like a meteor shower through the atmosphere, their shell-like exteriors glowing hot as they descended at phenomenal speeds.
One of the spores passed within metres of the shuttle, which was pulled to the side by the rush of air, but the guidance systems of the ship hauled it back on course, narrowly being struck by another pair of mycetic spores as they roared down towards the surface of Perdus Skylla.
Each of the spores was the size of a Rhino transport vehicle, and a direct hit would cause tremendous damage to the unshielded Idolator. Engines roared as the shuttle veered sharply to avoid a collision, but its movement took it into the path of another descending spore, which clipped the side of the ship, sending it into a spin.
The Idolator rolled through the air, dropping hundreds of metres and narrowly avoiding being struck by more of the spores, but it came back under control, pulling out of its death spin and shooting once more skywards, pulling free of the descending shower of chrysalides.
Burias and Kol Badar picked themselves up, the Coryphaus reading the damage reports that spewed from the mouth of a graven, daemonic face. He swore.
“We are not going to make it to the Infidus Diabolus,” he said, scrunching the thin strips of mnemo-paper in his fist. “Guidance systems are damaged, and the aft engines are at quarter power.”
Burias was silent while the Coryphaus muttered, his strategic mind working to solve the problem.
“Do we have enough power to break from the moon’s gravity?” he ventured.
“Yes,” snapped the Coryphaus, “but we’d be drifting. We’ll conserve our power once we have broken the atmosphere, and fire the engines to take us past the Imperial blockade. We’ll order the Infidus Diabolus to break from its mooring and come to meet us halfway.”
“The Imperial fleet will be aware of its presence as soon as it pulls out of the radiation of the sun,” said Burias. “If they turn their fleet…”
“Then we must pray that they do not. Let us hope that the cursed Imperials are too occupied by the xenos to swing their blockade.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we are dead.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“You are wasting your time,” growled Marduk, blood and spittle dripping from his lips. His head was held immobile by bladed callipers that had emerged from the floating slab on which he lay, making any movement of his head or neck impossible. He glared at the eldar tormentor out of the corner of his left eye, his daemonic right eye rendered useless.
“I won’t break,” snarled Marduk. “You will have to kill me first.”
His torturer did not look up, his utterly black eyes focused on the incisions that he had cut into Marduk’s neck. He was gazing into them, prodding and poking around the area where one of his progenoid glands, those sacred glands that contained the essence of his enhanced gene-seed, had been surgically removed thousands of years previously. As if satisfied, the eldar closed up the wound, and lifted what looked like a spike-ripped handgun from a pad that hovered at his side.
Marduk tensed, thinking momentarily that perhaps the eldar was going to kill him. The eldar ran the spiked tip of the pistol along the edge of the incision at his neck, and Marduk hissed in pain, feeling a searing laser melting his flesh. The eldar replaced the strange implement back on its floating platform, and Marduk realised that the wound in his neck was sealed.
The First Acolyte stared at the spiked pistol-like piece of apparatus for a moment, and then flexed his neck from side to side as the callipers retracted from their clamped position around his cranium. The bladed lengths slid away soundlessly, and came to rest around his head like a razor-sharp halo, leaving him free of their constriction, but still protruding from the hovering slab, just centimetres from his head.
Marduk hissed as fresh pain seared across his abdomen. Two long cuts bisected his flesh, and snarling, he leant forwards to watch the monstrous eldar surgeon at work. Doubtless that was the reason his head restraints had been retracted, so that he could witness the surgery being performed upon him. His skin was sliced, and the thick black carapace beneath, the implant that allowed his holy armour to be plugged directly into his body, was cut open with laser-tipped tools.
The biomechanical creature hovering on the pulsing ceiling reached out with four slender limbs, each of them piercing one corner of his flesh, painfully drawing his sliced black carapace apart to expose the stomach cavity. The wraith-like eldar began to probe his organs with his slender fingers. Marduk’s chest had not yet been cut open, but he knew that it was just a matter of time. He had witnessed two of his brother Space Marines have their organs removed, though Marduk had noted that the eldar was careful to leave his victims alive, using inferior substitute organs to keep them going. It had taken some time to cut through the black carapace beneath the flesh of the warriors’ chests, but the tools of the twisted creature were powerful.
“I have no interest in your death,” intoned his torturer, still engrossed in his work. Marduk could feel the fingers probing within him, handling his enhanced organs. The feeling was uncomfortable, but he pushed the sensation away, focusing his mind.
“If your intention is not to kill me, what then is to be my fate?” asked Marduk, feigning weakness in his voice.
“Upon reaching Commoragh,” said the eldar, though Marduk did not recognise the word, “your savayaethoth, your… soul-flame… will be drained from your body. This soul-essence will be delivered to Lord Vect, for him to do with as he pleases. Your savayaethoth burns brighter than those of your comrades. Most likely, the Lord Vect will take it into himself. All that you are will be consumed, utterly and completely, and She Who Thirsts will be denied her claim upon him a little longer.”
“The soul-extraction,” continued the eldar torturer, “is excruciatingly painful. What you have experienced thus far is nothing beside it, and I have been known to prolong the process for a week or more.”
“What will happen to you if I die beneath your scalpel before then?” asked Marduk.
“My master would be displeased,” said the eldar simply, as if he were talking to an imbecile.
“Your master is going to be very displeased, then,” said Marduk, and his primary heart stopped beating.
Admiral Rutger Augustine stared at the blinking icon in disbelief. Scans had picked up the telltale sign of a ship moving towards the rear of the Imperial blockade, emerging from within the radiation field of the system’s dying sun.
“It’s an Adeptus Astartes cruiser, sir,” said his aide in awe. “And it’s big.”
“Yes, I can see that,” snapped Augustine, “but is it friend or foe?”
“You think it may be renegade, sir?” asked the man, looking at him in shock.
“I don’t know. I have received no information of a Chapter of Astartes coming to our aid, though it would be welcome. That they have not intervened thus far does not bode well.”
“Initial hails have been ignored,” said the aide. “The archives are being scoured as we speak to identify the vessel.”
[Word Bearers 02] - Dark Disciple Page 28