by Guy Haley
A gentle cough made him turn. He wiped hurriedly at his cheeks.
‘Good morning, Neophyte Oberdeii.’ Sergeant Arkus, his squad leader and mentor, was leaning against the wall by the armoury door on the far side of the training room, a mild, unreadable expression on his craggy face. ‘Are you going to tell me why you are not asleep in the barracks? Taricus released you only yesterday, and you are already overstretching yourself.’
‘Sergeant!’
‘Yes, that is correct. Sergeant. As your sergeant, I asked you a question. As a neophyte, you are bound to answer, yet I hear no answer.’
‘I… I can’t sleep, sergeant.’
‘So you thought you would come and commit suicide instead? That is an extreme cure for insomnia.’
Oberdeii looked down at the dead servitor. ‘I seek to better myself for the Legion.’
Arkus pushed himself off the wall and came into the cage. ‘Ah, now it all makes sense.’
‘Yes, sergeant.’ Oberdeii looked up at his teacher. Arkus was a foot taller than the Scout. ‘How long were you watching?’
‘Long enough to wince at that terrible parry. Hold up your sword.’
Oberdeii stooped for his blade and adopted the stance suitable for unarmoured combat. He gritted his teeth at the pain in his wrist.
Arkus shook his head despairingly.
‘Not like that – like this.’ Arkus’ massive hand engulfed Oberdeii’s own and twisted it. Oberdeii stifled a yelp as the torn muscle twinged in his wrist. ‘Keep the guard angled, blade edge outward towards the parry. If you fight like that a good warrior will have your arm off at the elbow as soon as you point the bloody thing at him!’
‘Yes, sergeant. I am sorry.’
‘Still,’ Arkus said. ‘You killed it.’ He toed the dead cyborg. Arkus wore a sleeveless chiton and loose trousers, the garb of a farmer or artisan. These simple clothes were supposed to bring unity with the people they had been made to protect. No one could ever mistake Arkus for a normal man; he was seven feet tall, his muscles huge and his skin studded with armour interface ports.
‘Thank you, sergeant.’
‘That was not praise, boy. If his pain circuits had been deactivated, you would be a dead man. These combat models do not feel much, but if he felt nothing at all the match would not have gone your way.’
Oberdeii shrugged. ‘I do not know how to turn them off.’
‘There is a reason we do not teach you everything at once, boy.’ Arkus looked down at the ruined combat unit. ‘That was a theta-class servitor. You’re not cleared to face them. It seems we teach you too much as it is.’
Oberdeii opened his mouth to speak, but Arkus shushed him. ‘I do not wish to know how you got the activation codes. You did well to defeat it. I do not know whether to censure you or commend you.’ He hooked his fingers into his broad belt. The Ultima emblem of the Legion gleamed on the buckle.
Oberdeii looked at his master expectantly. Censure, it should be censure. Arkus had been too lenient with him since the incident in the mountain.
Arkus’ mouth became a thoughtful line. ‘Adept Criolus is not going to be very happy with you. But… Impressive. Very impressive. Next time, stick to the combat armatures.’
Arkus smiled sadly.
‘It is time, isn’t it?’ said Oberdeii nervously.
Arkus nodded, and his smile vanished. ‘Yes, Oberdeii. It is time. The Librarian has finished with the others.’
He rubbed his own head hesitantly. Arkus, along with everyone who had spent long periods near the mountain, had experienced the dreams, although no one else had experienced anything as potent as the terrifying visions Oberdeii had when lost in the labyrinth. And that was the problem.
‘He wished to see you last. You must come with me.’
The Scout glanced back uncertainly at the machine corpse as they left. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be the last time he would be allowed into the practice chamber.
TWO
Judgement
Beneath the mountain
Cohort
Oberdeii followed Arkus through the Sothan orbital, feeling small and sheepish in his mighty footsteps. The narrow corridors were filled to bursting with the legionaries and servants of the 199th ‘Aegida’ Company. It was all he could do not to be stepped upon by the men he so fervently hoped to one day call brother.
Sotha was a rare Terran analogue, and upon discovery had been earmarked for rapid settlement, but the process had been put on indefinite hold by Roboute Guilliman after the discovery of xenos artefacts riddling the tallest mountain of the primary continent. For over a century the world had been cloaked in secrecy, a site of intense investigation that slowly revealed the purpose of the mountain – a grand beacon that sped travel through the warp, allowed communication across immense distances, and might even permit a man to step from one world to another as if walking between rooms.
It was nothing short of miraculous, and it had saved Macragge.
Since the Pharos had been brought online to hold together the Five Hundred Worlds, the dreams the artefact engendered had grown intrusive to the extent that Captain Adallus had relocated his command centre from the surface to the station. Recently it had become so central to the 199th’s operations that the garrison and colonists alike had begun to refer to it as ‘the Aegida platform’.
Everyone made way for Sergeant Arkus and, just before they tripped over him, the boy walking in his shadow. The majority of the company had experienced at least something, and all had been subjected to the scrutiny of the Legion’s high command, so they knew Arkus’ business. None of them knew exactly what had happened to Oberdeii, but they knew it was something. A few brothers nodded at him in understanding. Oberdeii nodded back, bashful and grateful.
The orbital was small. Within twenty minutes Arkus and Oberdeii had crossed the full width of it to arrive at the apothecarion.
The medicae centre was as cramped as the rest of the platform, kept in meticulous order by the four Apothecaries who commanded it. Oberdeii had only been released from the place the day before. His hearts sank as they entered its gleaming white spaces once again. The endless round of tests and implantation procedures he had been subjected to made the apothecarion wearyingly familiar to him, and for weeks since the incident in the mountain he had been confined there. For what must have been the hundredth time, Arkus led his charge down the main corridor past gleaming white doors stamped with the prime helix of the medicae. Unaltered human medicae staff stepped respectfully out of their way, acknowledging the Ultramarines with shallow bows.
This time Arkus took Oberdeii past the door to the chambers where the Scouts spent so much time being monitored and tested and into the main hub of the medicae centre. From there he was taken down a corridor guarded by two warriors in the colours and plate of the Third Company. Oberdeii stole glances at them as he passed, intrigued by their differences in armour, heraldry and weaponry. Another stab of regret hit him, that he would not get to serve alongside nor know such honourable warriors.
Arkus stopped by a large double door, and smiled kindly at Oberdeii. ‘Are you ready, lad?’ he said.
Oberdeii nodded.
Arkus stood silent a moment. Oberdeii glanced up at him, and saw that conflicting emotions played on his face.
‘You remember what the Lion said to us?’
‘That we were not to speak of what happened,’ said Oberdeii.
‘It goes against my instincts, neophyte, I’ll admit that to you, but once we are in here, you do not mention the mapping mission into the Pharos, nor do you mention your own experience within.’
‘Sergeant–’
‘Neophyte Oberdeii, we had a direct order from the Lion. I’d only disobey that if Guilliman himself told me to. To lie to our brothers troubles me, but we cannot ignore the command of a primarch. As far as the officers i
n there are concerned, your dreams are just stronger and more frequent than the rest. You predicted the arrival of the Blood Angels in Ultramar, after all. Is that clear?’
‘Y-yes, sergeant,’ stammered Oberdeii. His mouth was dry. At the thought of deceiving his superiors the top of his scalp pulsed, and his palms crawled.
‘You’re nervous, neophyte. Do not be. Sometimes it is necessary to withhold information,’ said Arkus, although his tone suggested he thought otherwise. He pressed the door button. It hissed open, and the sergeant ushered the Scout into a medium-sized, nondescript room he had never been in before.
Four Ultramarines waited inside. Apothecary Taricus, the 199th Company’s Surgeon of Recruits, Oberdeii knew well. Two medical auxiliaries stood in attendance of him, and their faces Oberdeii knew also. To Oberdeii’s surprise, Captain Adallus himself was there, and he shared a guarded look with the sergeant. The other two officers Oberdeii had never seen before. Both wore full war-plate. One bore the rare insignia of the Librarius, his head cowled by a metal hood studded with blue crystal. The other was a captain and decked with high honours in intimidating profusion. Oberdeii came to an abrupt halt. The captain wore three long-service bars studded into his forehead, his skin had the leathery texture especially ancient legionaries developed, and his hair was iron grey.
‘Neophyte Oberdeii, this is Epistolary Sergio of the Librarius,’ said Arkus.
Oberdeii looked into eyes that shone with power, and bowed. ‘My lord.’
‘This is Captain Hortensian, Invigilatus Major of Recruits.’
Oberdeii’s eyes widened in surprise. He checked his reaction just in time. Hortensian was the highest-ranking officer in the Ultramarines recruitment chamber, ultimately responsible for the intake of the entire Legion.
‘My lord,’ he said respectfully.
Hortensian gave Oberdeii a long, piercing look the Scout did his best to meet. ‘Do not be alarmed, neophyte.’
‘I am not alarmed, my lord. Surprised, maybe, and I should not be. Your presence is a logical practical. What happens here on Sotha is unusual.’
‘You speak well. We have been told that you were the worst affected by the beacon,’ said Hortensian.
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘You know our purpose here?’
Oberdeii could not keep the sag from his shoulders. ‘To see if I am worthy to continue with my training.’
‘That is so.’
‘He is a fine Scout, and will make an excellent legionary,’ said Arkus. He placed his hands on the youth’s shoulders protectively. ‘I found this one in the practice cages, fighting a theta-class combat drone, no less.’
‘You allow your recruits to engage theta-class?’ said Hortensian.
‘I do not allow it,’ said Arkus. ‘Oberdeii is rarely disobedient, but apparently he’s a resourceful one when he is.’
Hortensian looked down at Oberdeii appraisingly. Oberdeii struggled to stand to attention. He had stood before Guilliman himself. The weight of this man’s regard was somehow heavier.
‘Your bearing betrays your fears, Neophyte Oberdeii,’ said the Invigilatus. ‘It is not up to you to decide whether or not you are fit, but to me.’
Oberdeii nodded. ‘Yes, my lord. I await your judgement.’
‘You seem eager to have it.’
‘I am, my lord,’ said Oberdeii. ‘Once you have given your judgement, then I will know what my future holds, and be better placed to formulate an appropriate practical. Knowing nothing, I cannot formulate a sound course of action.’
‘A good statement. None shall challenge you, and you may return to your unit without doubt – if you are deemed worthy.’ He paused. ‘What if you are not?’
‘I will do as commanded.’
Hortensian nodded. ‘As you should. Apothecary, Epistolary, please begin.’
‘Oberdeii, if you would lie down?’ Apothecary Taricus gestured to a slab bed that slid from the wall.
Oberdeii did as he was asked without question.
Apothecary Taricus stood at Oberdeii’s side. His human medicae assistants fussed over the Scout, attaching a number of monitoring devices to his arms. Oberdeii limply accepted their ministrations, his eyes fixed on the white ceiling. He wondered how many hours he had spent of his life staring at ceilings such as that.
‘What have you done to yourself?’ tutted Taricus as he went over Oberdeii’s wounds. ‘I only released you from the apothecarion yesterday. Are you so keen to return?’
‘No, Apothecary, I wish to be worthy,’ said Oberdeii. ‘There is no other ambition for a neophyte.’
‘See that you do not destroy all our hard work in your striving.’ Taricus took a bulky injection pod from a silver tray proffered by one of his nurses. ‘This will relax you. Brother Sergio will then examine you.’ Taricus pressed the injector against his bicep. There was a quiet hiss, and coloured dots crowded out the apothecarion from his vision.
Oberdeii came the closest he had been to sleeping since the day he had fallen into the dark, but there was to be no rest for him.
He shuddered, and he was back in the mountain…
His breathing thundered in his ears, the whine of his blood a deafening contretemps. His agitation had activated his secondary heart again, and the sounding of the double-thump of his pulse intensified his feelings of unworthiness. He was no warrior, but a lost boy, frightened of things in the night.
He tried to ignore the half-formed presences lurking at the edge of his senses. He tried to keep his training to the forefront of his mind, to banish all emotion..
Focus, he thought. They shall know no fear.
That had been the Emperor’s command and promise of the Legiones Astartes.
Focus on it.
But for all his enhancements and hypno-training, he was no Space Marine. Not yet.
He was terrified. A deeper fear gripped him, that he had failed like so many before him, that his fear made him unworthy to join the ranks of the XIII as a full legionary. The shame angered him, and though the anger fought his fear, still he anticipated what was to come with dread. He remembered what happened exactly, cursed by his enhanced memory. The pain of the knowledge would live with him forever, even as the faces of his family faded.
His dream self rode his memories, urging the Oberdeii of the past to stop where he was, not to take the next step and take the plunge into the night and its terrible illumination. He wanted to turn around, to find some small light that would hold back the dark.
But he could not. All this had already happened.
Four steps, that was all. Four steps before he fell and he knew too much. Oberdeii’s foot lifted, and his dream self shouted out a warning, urging him to embrace the safety of ignorance.
A mind touched his own. Calm suffused him. In his dream, his foot paused, halting above the abyss.
‘Enough,’ an unfamiliar voice said, and the dream was over.
A hand took his, firm and fatherly.
Oberdeii opened his eyes. They were gritty as if from a long night’s sleep. The whiteness of the apothecarion dazzled him after the remembered dark.
‘Neophyte Oberdeii. Are you awake?’
Sergeant Arkus stood over him, holding his hand gently.
It took Oberdeii a moment to gather his thoughts.
‘Oberdeii?’ Arkus looked behind himself and spoke to the others. ‘He has been like this often.’
Oberdeii held up his hand and pushed himself from the cot. The gel pads of monitoring equipment that had not been there when he went into his vision pulled at his skin. Shakily, he swung his legs over the side.
‘I am awake.’
His throat was dry. Had he slept? He hung his head, and gripped the side of the bed. His hands felt too large. In the dream, he had not been as he was. He had retreated to an earlier, more vulnerable state. A true boy, not
a half-way chimera between human and transhuman.
‘I am awake,’ he repeated, mainly to convince himself.
Taricus motioned that Oberdeii should lift the sleeve of his tunic. The hypo device rotated a fresh set of needles into position, and he pressed these into the boy’s arm. Taricus held up the attached device to his face and hummed at the results playing over the screen, then consulted the larger display embedded in the wall over the cot. ‘All results are normal. The neophyte remains a perfect subject for transformation, medically speaking.’
A third spoke. Oberdeii lifted his head at the sound of this voice, for it had spoken in his dream.
‘He shows no sign of psychic taint. The boy is not a psyker,’ said Sergio.
Arkus looked down at Oberdeii as if asking his permission for something, then stood between his ward and his examiner.
‘It is as I said, Brother Sergio. None of my boys have such abilities. Please inform Lord Prayto of your findings, and all will be in order. He is an exceptional candidate.’
‘Arkus,’ said Adallus warningly.
Sergio’s eyes narrowed. Oberdeii longed to escape their scrutiny.
‘It is as Sergeant Arkus says,’ said Adallus. ‘All of us who have spent any time on the mountain have had similar dreams and visions. Oberdeii has spent more time there than most, that is all.’
‘Why?’ asked Hortensian. ‘Your rotation schedule says no member of the Hundred and Ninety-Ninth spends longer than one week upon the surface at a time.’
‘Oberdeii spent a lot of time there before I altered the company’s duty roster. The Scouts have done, and still do, a lot of their training around the area. The terrain is ideal, and they add another layer of security to operations there.’
‘You also have spent a great deal of time on the surface, brother,’ countered Hortensian. ‘Your experiences have not put you into a near coma.’
Oberdeii watched his superiors. A certain amount of tension entered the exchange.
‘None of you report the intensity of what this boy says he experienced,’ said Sergio.
‘None of the rest of us are neophytes,’ said Arkus. ‘He is the youngest of all the recruits. Perhaps his age makes him more susceptible. He was the one who dreamed of the arrival of Sanguinius and the Ninth Legion, to our advantage. It is a matter of exposure, I hold.’