‘Good. No news is oftentimes good news.’
‘They are deep in the hulk, lord. Should they be in difficulty we would not hear their calls for aid, nor would we be able to aid them.’
‘I am aware of this.’ Caedis set a glass piece into place, a brown-grey shard that would delineate part of Mount Calicium’s slopes.
‘You would not rather be aboard the bridge, directing the effort?’
‘Brother Mazrael, three hundred years you have known me, and you ask such questions? What would you know?’
‘I would know only what I ask, my lord.’
‘This mission is the honour of the Novamarines to lead. It does not play to our strengths. Such a mission requires stealth and caution, not the charge of glory or the swift unsheathing of blades. I gladly leave it to Captain Galt, it suits the temper of the Novamarines better.’
‘Disagreeable traits, lord. Better to meet the foe head on.’
‘You sound like Sanguinary Master Teale today, Reclusiarch Mazrael. Maybe they are, but they are necessary traits.’
‘I test you lord, as we all must be tested. Stealth and ferocity, forethought and valour, all and more are weapons in the great armoury of the Adeptus Astartes,’ he paused. ‘It upsets you though, to allow them to be first aboard. I can feel it.’
‘Does it not upset you?’
‘As you aver, my lord, let the tool selected be fit for the task. You would not attempt placement of your glass with a power fist. Emotion and pride is a poor driver of strategy. We must save our passion for combat. Before, there is time to be circumspect.’
‘Precisely so, Reclusiarch.’
‘But lord,’ Mazrael moved closer. ‘I suspect that is not why you are here in your chambers and not upon the bridge. It is not your nature to stand back from a mission, even if you have delegated it rightly to another.’
‘Ah, so I see you have paid attention.’
‘Nor is this your normal attitude. Where is your grace and your kindness today, lord? Such flippancy is… unbecoming to you.’
Caedis placed his glass, took up his hammer, tapped in nails around it, took up another small pane. He turned it about in his fingers, not meeting the Chaplain’s eyes.
‘Do you think the Thirst drowns my finer qualities, Reclusiarch? Am I losing myself? You are wise, tell me what you see.’
Mazrael made a noise in his throat. When he spoke again, he did so carefully. ‘It is my role, lord, to be the custodian of the souls of our brethren. Your behaviour aboard Novum in Honourum was unusual. I am attuned to the changes that precede the fall to the ravages of the Thirst and the birth-pangs of the Black Rage, you know that aside from the performance of the rite, this is my duty above all other duties.’
‘And you see them in me now, Mazrael?’
‘Lord Caedis, please…’
Caedis could barely keep the tension from his voice. ‘I am well in body, mind and spirit, Reclusiarch Mazrael, truly. Soon we will perform the rite and all will be well with me and with our brethren. Tell me that you are untroubled. Tell me that there is not another brother aboard this fleet who does not feel the pangs of the Thirst.’
‘I carry the burden, as do we all, lord,’ admitted Mazrael.
‘There we have it then. I will be well.’
Caedis raised his head from his work. He smiled at the Chaplain. ‘Once we have performed the rite, we will all be well. I work to find focus before the real fight begins. Let our allies deal with the first sortie, these little brothers of Ultramar. Let them have their glory. When the time comes, we shall show them the correct way to defeat the foes of mankind – at close quarters, with blade and sinew. And this greater battle, the coming assault, it offers such perfect opportunity for intimate slaughter, does it not?’
‘Yes, lord,’ the Reclusiarch bowed his head briefly. His hands fell to his side. ‘Then I must be away. I go to speak with Sanguinary Master Teale about the ritual. Subjects must be selected. As you say, lord, the time approaches.’
Caedis’s smile dropped. ‘Unfortunately so, yes.’
‘Do not grieve for those who give themselves. They serve in their way so that we might serve in ours, lord. All men are servants of the Emperor, and pay fealty in whatever way they can. By the blood of the loyal servants of the Emperor are the stars kept pure – our blood, and that of others.’
Mazrael withdrew, Caedis’s body-serf holding open the door for him. The Reclusiarch paused on the threshold of the door.
‘Will you take the black and red?’ asked Mazrael. ‘When the time comes, lord? Or will you seek the Emperor’s mercy? You have but to ask for either, as is your right.’
‘Neither, my friend. Not yet, not yet, and not for some time to come,’ Caedis said.
Mazrael gave a curt nod. ‘I pray it so, my lord.’ He departed.
The door shut, and Caedis let out a long gasp. He shook with the effort of controlling himself. The pane of glass he held in his hand slipped from his fingers and clinked upon the unfinished work. He grasped the table and shuddered. His skin itched, unable to perspire properly, he felt terribly hot. His throat burned horribly.
‘My lord, are you well?’
Caedis forced himself to look up. ‘Yes, Porphyrio, I…’ Caedis stopped. His serf stood close by, unsure whether to approach or not. Caedis’s eyes ran over the serf’s body, past the blood tubes and letting ports that covered his skin, until they came to rest on the man’s neck. There, the smallest movement, the pulse of an artery. He watched it twitch, twitch, twitch…
‘My lord?’
‘Leave me,’ the Chapter Master said urgently.
‘Lord?’
‘Get out! Now! Go!’ he shouted so loudly Porphyrio shrank backwards, stumbling over his own feet.
Caedis gripped the table edge so tightly the frame holding his work buckled. Whether he was steadying or restraining himself he did not know.
The window within took the brunt of his agonies. There was the sharp crack of glass giving way. Caedis looked down at the panel. A line ran through Holos, across his chest and the arm pointing towards the angel Caedis knew he would never finish.
His throat was dry and hot as desert sand, a horrible clutching sensation crawled from his groin to his scalp, his every hair writhed at the root as if it would be free.
‘By the blood of the loyal servants of the Emperor are the stars kept pure.’ Mazrael quoted Guilliman’s Codex, by which they lived their lives. Guilliman did not mean by that passage what the Blood Drinkers took it to mean. The unbalanced mind ever seeks justification for its actions.
Caedis staggered over to his work bench, knocking the pane of glass he had dropped from the table onto the floor where it shattered into a score of pieces. Clumsy hands scattered his neatly arrayed materials and tools. He hit upon what he was seeking, and lifted it.
The soldering torch.
He ignited the flame, let it run until the devil’s open mouth glowed. Gritting his teeth, he shut off the flame and pushed the red hot metal into his muscular forearm. He stifled a cry as pain ripped through him.
Pain that could not stem the rivers of blood that flowed through his mind.
Chapter 8
Trapped
Debris swirled. A particulate fog made up of flakes of corrosion, chunks of metal, spent bolt casings and genestealer remains that scrambled Voldo’s sensorium.
‘Sound off!’ he called.
One by one, the Novamarines called in, giving verbal updates to supplement the sensorium’s data. Astomar’s leg was pinned, the others were unaffected by the quake. Of Alanius’s squad, Curzon was trapped, unconscious but alive, within the crushed tunnel leading from the suiting room. Tarael was isolated on the far side of the blockage. Voldo caught part of the conversation between Tarael and Alanius as he checked the status of his own men. The Blood Drinker brother stated he was unharmed.
‘Forgemaster, how fares the tech-priest?’
‘I am well, lord sergeant, and will answer for myself.�
� The tech-priest pushed himself gingerly from the wall where he had landed, bionic legs searching for the hard contact of the floor.
‘I will see to the men, brother-sergeant,’ said Clastrin. ‘Their wargear needs be checked. I fear a long journey ahead of us.’ He went to Genthis first.
‘Aye,’ said Voldo. ‘Eskerio!’ he shouted. The hulk continued to emit worrying sounds. Creaking and rumbles sounded periodically, these accompanied by shudders running through the fabric of the agglomeration. The staccato racket of Gallio’s chainfist added to the noise of the hulk’s complaints as he cut Astomar’s leg free.
Eskerio projected a map into Voldo’s helmet.
‘I have scanned the surroundings as best I can, brother-sergeant. The way back, as far as I can ascertain, is free bar this obstruction.’ He gestured to the blocked tunnel. ‘The Emperor closes one way, and presents us with another.’
‘Can we cut our way out?’
Gallio’s chainfist whined to a halt. He pulled Astomar free from the wreckage and surveyed the closed way. ‘How deep is it, Brother Eskerio?’
‘Fifteen point five metres.’
‘Density?’
‘This corridor and the ones above and below it have compacted into one, brother.’
‘Then it can be done, but it will take time.’
‘We have no time, brothers,’ said Azmael. Voldo flicked his eyes to the map the Blood Drinker’s auspex projected. Amid the visual noise of free-floating debris, bright blips flashed red, converging on the tunnel end.
‘Contacts,’ said Voldo.
‘It is hard to be sure, but it is a possibility, cousin-sergeant,’ said Azmael. His breath was laboured. It was costing him to keep his concentration on his device. ‘They move too smoothly to be anything other than organisms.’
‘Brother Tarael! You have multiple contacts converging on your position,’ said Alanius. ‘Retreat immediately! You will have to make your own way back, brother. Find Cousin Militor, return to the fleet, and tell of what has occurred here.’
Tarael’s reply was hard to make out. ‘Affirmative, brother-sergeant. May the wings of Sanguinius shield you.’
‘Emperor protect,’ said Voldo. ‘Go with speed, cousin.’
Tarael’s icon moved away then, as quickly as Terminator armour would allow. Before long he had reached the edge of the auspex’s range, and the blood drop and chalice denoting him slid out of view.
‘He should get clear,’ said Eskerio, tracking the movements of the genestealers, ‘if there are no new blockages on his route.’
‘The question is, adepts, what should we do?’ said Nuministon. ‘It is our predicament that requires the more urgent attention.’
Alanius strode over to the tech-priest, claws pointing. ‘If it were not for you, then our circumstances might be somewhat better, magos. I advise you to be careful in all that you say.’ His claws came to within centimetres of the magos’s face.
‘An interesting attitude,’ said Nuministon.
‘Brother-sergeant, please,’ said Voldo. ‘If we fall upon one another, we are surely lost.’
Alanius growled, for a moment Voldo thought he would gut the tech-priest there and then, but his gauntlet fell, and he let out a ragged breath.
‘You are correct.’
‘All is not lost, oh warriors of the Adeptus Astartes,’ said Nuministon. ‘I have the data from the device. If you give me but a moment, I should be able to process it within my own intelligence cores and supply it to you. With the Omnissiah’s bounty to hand, then we might find an alternate route from this place.’
‘Very well. Brother Eskerio, Brother Azmael, make use of what he can give you. Forgemaster Clastrin, I require your wisdom, if you please.’
Clastrin finished inspecting the armour of Astomar. He flicked an access panel closed with a manipulator on his servo-harness, and joined the sergeants.
‘Forgemaster, let we three talk in private,’ said Voldo. Clastrin nodded, and Alanius joined them in closed vox communication. ‘What is the status of our brethren?’
‘The harness of the Novamarines is all intact, brother-sergeant,’ said Clastrin. ‘We are low on ammunition. Brother Astomar has but one flask of promethium remaining.’
‘Five shots,’ said Alanius. ‘Unfortunate.’ He hefted his own claws. ‘These are weapons whose ammunition will never run dry.’
‘That is so,’ said Clastrin. ‘But for your Blood Drinkers, I have greater concerns. Brother Azmael is experiencing stiffness between the adjoining surfaces of his inner right pauldron and gardbrace. Not a serious malfunction, but it will restrict his right shoulder’s movement, and I cannot effect a repair here. To dismantle the assembly will take an hour or more, and the debris presents a problem – should any become lodged between the two plates, it will sicken his armour further. The repair should be undertaken in a clean and sanctified environment, and proper appeasement offered to his armour’s spirit lest the malfunction worsen.’
‘What of Brother Genthis?’ asked Alanius, glancing at his damaged Terminator armour.
‘That is an issue of greater consequence,’ said Clastrin. ‘The claws of the xenos bit deep. His sealant capsules have closed the rent fully, but fluctuations in his power plant output lead me to suspect his primary sternum power conduit to be damaged. On the face of it, it seems a small malfunction, but the spirit of his suit cannot feed properly, and with time it will bleed energy beyond tolerance.’
‘The armour will seize up?’ asked Voldo.
‘It will. Already his power plant labours hot to cover the shortfall this discharge creates, and his heatsinks struggle to compensate for the plant’s increased activity. In addition, the sealant has stopped all movement between his plastron and placard, while his left tuille has been torn free.’
‘Can he still fight?’ asked Alanius.
Clastrin shook his head. ‘It would be imprudent, brother-sergeant. His combat effectiveness is greatly compromised. I will pray for his wargear’s swift healing, but there is little of material benefit I can do here. We must look to the spirit of his equipment until the armour can be brought to your forge or mine and returned to full operational effectiveness.’
‘That leaves Brother Blood Drinker Curzon,’ said Voldo.
‘As far as I am able to tell, his armour is undamaged. Should the genestealers bypass him, you will be able to retrieve him later.’
‘That is a poor lot for a warrior,’ grumbled Alanius.
‘He will live to fight another day,’ said Clastrin in his twin voices. ‘That is something. Everything.’
‘Can the same be said for Brother Genthis?’ said Voldo.
‘Perhaps,’ said Clastrin. ‘He is still mobile. His power plant should function for several hours yet. There is every chance he will be extracted with us. He is aware of his limitations. His sensorium diagnostics have alerted him, and I took the liberty of explaining further that which was beyond his immediate comprehension. I have disabled certain of his sensorium’s feedback devices, lest the pain suffered by his harness overwhelm him.’
‘Fear not for Brother Genthis,’ said Alanius. ‘He is reckoned brave amongst the brave. He will prevail.’
‘Very well. All that remains then is for us to find our way free of this, and we may yet all return to the fleet,’ said Voldo.
‘Wait, brother,’ Clastrin stopped Voldo before he re-engaged his sensorium with that of the others. ‘The magos. He is hiding something.’
‘We were wrong to trust him,’ snarled Alanius. His battle frenzy had not yet fully receded.
‘Perhaps, perhaps not,’ said Clastrin. ‘But he did hold information from us regarding the true functioning of his device. The machine was calibrated to map the upper portions of the quadrants agreed by our leaders, but there is more to it than that. The machine is not only a passive receiver, but a seismic emitter in its own right.’
‘The foot?’ said Voldo.
‘The foot,’ said Clastrin. ‘He maintains the affair to be
a misunderstanding, that the foot sent a reply signal to data gatherers on the surface as he explained. This is almost certainly true.’
‘I do not understand,’ said Alanius. ‘Surely that is a worthwhile endeavour. Why did they not tell us of it? We could have adapted our approach accordingly.’
‘Because I believe its pounding had another purpose,’ said Clastrin. ‘It allowed a sounding deep into the hulk. I saw the data displayed for an instant before Nuministon shut off the device.’
‘I can only think they do not wish to share the data appertaining to the heart of the hulk,’ said Voldo.
‘That suggests the Mechanicus have an inkling what lies at the core. But what? And why will they not share their opinion?’
‘I suspect an archeotech hoard, Brother Voldo,’ said Clastrin. ‘Plosk did say he had been hunting this hulk for many years. Why this one? There must be some reason to his pursuit of it. When a valuable prize presents itself, the priests of Mars will do their utmost to keep its discovery to themselves. When they retrieve the archeotech, they will tell us as little of its nature as possible.’
‘You are well placed to know, Forgemaster,’ said Alanius.
‘Indeed. I am inducted into the lesser of their mysteries,’ said Clastrin plainly. ‘I doubt anything sinister on the part of my colleagues in steel and flesh, but the writ of the High Lord has made them arrogant. It is likely they see us as little more than means to their ends. They are not sharing all they know, and that will make our work here harder.’
‘At least we know now why Plosk was so insistent Nuministon accompany us,’ said Voldo. ‘We must return, and appraise Lord Caedis and Captain Galt of this. Cousin Alanius, I urge you, now is not the time to confront the tech-priest.’
Alanius glanced into the machine room, where Nuministon, Eskerio and Azmael stood by the tech-priest’s device.
‘I agree. I will stay my tongue and my hand, but if I have a sense of real treachery, it will go ill for him.’
Voldo broke the private conversation, and re-engaged his vox and sensorium with the rest of the party.
Space Marine Battles - the Novels Volume 1 Page 256