Blades of Damocles

by Phil Kelly

  ‘Here, today, we fight quite another foe. One that is brutal, merciless, and with technology so arcane we cannot counter it. They are bolstered by unthinking faith in their Emperor – a monarchical tyrant that abandoned reason long ago. Their numbers are such that they brushed aside our own kor’vattra navy as if it were cobwebs, and now they land their teeming hordes upon sept soil with every new day. They infest our airspace, the ruins of our cities, even the commune tunnels beneath them. Their shock troopers are near equal in might to our battlesuit pilots, and they are determined to win at any cost.’

  The holograms changed, this time showing an armoured host of black and silver war machines. Each primitive-looking vehicle was emblazoned with a stylised ebon gauntlet upon a field of white. The mechanised spearhead was taking heavy fire from the hunter cadre that had been sent to stop them, railgun rounds whip-cracking through the air to slam through the Space Marine vehicles front to back. Some of those hit, still swathed in fire, ground onwards, shrugging off great smoking wounds that would have reduced a Hammerhead gunship to scrap metal.

  Farsight was startled to note the gue’ron’sha equivalents of the earth caste strode alongside the injured machines, tending to them with strange exoskeletal pincers even in the midst of enemy fire. The front of the vehicle spearhead ground on, fanning out and accelerating to engage the interdiction cadre just as a gue’ron’sha infantry ambush closed off their retreat from amongst the shattered ruins of an earth caste hospital. There was a string of detonations as the jaws of the trap closed, and the hunter cadre came apart in flame.

  ‘The ethereal council has enough evidence to conclude that the current metastrategies are found wanting,’ said Aun’Tipiya. ‘As are those individuals assigned to its leadership.’ She looked pointedly at Farsight and Commander Sha’vastos. ‘Already several of that group have given their lives for the Tau’va, Commander Brightsword amongst them. Commander Bravestorm is in a critical condition, kept alive only by the finest efforts of the earth caste.’

  ‘Those currently in the field are exempt from censure, for the time being,’ said Aun’Tefan. ‘We have reports of jet-pack-equipped gue’ron’sha operatives at large in the wastes, roaming outside the perimeters the fire caste have established as live war zones. Commander Shadowsun has been tasked with their destruction. It was judged counterproductive to call her back to Gel’bryn City for this hearing.’

  ‘As for the wider defence,’ added Aun’Tipiya, ‘decisive actions are called for, and swiftly. In challenging times, unusual measures must be taken. Our celestial majesty Aun’Va will outline his great plans in due course.’

  Farsight held his breath, anticipating the blow to come.

  ‘First, we will address the accusations of vash’ya that have been levelled upon you, Commander Farsight,’ said Aun’Tefan. ‘We need not tell you how grave an affront this is to our way of life.’

  Here it comes, thought Farsight. In the past, those found guilty of being vash’ya had faced the most severe of punishments. Given how the hearing was going thus far, his life expectancy could be measured in decs.

  ‘Before your arrival, this hearing determined that the allegations of inter-caste activity have a basis in truth. Tutor Sha’kan’thas gave a compelling testimony.’

  ‘My thanks,’ said the tutor from across the audience sphere. He stood up with a posture of confidence and took a formal bow, but Farsight saw a lack of surety beyond it. Here was a soul plagued by doubt, but who was too far down the path he had chosen to turn back.

  ‘Holofootage of Farsight’s rallying speech at Zephyrpeak has been assessed by the water caste, and found to have many of their diplomatic techniques evident within it,’ said Aun’Tefan. ‘The accusation between spheres there stands.’

  ‘Alone it would not be enough to condemn you, given your exemplary record,’ said Aun’Tipiya, ‘yet there is more.’

  Farsight said nothing, aware that to speak out would likely damn him further.

  ‘At Tutor Sha’kan’thas’ formal request,’ continued the elder of the two females, ‘Chief Scientist O’Vesa has analysed and assessed your actions at the Gel’bryn reservoir. His report concludes that your field repair of your customised XV8, upon which you still insist on displaying unsanctioned colours, was a work of rare excellence and perspicacity under extreme pressure.’

  ‘In a member of the earth caste, this would be laudable,’ said Aun’Tefan, ‘Perhaps even formally recognised as exemplary. In a member of the fire caste, however, it shows a weakness of character that sets an unforgivable precedent. It may even damage the very fabric of the Tau’va.’

  At this, the Ethereal Master nodded sagely.

  ‘As such, that incident has been struck from any and all records,’ said Aun’Tipiya. ‘The truth of your selfishness must remain forever shrouded.’

  ‘I was about to drown!’ blurted Farsight, his skin flushing dark. ‘Is that how I should have best served the Greater Good? By letting my control cocoon fill to the point where my battlesuit became a tomb? By letting the wisdom that Master Puretide has beaten into me sink without trace?’ He turned to the dignitaries seated in the front row, his face like thunder. ‘Damn you to a lonely death, Sha’kan’thas!’ he shouted, ‘And you, O’Vesa! You were supposed to be my allies!’

  The silence that followed Farsight’s outburst was total. All eyes were on Farsight; he felt he was about to suffocate, even though his breath was coming in short, shallow gasps.

  Aun’Va’s gaze fell upon him, the weight of his disapproval crushing in its intensity. There was something else there, too, but Farsight could not place it.

  Triumph, perhaps.

  ‘Commander Farsight speaks of Master Puretide’s wisdom,’ said Aun’Va, his tones solemn. ‘It is possible that he has located the crux of the matter. Perhaps that is the key to victory – to follow the paths that Puretide has shown us in their totality, not in part.’

  The other two ethereals drifted backwards, their robes fanning out as they took position behind their leader.

  ‘Then it is agreed,’ said Aun’Va. ‘You shall go to your famous teacher, O’Shovah of Vior’la. Go in exile and disgrace. Go to him and bring back his unsurpassed insights on the nature of war.’

  Farsight stood, stunned and silent, as the Ethereal Master spoke on.

  ‘But you will not bring back only a portion of his wisdom this time, the portion that best suits your own outlook.’

  Aun’Va turned his hover throne slightly so he could look directly at Farsight. The full force of his authority made Farsight want to shrivel into his seat and disappear.

  ‘You shall retrieve all of Master Puretide’s knowledge,’ said Aun’Va. ‘Every last thought. Our esteemed comrade O’Vesa has a device that will aid you in this quest.’

  The Ethereal Master pointed a slim finger towards the earth caste scientist. O’Vesa dutifully held up a black oval casket roughly half the size of a drone. It drifted across the spherical chamber, hovering in front of Farsight until he numbly accepted it with the cupped hands of the gift received. He felt like hurling the thing away. His hands were shaking as badly as when he had escaped from the lethal depths of the Gel’bryn reservoir.

  ‘Do this thing, in the name of the Tau’va,’ said the Ethereal Master. ‘Bring us the sum total of Master Puretide’s mind, that we may turn the tide. Do so, and you may yet redeem yourself.’

  Farsight felt something like hope flare inside him, but at Aun’Va’s next proclamation, it froze like flash frost.

  ‘If you fail us, Commander Farsight,’ he said, ‘then you will be put to death.’

  Chapter Eleven

  REBELLION/THE HUNTERS IN THE DARK

  The Eighth Company squads splashed through the sodden wilderness in loose formation, the lockstep of their initial march left long behind. Numitor could see the heat haze shimmering around their backpacks, not from the engagement
of the engines, but as a by-product of their fierce self-recycling metabolism. It was the only thing that had kept the Ultramarines moving through the Dal’ythan hexwastes for the last few days.

  Colnid, with one of his lower legs replaced by an empty prosthesis, was slowing them down. Not by much, for as a youth he had trained long in the mountains of Macragge, but the drag factor was still noticeable. Sicarius, his knee wound aggravated by the long days of marching through uneven terrain, was hiding a slight limp of his own. The first few times Colnid had to stop to rebind his false leg, the delay niggled at the tempers of his brothers, and Sicarius had made a show of being impatient, despite the fact he was likely glad of the reprieve. Numitor knew better than to mention it. Lately even the slightest setback or criticism had become like acid upon the nerves. Even Veletan was anxious to be back in the fight, no matter how.

  Indigo bladegrass waved at shin height, the inch of water at its roots splishing with each footstep. The grass was sharp enough to slash open an unarmoured foot or tendon, but it did nothing more than part with a whisper at the Space Marines’ passing. Here and there the three-headed skeleton of a water hydra lay in pieces. Thick scarlet centipedes cracked the bone with iron-hard mandibles to get to the marrow beneath. The carnivorous insects startled at the Space Marines’ approach, soundlessly sliding away into the waters.

  Cato Sicarius kicked a ribcage into a spray of spinning bones, droplets of water shimmering prism-like in the sunlight.

  ‘This is futile,’ he said to Numitor as the sergeant approached. ‘Even if this course is true, by the time we reach our destination, the war will be over.’

  ‘Throne’s sake, Cato. It has been less than a week. Do you want to go back to Gel’bryn and report to Atheus in disgrace?’

  ‘At least we would be in the fray,’ muttered Sicarius, casting a black look towards Colnid. ‘Instead of slogging through the middle of nowhere at three-quarter pace.’

  Numitor sighed heavily. ‘You want to leave Colnid behind, perhaps?’

  Sicarius frowned, but did not reply.

  ‘What other option do we really have?’ continued Numitor. ‘If we head back and follow the edges of the hex structures, there is a high chance we will be bombed to death before we even see a recovery craft. Colnid is one of us, and we all agreed on this course back in Gel’bryn. So start acting like a leader for once.’

  Sicarius span around before stepping up chest to chest with Numitor. His face was twisted, deep lines on either side of soured lips.

  ‘Insult me like that again,’ he growled, ‘and I will leave you sprawling in the dirt.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Numitor, his tone cold under a mask of ambivalence, ‘perhaps not.’

  Kaetoros splashed towards them at a jog, flamer swinging heavily from its strap. ‘Problem, sergeants?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sicarius. ‘I need your flamer.’ He yanked Kaetoros’ weapon from him so hard the strap broke. Kaetoros recoiled as if he had been struck, but Sicarius had already turned away and triggered the ignition rune.

  A blue finger of flame hissed from the weapon’s pilot valve. Sicarius sent a roaring spear of promethium out to the right, letting it drizzle down twenty paces distant before bringing it closer by a few metres.

  Numitor stepped back in shock as Sicarius lifted the flamer once more and brought its nozzle around in a wide arc, angling it so the promethium traced a wide horseshoe around their route of advance. Burning fluid gouted in shocking measure, half a canister used up in a matter of seconds. Sicarius completed his horseshoe shape with a last lance of fire to the left, mirroring the spar at the other end.

  ‘What in the Emperor’s name are you doing?’ protested Kaetoros.

  ‘It’s upside down,’ said Numitor as realisation dawned. ‘But it’s the Chapter symbol.’

  ‘He is… he is gambling,’ said Veletan.

  ‘We are Ultramarines,’ shouted Sicarius, punching a fist on his breastplate as the primarch’s symbol burned high around him, ‘We apologise to no one. We hide from no one. Let the enemy come. We will fight, as we were born to do!’

  ‘This is risky,’ murmured Magros. ‘If the xenos pilot caste see this first…’

  Numitor scanned the skies, the tiredness suddenly gone from his limbs. ‘Not if,’ he said. ‘When. Squad Numitor! We go around this! New heading, wide berth on my lead!’

  The sergeant ran around the edge of the burning symbol and the wall of billowing smoke that poured up from it, motioning for his men to keep up. Half of Squad Sicarius looked set to follow him. The fire was already spreading. Sicarius slammed the requisitioned flamer back against Kaetoros’ breastplate and waved his squad on a parallel course.

  The first aircraft we see had better be ours, Numitor thought. Out in the wilderness, they could not hope to bring another enemy squadron low. There was no way such a conflagration could burn away on such a well-patrolled world without being seen by someone.

  The wind picked up as the squads circumvented Sicarius’ signal fires, blowing the choking black fumes of the promethium fire westward.

  After a few minutes Numitor saw something disturbing the smoke. Not something clear, but more like an absence of form, an unseen obstruction causing the billowing clouds to dissipate. There was definitely something out there, but he could not place it. Not an aircraft, that was for sure. Something low and sleek.

  ‘Eyes west,’ said Numitor. ‘We are being watched.’

  The first sign of contact was not airborne, nor was it the ghostly shapes in the smoke. A few hours after the fire-signal had burned low behind them, a smudge of boxy shapes on the horizon resolved into a trio of Chimera transports. Behind them came a pair of snub-turreted Leman Russ Demolishers, one of which trailed smoke from a wound in its flank. It was a pitiful excuse for an armoured column, but to the Eighth, it was manna from the Emperor himself.

  ‘They will have comms,’ said Sicarius as he turned to Numitor, eyes alight. He waved his squad to form up. ‘Squad, form up on me. This is the turning point, I can feel it.’

  Numitor nodded, a slow smile spreading across his features as the stress of the last few days ebbed away. ‘You are lucky as well as headstrong, Cato Sicarius.’

  The Astra Militarum were the last sight the sergeant had expected to see this far out from the main urban war zones, but they were welcome. It was always strange, talking to unaugmented humans. The distance between the Space Marines and the raw ranks of humanity felt far more pronounced when they were standing side by side, and the awe plastered across the face of the common Imperial Guardsman was usually tinged with fear. Their instinctual deference at being presented with mankind’s finest guardians sometimes left mortal men on the verge of grovelling. Numitor found it amusing, in a way, and deeply disquieting in another.

  At least these ones were warriors, Numitor told himself. The Astra Militarum vehicles had evidently seen a lot of battle. Plasma scars had dug deep gouges into their flanks, and here and there a rosette of black soot marked a missile detonation that had failed to breach the front armour. The command Chimera looked sound enough – it had a long whip-aerial bent across its length, and from this distance at least, its comms array seemed intact. There was hope here – if not for requisitioning the patrol entirely, then at least for patching in to the Adeptus Astartes vox network. Once they contacted Captain Atheus, they could rendezvous with air support and escape the attention of the tau pilot caste altogether.

  The top hatches of the Chimera clanked open, and Numitor saw a whiskered face peer out at them. He held up an open hand in greeting and tapped the vox grill of his helmet, a mute indication of their vox transmission being down.

  The transport’s hatch clanged shut. The Chimera began to veer away, its rear exhaust gouting smoke as it accelerated out of the patrol column. The rearmost transport slewed around to face them instead, turret tracking. One of the Leman Russ Demolishers ground ar
ound to face them until Numitor was staring right at its wide black maw.

  ‘What in Guilliman’s name are they–’

  Sicarius triggered his jump pack, the turbines roaring as he blasted into a long-range leap. He came down in a staggered run a few metres away from the lead Chimera and stepped in front of it, banging hard on the personnel carrier’s scarred hull before peering through the vision slit. Numitor chuckled despite himself. His fellow sergeant’s uncompromisingly direct approach was sometimes exactly the right path.

  ‘Etiquette was never his strong point,’ said Veletan, walking up to stand at Numitor’s side.

  ‘You could say that,’ replied Numitor. ‘That said, you could say that about a lot of us in the Eighth.’

  ‘Yield, for we are Adeptus Astartes!’ shouted Sicarius, pounding his fist on the Chimera’s sloped hull. ‘Eighth Company of the Ultramarines Chapter. There are no hostiles in engagement range. Open up and report!’

  ‘Come on,’ said Numitor to Veletan. ‘Let’s get over there.’ He motioned for the rest of his squad to follow, sending a curt nod towards the remainder of Squad Sicarius as well. The Space Marines set off at combat pace, not willing to expend any more pack fuel than necessary.

  As Numitor covered the last few metres to the armoured patrol, the top hatch of the command Chimera gave a metallic squeal and opened up completely.

  ‘High time,’ growled Sicarius.

  A stressed-looking Guardsman wearing sergeant pips, his close-shaved hair grey despite his years, leaned out to look down at the Ultramarines. From behind him a portly, middle-aged man with a starched collar peered out.

  ‘What is it?’ said the sergeant. ‘What do you want?’

  Sicarius took a step back in shock, nostrils flaring and eyes wide.

  ‘Have a care, soldier,’ he said, his tone cold and dangerous, ‘or you’ll not need a commissar to punish your insolence. You can point that tank’s turret elsewhere.’