Fabius Bile: Clonelord

by Josh Reynolds

  ‘Who are you?’ Merix asked. He did not move. ‘Who do you serve? Are you one of the Phoenician’s consorts, come to test my worth? If so, know that I have no patience for riddles in the dark. Make yourself known.’

  ‘I have not come to tease and tantalise you down thorny paths for the amusement of the Phoenician,’ it murmured, too close. Its scent filled his senses, drowning out everything else. ‘The path… He must be held to the path. Or all is lost.’

  ‘What path? What will be lost?’ he demanded, trying to turn. But its claws tightened, sinking through his armour as if it were not there. Sinking all the way to his heart. He froze.

  ‘You must find it. You must draw the poison out. He cannot go back. None of us can. The only safety lies deeper in the future’s jaws. But not too deep. Be bold. But not too bold, lest your heart’s blood runs cold.’ Its claws drifted upwards, catching his throat. ‘Look. Listen. See.’

  Merix realised that he was no longer alone on the command deck. Alkenex, Palos and Fabius had arrived. But he could not move – could not speak to them. Alarms were sounding. A clatter rose up from the crew, filling the air. On the screens, in the void, something waited.

  A world hung grey and dour in the emptiness. The system was all but empty of heavenly bodies. Even the stars were few and far between, here. But there was light, of sorts, hanging in the firmament. A sun, lacking in all colour, casting a cold light across a vast and imposs­ible gulf. Merix felt something in him cringe at the thought of being touched by that light. ‘The sun appears to be artificial,’ Fabius said, as if from a great distance. ‘It’s nothing more than a vast mechanism for capturing excess energy from somewhere and relaying it back to the planet – like an arrangement of celestial mirrors, reflecting light and magnifying heat. Ingenious.’

  ‘And that is important why?’ Alkenex said. ‘I do not care about the sun. Only about the planet.’ He snapped an order, and the view of the planet was magnified. The sensor feed sputtered, as if in protest. A debris belt of ice and shattered rock circled the grey world in a slow waltz. Light from the false sun glinted on the thin sheets of ice, and sprang out and away, to be swallowed up by the dark.

  Ghostly images peopled the planet’s orbit – the echoes of ships been and gone, Merix thought. The data-feeds registered them, sending up alerts that then fell silent as the echo faded, or the Vesalius passed the limit of the signal. ‘What are they?’ he croaked.

  ‘Sensor echoes. Something about this place is trapping them here.’ Fabius glanced at him. ‘You look ill, Merix. Is something amiss?’ He paused. ‘Something new, I should say.’

  The Neverborn tightened its grip about his heart, as if warning him to silence. ‘I am fine,’ he said. Was it afraid of the Chief Apothecary? If so, it was wiser than most Neverborn he’d encountered.

  ‘Well, if you’re dying, please do so quietly. Flavius and I are discussing strategy.’

  ‘We discuss nothing. We are here. These are the coordinates Eidolon provided, and there is our destination. What we seek is here.’

  ‘Your faith is impressive, especially since our sensors can’t even be sure that’s a planet, rather than a semi-spherical confluence of solar gas.’

  ‘The Lord Commander Primus would not lie, Spider. Unlike you.’

  ‘Oh, I assure you, he’s quite adept at it, Flavius. His very existence is a lie of my creation, and he has ever been eager to forget the part I played in conjuring him up.’

  Merix was only half listening to their argument. For all Alkenex’s bluster, he would make no move before he was ready. And Fabius knew it. They were like two curs, snarling at one another from opposite sides of a fence. Instead, he tried to concentrate on the voices that echoed up from the vox frequency, whispering warnings and pleas to whoever might hear them. Not all the voices were human, or in a language he understood.

  ‘This is the black ground, the cremation field of the universe, where a thousand civilisations have their end,’ the Neverborn whispered, ­stroking his cheek with a gilded claw. ‘These voices are but ashes, caught on a cosmic wind.’

  For a moment, it seemed as if all the voices became as one – a single voice, calling up out of deep time, in invitation or perhaps warning. A single voice, made from an infinity of voices, all bent to the same purposes. A hundred thousand ancient signals, hijacked by a single will. It whispered up to the Vesalius, and Merix could hear the frigate whispering back, revealing its secrets to whatever waited on the world below.

  ‘We are here in his name, Spider – do not forget that,’ Alkenex said. ‘We are here in the name of the Third. Now go make ready – I want you ready for sub-orbital insertion before the next cycle.’

  ‘Are you not coming with me, Flavius?’ Fabius asked.

  Alkenex laughed. ‘And why would I do that? You have plenty of swords at your disposal. Mine will make no difference.’ He smiled. ‘Besides, someone must watch the ship. Just in case more of those milk-blooded cousins of ours come sniffing along our trail.’ He gestured to Palos. ‘Palos will go with you, to make sure you come back in one piece.’ He drew his sword and pointed it lazily at Fabius. ‘Now, be a good dog and go collect what we came for. I will be here when you get back.’

  Fabius looked as if he were considering arguing. Then, with a shrug, he turned away. ‘Please yourself, Flavius. But do remember that we are on the same side. I would hate for there to be any accidents, this late in our renewed acquaintance.’

  Merix watched him depart. Something touched him on the hand. He looked up into a mournful face, androgynous, but somehow familiar. A moment later it vanished, and he heard only the hollow echo of fading hooves. Something in its eyes, as black and as empty as the void, stayed with him. A message, or a warning. The ache in his hand grew worse. He cleared his throat.

  ‘I do not trust him.’

  Alkenex looked at him. ‘No. Nor do I.’

  ‘We should ensure that we have full control of the ship when he returns.’ He said it without thinking, and wondered if he was doing as the Neverborn wished. The little ones had scattered, when the other had approached – a sure sign that it was more powerful than they. Would it reward him for this? Or was this merely another game, played by distant immortals? Perhaps it didn’t matter, so long as the goal was accomplished.

  Alkenex laughed. ‘If he returns.’

  Merix clenched his hand. ‘He will. And we must be ready for him.’

  Fabius gripped the rail of the gantry, and looked down at the ­staging area. Mutants were everywhere in their hundreds, yowling and snarling at one another. They all wore similar tattered uniforms and scavenged gear, and the weapons they clutched had seen better centuries. Pack-leaders fought brutal duels among long-empty supply containers, seeking to win the right to accompany the Pater Mutatis on his expedition.

  Atop a stack of containers, an eyeless, slug-pale creature kept time on a rawhide drum, accompanied by the whirling, shrieking forms of several androgynous creatures. Their flesh had been daubed with crude war paint, made from oil, blood and char, and their tangled manes had been greased into vibrant spikes with corpse-fat. Bestial priests, clad in makeshift cassocks and wearing masks made from flayed flesh, wandered among the gathered mutants, growling primitive blessings.

  ‘Ave Pater Mutatis… Ave Pater Mutatis…’

  Fabius closed his eyes, letting their prayers wash over him. It was a heady thing, that responsibility. The few stable strains among them owed their existence to his idle tinkering. Only through his kindness did they live, and strive. Only through his kindness would they continue to do so. Whatever their origins, these were the natural inheritors of the galaxy. The end result of unregulated exposure to raw entropy.

  ‘They are beautiful, in their way, I suppose,’ he said. He turned. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Saqqara?’

  The Word Bearer stood silently behind him, features hidden behind the crimson plates of his h
elm. Arrian and Igori waited nearby, watching the proceedings with interest. ‘They are the true children of Chaos,’ Saqqara said, after a moment. ‘Though they worship one at odds with that notion.’

  Fabius smiled. ‘What is a god but the inconceivable made manifest? To them, we are inconceivable. Indescribable. Angels and daemons. You, yourself, said that I am as much a god as those names you assign such power. Which is to say, no sort of god at all. And thus, equally deserving of worship.’

  ‘A blasphemous thought.’

  Fabius looked at Saqqara. ‘Funny words, coming from one who consorts with daemons. As I recall, Erebus was quite the one for ­heresies of all sorts.’

  Saqqara stiffened. Fabius leaned close. ‘In fact, I have often thought that he did not send you and your brothers after me to punish me for my heresy, so much as to make greater use of it. Before our falling out, both he and Kor Phaeron were the beneficiaries of my gene-forges. Your Legion survives intact thanks only to my good will.’

  ‘The gods guide us where they will,’ Saqqara said.

  ‘And they guided you to me, Word Bearer. What does that say about them?’

  Saqqara fell silent. Fabius turned away, satisfied. He paused, as Saqqara said, ‘It says that the path they intend for me is thornier than most. Only through great trials may the soul find its true worth. You would do well to remember that.’

  Fabius sighed, but said nothing. He had tried, early on, to break the Word Bearer, mentally and spiritually. To make him more pliable. More useful. Instead, Saqqara had remained obstinate. His faith was a rock, upon which Fabius could only sharpen his wit.

  Down below, three of his specialist overseers were making their way through the crowds, hauling what he’d come for behind them. The overseers were repurposed combat servitors, their numerous limbs ending in electroshock prods, steel whips and syringe-pumps. They ground forward on heavy tracks, venting exhaust from the ports on their backs. Their torsos spun, allowing them to ply their whips and prods with ease.

  Each had a heavy length of chain hooked to their chassis. The other end of each chain was connected to the collar of a massive war-mutant, which padded in their wake. Three times the height of a Space Marine, and twice as heavy. Saqqara grunted in disgust. ‘Ugly things.’

  ‘Utilitarian, I would say. Their base genetic stock was derived from the natives of heavy-gravity worlds, and teased into something utterly unique.’ Fabius spoke with pride. ‘The careful application of certain psycho-surgery techniques and the insertion of a lessened form of gene-seed resulted in extra layers of muscle and insulating fat.’

  Each of the creatures was clad in crudely forged battleplate, their vaguely simian skulls sealed in iron cages, studded with sensors and stimm-pumps. Thick tangles of cortical implants spilled down their hunched backs and thick shoulders. The implants were a more advanced version of the Nucerian cruciamen – adapted to purpose, after many centuries of trial and error. Combined with the stimulants, which were auto-injected by remote signal, the implants served to drive the mutants into a state of incandescent frenzy. The huge, crushing mauls each mutant carried could smash through bulkheads and vehicle hulls alike.

  ‘They can shrug off injuries that would cripple a Space Marine, and, once unleashed, will fight until death claims them,’ Fabius went on, warming to his topic. ‘The perfect spearhead for any assault, if I do say so myself.’

  He had learned a valuable lesson from the expedition to the craftworld. They would go in force, this time. An army, to seize and hold whatever was to be found.

  ‘I still question your decision to leave me behind,’ Arrian said. The World Eater joined him at the rail. ‘Surely Khorag, or even Skalagrim…’

  ‘No. I may require Khorag’s expertise, and Skalagrim must go.’ Fabius had not bothered to share those reasons, though he could see the question in Arrian’s eyes. ‘You are the only one I can trust to offset Alkenex. It would be unfortunate if he decided to take control of the ship while I was planet side. With you here, he may not be tempted.’

  ‘Or he might seize the moment, and strike while only one of us is around.’ Arrian sighed. ‘Which you could well be hoping for.’

  Fabius smiled. ‘I trust you will handle yourself with discretion and courage.’

  ‘And if I have to kill him?’

  ‘Then do so with a minimum of disturbance. I want the ship in one piece when it comes time to depart.’ He paused. ‘Kill Merix as well, if it comes to it. And any of the Twelfth Millennial who side with them. Separate the wheat from the chaff, all in one go.’

  Arrian nodded. ‘It will be done, Chief Apothecary.’

  ‘Of that, I am certain. Igori – come here.’ Fabius stepped aside, and gestured to her, as Arrian turned to leave. She joined him at the edge of the platform. ‘You are wondering why I asked you here, I gather. I can read your face as easily as I might read a medical treatise.’

  Igori frowned. ‘You are taking the Twins again.’

  ‘I am. But no others. The rest of you will remain here. Arrian must have an army, if it comes to it. And that army is your kin, and whatever dregs from the lower decks they can rouse to a war-footing at short notice.’

  ‘And what of me? Am I to lead this army?’ She did not sound excited at the prospect, as she might once have. She was angry at being left behind again. His creations seemed to possess a universal stubbornness, whatever else.

  ‘No,’ Fabius said. ‘I have a greater task for you.’ He turned her attentions to the hololithic projection and the pict-feed from the chamber. Fulgrim sat at its centre, cross-legged, his features beautiful in their repose. Igori gasped. Even at the distance of a pict-feed, the impact of a primarch was substantial. Fabius watched her, noting the dilation of her pupils and her increased respiration. He filed the observations away, for later consideration.

  ‘What… is he?’ She looked at Fabius, almost accusingly. ‘Is he one of us?’

  ‘No. He is both greater and lesser than you. But he is also young, and prone to folly. I fear what he may get up to, in my absence. I would have you watch him. See to it that he comes to no harm, and harms no one. Indeed, see to it that none know he even exists.’

  She drew back, frowning. ‘He is important?’

  ‘Perhaps. Only time will tell.’ He looked at her. ‘Time, and you.’ He caught her chin and lifted her face. ‘I deliver him into your charge, Igori. Guard him well.’

  She was silent, for a moment. Then, softly, she said, ‘I will, Benefactor. By blood and bone, I will keep him from harm, whatever the cost.’

  Fabius smiled.

  ‘I know you will, my dear. That is why the task could fall to no other.’

  Chapter twenty

  The Descent

  The trio of gunships pierced the thick scrum of mist, engines whining like eager hounds. Noxious gases lashed the hulls, stripping the paintwork and corroding the ornamental gilding. Beyond the lashing winds and toxic clouds, nothing sought to bar their descent. No weapons systems, no aircraft, not even a sensor sweep. It was as if the planet were nothing more than it appeared – a cold, dead husk. Empty even of ruins or the barest sign of habitation or vegetation.

  The gunships landed with a chorus of dull thumps, their landing gear striking the firmly packed, silvery sands of the planet’s surface. Two belonged to Alkenex. The third was Butcher-Bird. The disembarkation bays opened with a grinding of gears, disgorging their ramps. Mutants spilled out onto the surface of the silent world in a riot of baying, shrieking shapes. More quietly, but not by much, came the Emperor’s Children. Their numbers were divided evenly between those loyal to Alkenex and the warriors of the 12th Millennial.

  Savona, accompanied by Bellephus, led the latter down their ramps. She had been roused from hiding by Fabius to serve as another pair of eyes. He could not count on old loyalties to protect him, as he had on Lugganath. Too many among both parties of Emper
or’s Children had reason to want him dead. But Savona’s presence might offset Palos Gyr’s influence, somewhat.

  The bulky, eyeless warrior seemed willing enough to defer to Fabius’ authority, but it was for the sake of appearances. Fabius watched him organise the disembarking procedures with bellows and swift clouts, pummelling both Space Marines and mutants alike, when necessary. ‘That one is going to be trouble,’ Skalagrim said.

  Fabius and his followers stood a short distance away from the gunships, conducting a sensor sweep of their surroundings. ‘Of course he is. That’s why Flavius sent him.’ Fabius held up his auspex, trying to understand what it was telling him. ‘This makes little sense. It’s as if there’s not even a planet here. Saqqara?’

  ‘The same,’ the Word Bearer said, studying his own auspex. ‘Something is scrambling our sensors. Atmospheric distortion, perhaps.’

  ‘No. Can’t you feel it? That wind isn’t natural.’ Khorag held up a handful of shimmering sand. He let it dribble between his fingers. ‘Neither is this sand. It’s made of metal.’ The wind caught the loose grains and carried them away. For a moment, they almost seemed to take the shape of a skeletal countenance, before dispersing.

  ‘We all saw that, yes?’ Skalagrim asked.

  ‘Yes. Something has a sense of humour.’ Fabius lowered his device. The ground was spongy beneath his feet, with too much give to be as solid as it appeared. He sank to one knee and thrust his hand into the sand. He felt no resistance. It was as if the sand were all that there was. When he retracted his arm, it was covered in metallic grains. They slid across his armour, scraping the remnants of old paint from the cera­mite. He examined his arm more closely, magnifying the optical feed of his helmet to microscopic levels. ‘Fascinating. They’re consuming the organic effluvia staining the ceramite. Paint, mould, even skin cells.’

  ‘They’re eating us, you mean,’ Skalagrim said with disgust.

  ‘Not for some time. They are lazy little beasts. Much like you, eh, Paz’uz?’ Khorag laughed and poured more of the false sand into his palm. His beast cavorted about his legs, snuffling and slavering. Its acidic perspiration hissed and popped where it dripped onto the sand. ‘It would take them years to threaten the integrity of our battleplate.’ The Grave Warden jerked his head towards the mutants. ‘And at least a few months to eat through the environmental suits our malformed companions wear.’