Fabius Bile: Clonelord

by Josh Reynolds

  Merix groped for balance, trying to pull himself to his feet. The giant gave him no time. A hand caught his throat and lifted him. Merix gasped as he was shoved backwards, further denting the hull of the gunship. Through the visor of the giant’s helm, lavender eyes fixed on him, and cut away at his soul. ‘You are in pain. Let me help you.’

  Merix cursed as the giant’s grip tightened. He clawed at the helm with his false hand. It came loose from the reinforced gorget and fell to the deck with a hollow clang. The face of his gene-father stared at him, anger writ on his perfect features. ‘It can’t be,’ Merix said, his voice rising to a howl of denial. ‘You are not him!’

  ‘I am,’ Fulgrim said. The grip tightened, vice-like, inexorable. Merix could not breathe, could not even speak. His denials strangled on his lips, unspoken. He could not even ask for forgiveness.

  As the darkness swept in, the Neverborn were waiting to greet him.

  It was all going wrong, and very quickly, Arrian thought, as he made his way to the command deck, accompanied by a phalanx of mutants. Fighting had broken out all over the ship, thanks to Igori and the ­others. They were staging hit-and-run attacks on the Emperor’s Children, paying little attention to the allegiance of their foes, save that they wore the heraldry of the Third.

  Weeks of frustration had boiled over into violence. The very thing the Chief Apothecary had been hoping to avoid. At least until the odds were more in their favour. Privately, Arrian was pleased. It was best, this way. No more false fighting, no more play acting. Simple murder, and an end to recent annoyances.

  Nonetheless, there were difficulties. Strong as the New Men were, they were not the equal of a Space Marine. They could drag down isolated warriors easily enough, but when it came to a stand-up fight, they would come off the worse every time. For now, they seemed to be holding their own, but it would not last.

  He had come to take control of the command deck, while Alkenex was otherwise occupied. From there, he could enact a stalemate, at least. It was a good plan, he thought, and one he’d had in mind when he encouraged Igori to follow her instincts. The Chief Apothecary would disapprove, but he would see the necessity.

  Fabius was too much the perfectionist, at times. Like all his Legion, he chewed strategy like tough meat, gnawing it over and over, prevaricating until the last possible moment. Alkenex was the same. Arrian had read it in his movements earlier, when they’d sparred. The need to show off, to make a grandiose statement from a simple killing thrust had always been the Third’s weakness. It had only grown worse since the end of the Legion Wars. They grubbed among the ashes, seeking even the faintest motes of glory.

  Wolver was waiting on him. ‘The Vesalius is unhappy,’ the overseer intoned, one hand resting on the bolt pistol holstered on its hip.

  ‘An understandable reaction,’ Arrian said, brushing past the creature and heading for the tacticum dais. The mutants he’d brought with him moved quickly to secure the bridge. ‘And a state of affairs I shall rectify directly.’ If he could lock down all non-essential bays, he would isolate Alkenex’s forces, preventing them from reinforcing one another or regrouping. Then, it would be a simple matter of attrition. Once the Chief Apothecary had returned from the surface, the matter could be settled at their leisure.

  ‘The Vesalius is unhappy,’ Wolver repeated, following him. Arrian turned to reply. As he did so, he heard the crack of a bolt pistol. Wolver suddenly squalled, spun and fell, vital fluids leaking from its cracked skull. It was impossible to tell whether the creature was alive or dead. Arrian turned to see Alkenex striding up the steps, smoking bolt pistol in hand.

  ‘I knew one of you would try to commandeer this deck,’ the prefect said. ‘I’d half-hoped you’d be smart enough to stay out of it, war hound, but I should have known better.’ Down below, the bridge erupted in a fire-fight. Emperor’s Children moved among the sea of control-thrones, hunting down his mutants. Arrian growled low in his throat. His hands dropped to his blades, and Alkenex stopped. ‘Don’t,’ he said, as he was joined by more warriors, who kept their bolters trained on the World Eater.

  Arrian flexed his hands, feeling the bite of the Nails. This was the moment they were made for, and it was hard to ignore them.

  And why ignore them, dog-brother? What has it ever profited you?

  ‘Quiet,’ he murmured. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘The location of Bile’s cloned bodies,’ Alkenex said. ‘I know there is more than one aboard this ship. And hundreds more, besides. I want them.’

  ‘Eidolon wants them,’ Arrian said.

  Alkenex shrugged. ‘One or two. Fabius is a beast in need of a chain. He always has been. I will put him in that chain, but to do that, I must make sure he cannot escape. I will destroy his bodies, one by one, until he is trapped in a single sheath of flesh, like the rest of us. And then, I will end his madness once and for all.’ He laughed. ‘But while I seek out and destroy his hiding places, my Lord Eidolon will get some use out of him. Now – tell me where they are.’

  ‘No.’

  Alkenex nodded. ‘Then I will claim your head, crack it open, and take what I need.’

  ‘I am not the only foe you should fear. You won’t be able to bargain with Ramos and the others,’ Arrian said. ‘And they will move through this ship like a song of death, if you infuriate them.’

  ‘Then it is a good thing I’ve decided to ignore them, and that creature they worship, until later. They do not care who commands this vessel. And once they are isolated, they can be dealt with easily enough.’ Alkenex lowered his pistol. ‘We do not have to be enemies. The new Third will be built on the ashes of the old loyalties, even as Abaddon builds his own Black Legion. Why wear the blue and white, when purple suits you better?’

  Arrian laughed harshly. ‘And how long would I last, in your new Legion? How many of your brothers would I have to kill, to earn my place?’ He spread his arms. ‘Better still, why do you not see that this will only end badly for you?’

  ‘I have the advantage,’ Alkenex said. He holstered his weapon. His warriors were moving forward, as if to take Arrian into custody.

  ‘Every man thinks that. Right up until he doesn’t.’ The Nails cut at him and he winced. The red fog pressed close, and he felt a spurt of anger that it should come to this.

  Aye, you hear us now, dog-brother. We tried to tell you what was needed, and you refused to listen. Briaeus’ voice scratched across his mind like the Nails themselves. Kill this peacock, crack his bones and drink the sweet marrow. It’s the only thing his kind understand.

  Arrian frowned. ‘Stand down, prefect. This ship will not be yours while I stand.’

  Alkenex laughed. ‘Then it will be mine shortly.’

  Arrian looked around. Enemies on all sides. Good. That made things simpler. He brushed his fingers across the skulls, as they whispered their bitter encouragement. Then his hands dropped to the hilts of his blades. ‘You’re going to need more warriors, high-rider,’ he said, as he flushed the last of the calmatives from his system.

  As the Nails bit, he smiled.

  In the shadow of the tiers, Savona cursed and emptied her weapon into a hollow-eyed silver skull. The automaton pitched backwards, but there was no time to reload. She holstered the pistol, took a two-handed grip on her maul and swung it in a wide arc, knocking another automaton from its feet. She stamped on its head as it tried to rise, and felt its skull crumple beneath her hoof. ‘Keep moving – back to the gunships, fools. Unless you want to live out the rest of your very short lives here, in these haunted halls.’

  ‘A magnificent plan,’ Skalagrim growled, as he hacked at a fallen machine. ‘Only there’s an army at our backs, with no intention of letting us go.’ The former Son of Horus held the unconscious form of one of Bile’s Gland-hounds over his shoulder. Of the two who’d accompanied them, one was dead. The other had been knocked senseless by Palos, and had yet to recove
r her wits.

  ‘Why did you bother rescuing that thing?’ she asked, glancing at his burden. ‘It’s only slowing you down.’

  ‘I can keep up with you, woman, don’t worry. Besides, the old monster will owe me a debt for saving his precious beast.’ Skalagrim laughed and stroked the unconscious Gland-hound’s head. ‘And so will the queen-beast herself. Maybe it’ll keep them from cutting my throat, one day.’ He swallowed his laugh as a damaged construct lurched up, grabbing at his legs. He kicked it back with a curse. ‘See? How are we going to get past these things if they keep getting up again?’

  A moment later, Paz’uz pounced on the wounded machine, bowling it over. Khorag strode past, the vents of his armour spewing corrosive gases.

  ‘Good beast,’ the Grave Warden burbled. ‘And in answer to your question, brother, we simply knock more of them down, until they give up.’ He set his feet and fired his storm bolter. Saqqara’s harsh voice rose to a commanding shriek. Formless daemons suddenly surged past them. They were lesser things, lacking a god-given shape, but strong enough to sweep metal bodies aside or occupy the hovering wraith-shapes that had stalked the retreating Space Marines since Fabius’ disappearance.

  There were only a scant few Emperor’s Children left. A bare handful of those who’d landed, but enough to pay Merix and Alkenex back for their treachery, if she got the opportunity. If they managed to escape the silent hordes seeking to obliterate them. Arcs of green energy seared the air overhead, then fell silent. She skidded to a halt as the causeway and the platforms upon which the gunships waited came into sight.

  Two of the gunships burned, their hulls scored by green flame and cracked open. The third appeared to be in one piece, but only just. The bodies of the guards lay scattered on the ground, in various states of mutilation, the heavy stubbers shattered and silent.

  She saw no sign of Bellephus, and the thought sent a pang through her. He had been loyal, in his way, and had followed her from one master to the next. A steady presence. And if he were dead she would have one less supporter. She started forward.

  ‘Savona – wait,’ Saqqara said, grabbing her arm. ‘Look.’

  She whirled with a snarl, ready to smash the Word Bearer from his feet for his temerity. But the blow never fell, so preoccupied was she by what she saw. The ranks of their pursuers had come to a halt, at the galleries that marked the outer edge of the tier. The warrior-constructs stood silent and still for long moments, before turning as one and marching back into the maze of galleries. Even the broken ones crawled away, repairing themselves as they went.

  ‘They’re retreating,’ Saqqara said, lowering his bolt pistol. ‘Why?’

  ‘As I said, we merely needed to knock enough of them down,’ Khorag rumbled.

  ‘Or perhaps they already have what they came for,’ Savona said. ‘Either way, I don’t intend to wait and find out. Keep moving.’ She started towards the remaining gunship. As she started to cross the causeway, she saw a familiar form step down out of the gunship, a heavy stubber slung across one broad shoulder, and its ammunition belt draped across his chest. Bellephus.

  His armour was scorched and marked by the automatons’ weapons, but he was still in one piece. He waved a greeting from the ramp of the craft. The vox crackled and she heard his voice. ‘–s that you, Lady Savona?’

  ‘It’s me, Bellephus. Are you unharmed?’

  ‘A few pleasurable injuries, but nothing debilitating. Butcher-Bird and I made short work of the constructs that tried to impose their will on us.’ He knocked on the hull of the gunship, which cycled its engines fiercely. Its assault cannons tracked their approach, and she hoped the craft had sated its bloodlust on the automatons. ‘My serfs are all dead though,’ Bellephus continued. ‘You owe me new ones.’

  ‘I shall see that you get them and more, Bellephus, once we get back to the ship.’

  ‘And what about the Chief Apothecary?’ Khorag asked, overhearing her. ‘Shall we leave him here?’

  Savona gestured to Saqqara. ‘He’s still alive. That means the Manflayer is as well. But wherever he is, he can extricate himself well enough. We need to go, and now, before those things come back. Any objections?’ She looked around.

  Skalagrim laughed. ‘I like you, woman.’

  ‘The feeling is not mutual, fleshcrafter. Now let’s go.’

  Lights bloomed, one by one, in the dark. Beneath their harsh, jade gaze, row upon row of protective canisters, containing perfectly preserved progenoids, were revealed. Fabius tried to count them all, but failed, so far back did they stretch. The markings on the canisters declaimed their origin – the lost gene-tithe of the Third Legion.

  His hearts all but skipped a beat to see them. Part of him had not believed that they still existed. He had half-suspected that this was nothing more than some mad dream of Eidolon’s. Instead, it was all too real. ‘How many?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Seventeen thousand, four hundred and fifty-six,’ Trazyn said, from behind him. ‘There were eighteen thousand when I acquired it, but some were lost in transit.’

  Fabius turned. They stood atop a wide observation dais, held aloft by humming antigravity generators. Silent warrior-constructs, more heavily armoured than the others, stood at attention nearby. ‘Why are you showing me this?’

  ‘This is what you came for, is it not?’

  Fabius frowned. ‘You are taunting me.’

  ‘No. Not at all.’ Trazyn joined him at the edge of the platform. ‘They were almost destroyed, you know. I saved them. By rights, you should thank me.’

  ‘You stole them, you mean.’

  ‘I am no thief.’ Trazyn sounded almost insulted. He waved a hand. Hard-light holograms shimmered into being all around them. Images of startling vividness swam about Fabius, and he read in them a secret history. Scenes from impossible antiquity, prompting memories dredged from his consumption of aeldari texts. ‘I am a seeker into mystery, like yourself. I have catalogued the fall of civilisations, and the birth of empires.’

  ‘One does not preclude the other.’

  ‘If you could see what I see – if you could perceive the beating heart of time, as I perceive it – you would not question my methodology, Fabius Bile. You would have no more questions at all.’ Trazyn gestured with grandiose elegance. ‘You pluck open flesh, to learn its secrets. I do the same with time. I chop out the mechanisms of occurrence and study them at my leisure. This history of this galaxy is an open book to me, and my collection is the story of everything.’

  Fabius turned slowly, taking in the ghostly images as they drifted thick upon the air. ‘And what is the point of recording such a story, if there is no one to appreciate it?’

  ‘Yet.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No one to appreciate it yet.’ Trazyn’s metal fingers tapped against his staff. ‘I am no more unique in this universe than you. We are outliers, true, but not the whole of the species. And when my folk awake from their slumber of aeons, I shall have a story to tell them.’ He gave a rattling laugh. ‘I doubt they will appreciate it. Or even listen. But one does not expect gratitude from the masses.’ He glanced at his silent servants. ‘Dull-witted things.’

  ‘Yes.’ Fabius studied the ancient being. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Longer than your race has possessed the ability to stand upright.’

  ‘You are immortal.’

  ‘I am persistent.’ Trazyn indicated one of the hard-light images. ‘My race made a habit of persistence, in the Time of Flesh. When faced with extinction, we chose instead a new way.’ The image swelled, and Fabius saw something. A strange entity of starlight and malice. It watched as legions of living things marched into great furnace-like structures. The creatures were blurry, as if all memory of them had been eradicated, and all that was left was…an absence. But what emerged from the burning heart of the edifices was easily recognisable.

&nbs
p; ‘Thus Necrontyr gave way to Necron, and we enslaved ourselves to infinity,’ Trazyn rasped. ‘Look at it, Fabius – is it not wonderful and horrible.’ The star-being rose, vaguely humanoid in shape blazing with searing cosmic energies. Awful and breathtaking to behold. ‘They ate stars, you know. And worlds, besides. But we had the last laugh, in the end.’ Trazyn chuckled. ‘We bound them in cages of harsh reality, and used them to power our world-engines.’

  ‘Like this place, you mean,’ Fabius said. ‘One of those things is here?’

  ‘Yes. Buried deep and safe. The crown jewel of my collection, and the source of its power.’ Trazyn laughed again. ‘The source of my power.’ He began to pace, circling Fabius slowly. As if judging his merits. Fabius tensed. The creature had not taken his weapons, or made any attempt to harm him. Despite that, he knew he was in danger.

  ‘Madness,’ he said flatly. ‘All of this – madness. You boast of power, but you are nothing more than a thief. And perhaps not even that.’

  Trazyn stiffened.

  ‘Are you the being you were, before you were poured into the metal sarcophagus, or are you merely the ghost of who and what you once were?’ Fabius turned slowly, keeping the pacing metal figure in sight.

  ‘The same might be said of you – are you even yourself, or are you merely a copy of a copy of a copy, the faded imprint of a thing long dead?’ Trazyn said.

  Fabius froze.

  ‘Yes, I know all about you, Fabius Bile.’ He stopped and thumped the floor with the ferrule of his staff. ‘Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you lack the ability to conceive of true greatness. This galaxy is but a pale, shrunken husk of what it once was. Wonders and glories such as the human mind cannot comprehend. At best, you might glimpse a glimmer of its light, as if at the end of a great tunnel.’