by Guy Haley
‘We’ll have to be quick,’ said Artus.
‘Life support control, prepare to stabilise pressure, docking concourse beta and docking pier,’ voxed Taricus.
‘Establish a link with the ship. Direct interface with internal voxcasters,’ said Hespatian to the auxiliary teams at the door.
‘My lord, we have audio only, I cannot make a datalink with the internal augurs.’
‘Command?’ Hespatian voxed the command deck.
‘The same situation here, Apothecary,’ the reply came back. ‘No link acquired to augur or data systems. Vox-link only.’
‘Then that will have to suffice. Engage link, full gain.’ A hiss in the Apothecaries’ ear-beads announced the connection. ‘This is Apothecary Hespatian of the Sothan orbital. We have medicae teams waiting to aid you. All who are able should assemble to disembark. Please prepare officers to guide us to the wounded.’
The Apothecaries listened carefully. There was no reply. The banging grew more frantic.
‘Command, are you getting any reply?’
‘Negative, Apothecary.’
Hespatian cursed softly. ‘Stand back from the doors. We shall cut through. I repeat, stand clear from the doors!’ Hespatian waited for the banging to subside.
‘They heard that, brother,’ said Taricus.
‘Probity, clear your airlock,’ said Hespatian. ‘Cutting teams, make a way.’
Two more teams of human auxilia rushed forward, carrying two-man melta units between them. They set up their devices, one operating the power unit, the other directing the slot-perforated barrel of the emitter. They set to work carving the station doors apart. Metal glowed under the invisible rays of focused fusion inductors. The air between nozzle and door rippled with heat.
‘Once aboard, medicae teams one through five will head aft,’ ordered Hespatian. ‘The reactor is damaged, their life support is compromised and there have been heavy casualties. Legionaries and officers are your priority. Triage groups will go ahead. Red tags for treatment, black for mercy.’
The men worked rapidly, carving through the station doors just short of the wall. When they were finished they directed heavy servitors with hooked bars for arms into place. Pneumatics hissed on their backs, opening their pries wide. Metal screeched as the doors were forced unwillingly out of their housing.
‘That will do,’ said Hespatian. ‘Servitors back.’
The cyborgs were directed to one side. One of the crisis team placed a weak directional charge at the base and activated it with a hand unit. The explosives detonated with a muffled bang and the doors fell inwards into the station, the ragged, glowing edges cooling to burned black, revealing Probity’s cargo portal.
The reported leak in the seal made a high-pitched whistling. It was calmly sealed.
‘Clear!’ shouted the emergency team leader. His men fell back to the edge of the concourse, leaving a clear avenue for the Apothecaries and human medicae to access the door. Hespatian came to a halt before the airlock.
‘It does not look too bad,’ said Taricus. ‘They did more damage to the station than we did to them.’
‘Probity, you are clear to re-enter and reopen your airlock portal. We have full atmosphere on our side. Medical assistance is on stand-by to board. Please exit the vessel to the left in an orderly manner. We shall come aboard on the right.’
The doors of the Probity’s cargo bay groaned, mechanisms struggling against an obstruction. The sound of over-exerted motors reached an unhealthy volume, then the doors jerked backwards, squealing into their mountings.
The other side was completely dark.
‘Probity?’ asked Hespatian. ‘Are your systems down?’
Taricus caught paired glints in the dark.
Eye-lens shine.
Hespatian stepped forward.
‘Wait!’ shouted Taricus.
Strobing light burst from the ship. Humans cried out as they were dazzled, stumbling back from the glare. A thick white vapour spilled outward, obscuring the view into the airlock. A phage blocker activated, overwhelming the station’s vox-network, blasting them all with a cacophony of men in pain. The Space Marines’ helm lenses darkened to compensate a fraction too late for the blinding effect, and they were blinking afterimages away when the first of a group of dark figures stepped out onto the concourse.
Their leader levelled a volkite pistol and shot Hespatian through the face.
A wall of bolter fire followed him as he strode onto the station and blasted Taricus through the chest as he was bringing his boltgun up.
Gendor Skraivok holstered his pistol as his warriors jogged past him, slaughtering everyone they came across. He smiled with grim satisfaction behind his snarling helm mask and opened a vox-link to the main fleet.
‘This is Claw Master Gendor Skraivok. The docking concourse is ours. Begin main assault.’
Adallus looked on in horror as the emergency crews were cut down by a fusillade of bolts. His own men traded fire with the Night Lords, but they were faring badly, and were driven back when a Dreadnought came through the portal at a half crouch, stood tall, and opened fire. At least a dozen legionaries came behind the Dreadnought, stepping over bodies onto the orbital: Night Lords, more debased than the last time Adallus had seen them, their night-blue armour festooned with trophies torn from human bodies. One of the enemy looked directly at the monitoring augurs, and all the pict feeds from the docking concourse went dead.
Adallus jabbed an emergency broadcast button, opening vox-channels to everything within range simultaneously. ‘Aegida Company! To arms! We have intruders aboard the platform. Numbers unknown, aims unknown. Eighth Legion.’ He spun around. ‘Get me intelligence! Is this the only force we’re facing or the start of something bigger? Vox command, contact the surface! Tell them we’ve intruders aboard. Someone raise me Warsmith Dantioch by laser pulse and datasquirt. We must inform Macragge!’
‘My lord! I’ve multiple contacts emerging from the far side of the planet,’ said the chief auspex officer. He ran from station to station, his eyes widening at what he saw.
‘Why didn’t you see them?’ snarled Adallus.
The man recoiled, white with terror in the face of a Space Marine’s anger. ‘I’m sorry, my lord! They’re coming right down the Pharos interference pattern. I… I…’
Adallus came down to the auspex suite. The pict screens of the instruments were filled side to side by a warfleet a dozen ships strong. He slammed his fist so hard into the console the plastek screen cracked. ‘Bastards! Why didn’t the picket fleets intercept them? Where have they come from?’
‘Theoretical – they disabled all the pickets?’ said Odillio.
‘Too many to hide, too few to destroy them all,’ said Genus. ‘We would have had word.’
‘Do we have anything nearby that might oppose such a force?’ asked Adallus.
‘Captain Corvo of the Ninetieth is out on long-range patrol with two and a half companies,’ responded the Dockmaster. ‘He is scheduled to be at Beremin, and is due to pass Sotha in a week, if he can keep his bearing in the storm.’
‘We cannot hold them off for a week. Odillio, Genus – more theoreticals.’
‘Our orders, my lord,’ said Odillio hesitantly. ‘Should we destroy the Pharos?’
‘Our given task is to shield it, not spear it, not without a direct order from the primarch at least. We will take that action as the last resort. Be ready to do his will, should it come to it. Arm the cyclonic launchers. Target the mountain.’
‘The Eighth are launching attack waves, my lord. Multiple inbound fighter craft on a direct intercept heading.’
‘Gunnery control, fire at will!’
The Sothan orbital shook as the gun decks responded to Adallus’ orders.
‘What response from Sotha?’
‘My Lord, the Night Lords,’ s
aid the chief vox-officer. ‘They’re jamming us, wide band. I’ve interference right across the spectrum. It’s…’ The man tailed away, visibly shaken.
Adallus brought his anger under control. His mind worked rapidly through theoretical after theoretical. ‘Show me.’
The vox-officer pressed a button with a shaking finger. Terrified screaming blasted out from the emitter built into his station.
‘We’re on our own,’ said Adallus finally. ‘All brothers to battle readiness now. Repel boarders, defend the gun decks. This station must be locked down before the fleet arrives. Vox command, connect me to Arkus if you can.’
‘My lord! There is an incoming communication.’
‘Put it on the vox.’
Floating emitters arranged themselves so that all those on the command deck could hear. The screaming of the Night Lords’ vox-jam flooded every corner of the command deck. The vox-file had been expertly crafted for maximum impact and the voices were horribly clear, individuals in agony, begging to die.
The screaming cut out. For a brief moment, the bridge voxcasters roared out an unintelligible blast of communications from every part of the station and Sotha as the 199th scrambled into action. Then this was again silenced by an overpowering vox-link. The station’s central hololith wavered. The tactical map it projected was replaced by the face of the enemy.
A tall legionary with long dark hair, skin almost as pale as that of Corax’s sons, and eyes with irises so big and dark that they merged into his pupils looked triumphantly at them.
‘Greetings, Captain Adallus of the Ultramarines. I am Claw Lord Krukesh of the Eighth Legion. Some call me the Pale – perhaps you have heard of me? I am of the Kyroptera, the command–’
‘I know your structure, traitor.’
Krukesh tutted. ‘Shall we keep this civilised?’
‘I would not have called a single man among you civilised even before your treachery.’
‘Let’s skip to the end of this, then. I demand the immediate handover of the orbital platform. Once we have secured your, ahh… compliance,’ he said with a nasty smile, ‘we might negotiate the terms of the surrender of Sotha.’
‘Never! Who do you think you are, to come here and make such demands?’
‘I am the commander of nearly twenty thousand legionaries, against your single company. That is who I am.’
‘I have ten thousand men under arms on the planet. A Titan Legion, and forty maniples of the Legio Cybernetica’s finest war constructs,’ said Adallus.
‘You are going to have to try harder than that if you want to fool me, Captain Adallus,’ Krukesh scoffed. ‘We have been in this system for months, hiding right under your noses! You have, at most, a full company of legionaries. Maybe there are a few other assets, but it is our brothers that count, especially in a case such as this when we have such a disparity in forces. It is of no consequence if you have an army group on the planet. If there are not similar numbers of legionaries, there is a definite mismatch. Surely your canny primarch taught you such a simple lesson early on in your training, or did he omit it, so sure he was that no one would uncover the False Emperor’s lies?’
‘Every one of my brothers is worth ten of yours.’
‘Even by that generous estimate, you are still outnumbered two to one. We know everything to take your company apart in moments, everything about this beacon of yours! We have logged every activation, every shift in focus, every time the light on Macragge goes out, every time it comes back on. We have tested your eyes and found them blind, whispered in your ears and found them deaf. Your attention to detail is your greatest weakness as a Legion, for in detail there are patterns, and patterns can be read. You have told us everything we need to crush you. Thanks to your punctiliousness, you have already lost, captain. Face your defeat honourably and I will spare your men much pain.’
Adallus stared at Krukesh hatefully, his jaw clamped shut.
‘Do I have your agreement?’
‘Never.’
‘I expected you to say that. Very well, allow me to adjust my terms. Surrender without a fight, and we shall spare the civilian populace. You are aware of our reputation. We will refrain from making an example of them, if you choose to comply. They will suffer greatly if you do not, for my Legion is bored.’
‘And my men?’
‘An offer to join us. I can promise quick deaths to those who will not, no more than that.’
Adallus ground his teeth. ‘You are deluded.’
Krukesh shrugged. ‘In truth I only made the offer so that when I give your people to my men and you hear their screams, you will know that you might have prevented their suffering. That is, when you are not screaming yourself. I look forward to meeting you. Claw Master Gendor Skraivok, the captain of the Forty-Fifth Company, will be with you shortly, I understand. So good of you to let him on board. He has only a short walk to your command deck. I shall–’
Adallus cut the hololith. ‘I will not waste my time negotiating with these bastards.’
His eyes strayed to the auspex screens. The fleet was far too big for the orbital to deal with.
The screams started up again.
‘Terminate that noise!’ he ordered. ‘We’ll make them regret they ever came here. And find me Sergeant Arkus!’
TWELVE
Secure the future
The untested tested
Escape
Arkus awoke the instant that battle stations was called. A klaxon started its urgent song. They were under attack.
He was heading for the armour stands in the corner of the room a second later.
For a moment there was calm in his quarters. No sign of anything amiss, and then an explosion blew somewhere and the fabric of the station shook.
Arkus’ vox-bead chimed while he was fixing it into his ear. He attached his subvocalisation pick-up to his neck.
‘Arkus,’ he said.
There was no reply.
‘This is Brother-Sergeant Arkus speaking. Go ahead.’
The vox hissed. A terrible screaming came and went.
An unrecognisable voice burst out of the vox-bead unexpectedly and deafeningly. Arkus reduced the volume, and went on calmly collecting his light armour and began buckling it on. His full battleplate occupied a clamp stand next to his Scout gear, but there was not time to get into it.
The vox screeched again, before stabilising.
‘Repeat – Sergeant Arkus, this is Captain Adallus.’ The tense hubbub of the command deck sounded behind the captain’s words. ‘The Eighth Legion are aboard. We have multiple hostile contacts heading towards the orbital.’
‘I’ll be there soon,’ Arkus said.
‘Countermand that. Remove the neophytes from the orbital. This is an invasion. We are heavily outnumbered. The Scout cohorts are the future of our company. Keep them safe.’
Arkus’ movements slowed a touch. Such an order suggested the imminent destruction of the company.
‘I understand.’
‘Courage and honour, sergeant.’
The vox-link went dead. The screaming returned, louder than before.
Arkus muted it and pulled his bolter, chainsword and bolt pistol out of the arming locker. He regarded the specialised monitoring auspex he used to keep track of the Scouts’ development, but left it behind. The time was past for such considerations.
As a Scout Master, Arkus’ quarters were attached to the neophytes’ barracks. He opened the shutter onto a room full of bunks. Less than a third were in use. Half of the company’s Scouts were engaged in training on the surface, and owing to its sensitive assignment away from Legion recruiting grounds, the auxilia of the 199th was currently understrength.
Arkus was pleased to see the Scouts were up, and helping each other into their armour. They worked quietly and without fuss, diligently checking their weapons and ta
lking little. Oberdeii stood apart from the rest. Dark smudges under his eyes told a tale on his insomnia. He was already battle ready and holding his weapon trained on the barracks door.
The tallest, Tolomachus, went to make his bed.
‘Leave it, Tolomachus,’ said Arkus.
‘It’s not an exercise?’ Tolomachus was the tallest of the Scouts, the result of early problems with his omophagea. He had an instinctive feel for battlefield medicine, and had it in him to become an Apothecary.
Arkus knew them all intimately, their strengths and weaknesses, their capabilities, their doubts, their personal triumphs. Most would make fine legionaries, and being stationed on Sotha had granted them training opportunities most other neophytes did not enjoy. But they were unfinished. Their implants were mostly in place but had not achieved full functionality. Their indoctrination was almost complete, but that was a minor check to the synthetic hormones raging through them all. Only when their biochemistry was regularised and their growth complete would they be able to fully master themselves and be fitted with their carapaces, a day still months away.
It was too soon for them to fight.
Until they were armoured in the blue plate of Ultramar, they were, in a very real sense, his sons. The station was under attack by Legiones Astartes of the worst kind, and he feared for their survival.
‘Oberdeii said it wasn’t a drill,’ said Tebecai. Milk-pale, Oberdeii’s friend – a little unruly, but otherwise with a high probability of legionary acceptance.
‘You should listen to him,’ said Arkus. ‘I said leave the bed, Tolomachus! We must leave. Immediately. This is not an exercise. This is war. The station has been infiltrated by the Night Lords. Our orders are to evacuate.’
The Scouts looked up at this, commendably controlled in their reactions.
‘We should stay! We should fight.’ Solon said this. A stolid, technically perfect candidate, he fit in well with the Legion’s ideals, but lacked the imagination to progress far once his elevation was done.
‘Solon’s right, sergeant,’ said Krissaeos. A good shot, but a little slow-witted. Arkus had his doubts whether the boy would pass his final trials.