by Guy Haley
Sergio stared at Adallus a long time, his face inscrutable. ‘You understand that we must investigate these manifestations. The enemy openly courts extra-dimensional fiends.’
‘Daemons,’ said Adallus flatly.
‘If you will,’ said Sergio. ‘However you name them, we have entered uncharted territory. No potential risk can go unchallenged.’
‘I myself dreamed of Curze’s attack on Magna Macragge Civitas, and I am no pysker,’ said Adallus.
‘You are not,’ agreed Sergio.
‘So then,’ said Adallus. ‘Now you have judged us all, and Oberdeii you have probed the longest. Surely you are done with your investigation?’
‘Your tone is sharp, captain,’ warned Hortensian.
‘My apologies, brother. I am diverting a great deal of time and energy to this investigation when I should be seeing to the fortification of Sotha. I beg your forgiveness.’
‘Remember that we are here at the primarch’s command, Adallus,’ said Hortensian. ‘Epistolary, are you satisfied?’
Sergio breathed out. His face lost its intensity, and relaxed. He blinked like a man drawn abruptly from the fields of memory. He transformed in that moment, becoming someone kinder, though his air of uncanniness lingered. ‘I am.’
‘Your verdict?’
‘I shall return to Lord Prayto and report that the Hundred and Ninety-Ninth is free of the influence of the warp.’
‘What of the visions? Is there anything more to be gleaned from them?’ said Hortensian.
‘Oberdeii has a foreboding of some great calamity,’ said Sergio. ‘That much I could read. There have been verified precognitive episodes here, but equally many legionaries have had dreams that have not come to pass. Any foreknowledge is unreliable, and predictions from a xenos machine I am suspicious of. Furthermore, once one is aware that visions and omens are possible, then every ripple in a pool of water takes on unwarranted significance. What concerns Oberdeii could be conjured from imagination alone. Best to be vigilant against any threat. It is all we can do. What I am sure of is that whatever is causing your warriors to experience what they do, is not born directly of the immaterium.’
‘What is it?’ asked Adallus. ‘Are my men safe?’
The Librarian shrugged. ‘A question better suited for a Techmarine than I, but I see no adverse effect.’
‘An opinion that will satisfy the Lord Protector, and our father.’
‘I believe so,’ said Sergio.
Arkus’ stance lost some of its tension. ‘And Neophyte Oberdeii? Do you judge him fit for his duties?’
The Librarian smiled at the youth. ‘Another question better directed elsewhere, sergeant. You are the man to answer that. But if you want my opinion, I agree that he will make a fine warrior.’
‘Then why do I feel fear?’ blurted out Oberdeii.
He looked at his superiors wretchedly.
‘You have experienced a great shock,’ said Taricus. ‘Your indoctrination is incomplete. Your reaction is well within acceptable limits. It will be months more until your conditioning is finished and fear banished forever.’
‘What he is trying to say, boy,’ said Arkus, ‘is that with everything that has been happening, it is normal to be afraid.’
‘I… I have not failed?’
‘Your candidacy is unaffected. I fully expect your anxiety to diminish and disappear,’ said Taricus. He took a data-slate from his auxiliaries, checked it and dismissed them. ‘If it does not, you must be truthful and tell me or a member of the induction staff. Fear can be dealt with. What is your opinion, captain?’
‘Far be it for me to interfere directly with the Hundred and Ninety-Ninth’s recruitment procedures. If you judge him fit outwith these extraordinary events, then fit he is.’
Oberdeii looked to Arkus. The sergeant was as relieved as the boy.
‘Do you wish to return to normal duties, Oberdeii?’ asked Arkus. ‘The rest of your cohort returned from the surface today and are in the auxiliary barracks.’
Oberdeii nodded decisively. ‘Yes, my lord. I am tired of this place.’
‘And you are not frightened to die?’ asked Hortensian.
‘Never,’ said the boy firmly. ‘I fear only failure.’
That, and the dark beneath the mountain, he added to himself. This he did not voice.
‘Then there is nothing wrong with you,’ Arkus said reassuringly. ‘To conquer fear, you first have to face it. A Space Marine knows no fear only because he has bested it.’
‘He can rejoin his group’s activities as soon as he feels strong enough,’ said Taricus. ‘Any difficulty he is experiencing is minor and purely psychological. He’ll recover more quickly surrounded by his peers.’
‘I was strong enough for you to let me go, Apothecary Taricus.’ Oberdeii got to his feet. His legs did not betray him as he expected, but felt strong beneath him. ‘I am ready to return to my cohort.’
Oberdeii opened up his equipment locker and took out his harness of carapace armour. He weighed the tangle in his hands. Thick leather straps. Cobalt-blue plates of plasteel and laminated fibre weave. The Ultima symbol of the Legion was bold and white upon the left shoulder guard; the curving horns of the letter imprisoned a black scythe, the mark of the 199th Company. His cohort designation was displayed on the right pauldron, a circle quartered in the yellow and black company colours, a white ‘LV’ painted over the top. The 55th Squad.
He gripped them tightly, resolving to stow them better the next time he had cause to put them away. Placing the armour gently on the floor of his locker, he took out the rest of his uniform: off-white fatigues, more leather strap webbing for his multiple pouches, holstered bolt pistol and sheathed combat knife.
Thoughtfully, he unpinned his duty robes. For so long he had been fixated on the difficulties of passing the recruitment process. Now his fear of failure abated, leaving him peculiarly calm. He was irritated with himself. His uniform was in a state Arkus would refer to as a disgrace. There was nothing new there, but for the first time Oberdeii agreed with him. He had to do better.
His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a wiry body crashing into his side. Arms wrapped around him in a high tackle that took him down to the floor.
Oberdeii twisted onto his back, jammed his feet against his attacker’s chest and heaved upwards, slamming the assailant into the row of lockers with a resounding boom that echoed through the empty arming room.
Tebecai, Oberdeii’s squad-brother, sprawled on the floor, alternating between boyish laughter and gasping at the blow. A wiry boy from the far side of the Five Hundred Worlds, he had funny habits and skin so pale it was luminous as milk. He was incorrigibly cheerful, somewhat irritating, and he never shut up.
He was Oberdeii’s closest friend.
‘Six weeks up here has done you little harm!’ gasped Tebecai. He winced and clutched at his shoulder. ‘That hurt!’
Oberdeii tried to scowl, but a slow smile drove it away. ‘Tebecai.’
‘I hear you have been cleared to join us.’
‘You hear right.’
The two of them got to their feet. They clasped arms the warrior’s way, until Tebecai yanked Oberdeii hard into an embrace.
‘Konor’s balls, man, you gave me such a fright! I thought that was it, and you were done.’
‘I’m all right!’ said Oberdeii. He didn’t want to admit he had feared the same. He pushed his friend off. ‘Really. There is no need to overreact. I am back and that is an end of it.’
Tebecai rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’m not overreacting. It’s not been the same without you. Every night all night Tolomachus has been chucking his guts up, his hormones won’t settle. And I have been paired with Solon three times. Three times! Do you know how boring Solon is? “Umm, err, twenty degrees to the left, up a bit”,’ he said, mimicking the other Scout. ‘
That is the most I get out of him all day. He’s such a bore.’
‘Tebecai, jabbering relentlessly is not a sign of good character. If he’s quiet, he is just quiet.’
‘Yeah, well. You probably would say that. You’ve always been a little less upbeat than me.’ He jerked a thumb into his chest. His fading augmentation scars were silver threads on his pale skin. ‘You’ve always had a little of the misery worm in you.’
‘I have not. I take things a little more seriously than you, that is all. I want to be worthy of the honour of the Thirteenth. What’s your story?’
‘“I only want to be worthy of the honour”’, parroted Tebecai. ‘You don’t have to be dreary to be a legionary!’ He grabbed Oberdeii in a headlock and rubbed at the stubble of his hair, no matter that Oberdeii was taller and stronger than he. ‘Dreary!’
Oberdeii grabbed his wrist and tried to force it back. Tebecai laughed as they mock-fought.
‘All right! Enough,’ said Oberdeii, laughing a little too as he broke free. ‘Give me a rest. I got out of the apothecarion yesterday.’
‘I can see,’ said Tebecai, nodding at the fresh wounds visible through Oberdeii’s open shirt. ‘Looks like they weren’t gentle with you. What have they done to your face?’
‘I’ve been in the training decks.’
‘Fighting what?’
Oberdeii didn’t answer, but got his uniform out and began dressing. ‘What have we got today?’
‘Hypnomat. Grade V vehicle maintenance and piloting. Six hours of that, two hours of chem-balancing, then weapons strip, then four hours of Legion history. A dull one. You picked a great day to come back.’
‘But I am back.’
‘That you are.’
Tebecai slapped him on the back, and became serious. ‘I am glad of it. You should know that.’
‘Me too. Sitting around up here on my own has been very dull.’
‘Dreary,’ said Tebecai mockingly.
‘Yeah. That.’
Oberdeii attempted cheerfulness for his friend, and in truth only a part was a sham.
Nevertheless, beneath his resolve, his experience within the Pharos dogged him.
Something terrible was going to happen.
THREE
Probity
Nycton
Dilemma
The destroyer Probity raced through the middle reaches of the Sothan System. At one and a half kilometres long, it was a small ship. Commensurate with its size, it did not possess much in the way of raw firepower. A quintet of gun turrets down either side of the ship made up port and starboard gun batteries. The flared prow boasted a modest spread of torpedo tubes. A single direct hit from a cruiser-class vessel would render the Probity into hot atoms, but what it lacked in ferocity it made up for in speed. Shipmaster Gellius was fond of likening the craft to a rapier set against the slow axe-swings of the bigger ships.
At that moment, all its speed was needed.
The craft’s patrol had been interrupted. Long-range auspexes, though compromised by the fury of the Ruinstorm and the blaring interference of the Pharos, had detected a large, metallic mass moving towards Sotha. Alert for intrusion into the vital system, the Probity raced to investigate.
‘The target vessel is within visual range, my lord,’ Shipmaster Gellius informed his legionary master.
Twenty metres across and half as broad, the Probity’s small war bridge was a study in economical design. Stepped levels fanned out downwards to the shuttered grand oculus to the fore, each crammed with multiple instrument banks and crew stations arranged in arcs along the levels’ leading edges. Upon the topmost dais – the only empty space on the command deck – Sergeant Lethicus observed proceedings. He was solid, even for a legionary, squat and thick-limbed with a head like a bullet and little in the way of neck. He had a certain presence, and that more than his body took up the space of the dais.
‘Uncover the oculus,’ Lethicus ordered.
The plasteel shutters on the great screen window opened, giving a view down the length of the ship’s spine to its plough-blade prow. Unnatural, ruddy light shone onto the crew.
From the mid-orbits of the Sothan System it was almost possible to shut out the Ruinstorm. If one looked to the galactic east away from Ultramar, there the stars glimmered through the storm. The furious filter over reality was weaker in the east. Real space was almost apparent.
The view corewards was another matter. Ultramar drowned in blood-red light. The raw fury of the sorcerous tempest was such that it had intruded from the warp into the realms of reality and cast a crimson veil over the cosmos. A false sky of terrible colour and violence split the Imperium. Two stars besides Sotha’s own sun shone in that turmoil, and both were lies. Not suns; one was the lone world of Ultramar illuminated by the arcane technologies of the Pharos beacon upon the world of Sotha. The second light was the beacon itself. Illuminated and illuminator shone against the storm. The rest of Ultramar’s Five Hundred Worlds and the wider galaxy were lost to sight.
Macragge was a lonely harbour in a sea of horrors.
Lethicus put his full weight on the railing, leaning out over Shipmaster Gellius’ station. There was no throne for the legionary, as Lethicus’ predecessor had ordered it torn out. His reasoning had been that with five officers and twelve servitors occupying most of the bridge, a throne for someone of transhuman bulk did nothing but crowd it further.
What was not said was that placing one of the Legion in such an exalted position was at best an indulgence and at worst an affront to the authority of the human shipmaster.
Lethicus agreed. He was painfully aware of the disparities in power between the Legion and its unmodified servants. For too long he had felt distant from those he protected. Horus’ betrayal had made him sensitive again to his identity. The men of the Legion were of humanity, not above it. Lethicus had never been an emotional person, not before his elevation, and certainly not since. Nevertheless, he felt a vague sense of disgust at how far he had allowed himself to drift from his own species.
The destroyer surged forward on a hot blade of plasma. For a long space of time, nothing was visible, although auspex soundings indicated that they drew near to their target.
A dark shadow became apparent on the roil of the storm.
No lights shone from the vessel, no starlight picked out its edges; the only indicator of its presence was the slight dimming of the storm glow. To the half-blind auspexes of the destroyer, the ship had been almost invisible until, by chance, it had wandered into the instruments’ shortened range. On screens, on hololith projections and in baffling lines of binaric screed, it registered as an enormous yet entirely inert piece of metal. Even this close one had to know where to look in order to see it.
The circular door at the rear of the bridge slid open, splitting the embossed Ultima in the middle and dragging it away into the wall. Brother Caias, Squad Lethicus’ second in command, entered. The armsmen by the door snapped out a salute.
‘You took your time, Caias,’ grumbled Lethicus.
‘Drill, Lethicus. Do it right or not at all. We were not under attack. We were almost done, I insisted we finish.’
Lethicus moved his head in a gesture that might have been agreement.
‘What is it that has you all exercised?’ Caias asked.
‘We are close now.’
‘A ship?’
‘As we feared, it is a vessel. Legiones Astartes.’
‘A strike cruiser?’ said Caias. He leaned forward, squinting through the oculus against the maddening light of the storm. The ship grew by the second, giving up its secrets slowly. ‘Hard to tell whose. Looks badly mauled. Do you think it came in following the Pharos?’
‘If it had, why is it not at Macragge? Why did it arrive in the Sothan System? Only the location illuminated by the beam is visible in the warp, not the beacon itself.’
Once they came within a thousand kilometres, the ship grew rapidly in the forward view. It was much larger than the Probity, but as the auspex reported, devoid of life.
‘Your orders, my lord?’ Shipmaster Gellius was an able commander, but nevertheless he glanced over his shoulder at the Space Marine behind him for direction.
‘Take us around it. Slowly,’ said Lethicus gruffly.
‘Ordered and understood,’ said Gellius.
The Probity slowed. Minutes passed. Manoeuvring carefully, the destroyer pulled alongside the larger ship at a distance of ten kilometres.
‘A total wreck,’ said Caias dismissively.
‘That is no reason not to be careful.’
‘I agree, brother. But we shall be seeing a lot more of this. War is everywhere, there are plenty of nearly dead ships making it into the warp and not making it out again. So many others are disappearing en route. We cannot afford to jump at every derelict. Let us report it and move on.’
‘It is too much of a coincidence that it is here, at Sotha. Take us in closer, Gellius. Bring us within three hundred metres.’
‘Aye, my lord. Helm, watch for attendant debris. Engines, ahead one quarter. Spine gunners stand by. If anything larger than a fleck of paint comes near us, shoot it down,’ Gellius said.
The Probity slowed further, matching pace with the wreck. Now the ships were at equal relative velocity, the cruiser’s progress was reduced to a deceptive ponderousness, rotating off-centre of its mass so that its prow and stern described tight circles.
Search beams stabbed out from the starboard of the Probity, punching holes of brilliance into the dark of the ruined hull. Hard white light picked out great gouges down the sides of the craft, and ragged holes striped by buckled decks. Plumes of condensing gas leaked into space. Around the breaches the metal was rimed with gas frosts. A myriad fragments of metal followed the wreck in a cloud, dragged along in its gravity wake.