Kotov felt a tremor of unease at Galatea’s behaviour; like it was reaching out to something familiar, like a long lost friend or a forbidden object of desire.
‘No-one has seen it in that long,’ said Kotov.
Galatea’s head snapped up, and it snatched its hand back, as though caught in some forbidden act. The silver-eyed proxy body at the centre of its palanquin pulled back into itself.
‘You did not see it as we saw it,’ said Galatea. ‘That we can promise you. The greatest ship of its age, launched in glorious triumph, but mocked for daring to dream that the impossible could be within our grasp. You do not know, you cannot know, what that was like.’
‘You would be surprised,’ snapped Kotov, his own travails and losses having seen him set sail on this expedition under a similar cloud of criticism from his fellow Martian adepts. ‘But your recall of the Tomioka will have to wait, unless you have something useful to contribute?’
‘Like what lies inside,’ said Ven Anders. ‘That’s what I want to know. If we want to get inside that ship, then I want to know what my men are going to face.’
The Cadian colonel’s close-cropped hair was sheened in perspiration, for the running-heat of so many cogitation engines made this chamber a hothouse for mortals.
‘We know no more than you, Colonel Anders,’ said Galatea.
Anders ran a hand across his stubbled chin and said, ‘You know what? I don’t think I believe you. I think you know damn well what’s inside that ship, so how about you cut the crap and just tell us what you know.’
Galatea spread its hands in an empty gesture of apology. ‘The same umbra that inhibits Mistress Tychon’s augurs prevent us from learning more than you already know.’
Anders grunted in disbelief and shook his head. ‘You’re lying, and if any of my men die because of that, you have my word as an officer of Cadia that I’ll kill you.’
Kotov placed both hands on the edge of the plotting table and said, ‘We must proceed on the assumption that we will encounter further automated defences within the Tomioka. Colonel Anders, Sergeant Tanna and Magos Dahan, you should prepare your assault plans on that supposition.’
‘The skitarii should have the honour of breaching the hull of a Mechanicus vessel,’ said Dahan, squaring his shoulders as if daring anyone to contradict him. Kotov understood Dahan’s grandstanding. His warriors had been humbled, and only the intervention of Legio Sirius’s war-engines had finally ended the battle.
‘My Templars are better suited to fighting in such environments,’ said Tanna. ‘We should be first.’
‘With all due respect,’ said Anders. ‘There’s only five of you, and that’s a pretty big ship.’
‘I could conquer a world with five Black Templars,’ said Tanna.
Linya Tychon cut across the impending confrontation.
‘To gain access to areas of the ship that offer the best chance of finding what we came here for, there’s only one way anyone is getting inside the Tomioka,’ she said.
‘And what’s that?’ asked Anders. ‘The umbra’s still in place, so an aerial assault isn’t an option.’
‘The crystalline buttressing is too thick at the base of the tower,’ added Tanna.
‘The only way in is on the back of Lupa Capitalina,’ said Linya. ‘It has the capacity to carry two assault forces, and its height means it’s just below the ceiling of the umbra, but tall enough to carry us to where the ice around the ship’s base is thinnest.’
Anders grinned. ‘I’ve always wanted to ride into battle on the back of a god-machine.’
‘Should we expect to find more of those crystal beings inside?’ asked Tanna, already assimilating the addition of a Titan to his own deployment plans.
‘More than likely,’ said Kotov.
‘And do we have any idea what they are?’ asked Anders. ‘Magos Dahan, you got up close and personal with them. Any insights?’
Dahan stood with one shoulder hunched as three tech-menials and armourers worked on his damaged body. Shrouded fusion-welders worked beneath the folds of his mantle of bronze mail.
‘I have never seen their like,’ he admitted. ‘They were crystalline, that much was obvious, empowered by an energy source centred in their chests. Passive data recordings suggest it to be a form of bio-morphic induction energy, similar to that encountered by explorator teams excavating tomb structures on the southern fringes of Segmentum Tempestus.’
‘Necrontyr?’ asked Azuramagelli. ‘Surely it is impossible that such beings could be found beyond the galaxy’s edge.’
‘Pay attention, I said similar, not identical,’ said Dahan. ‘You have all parsed the data. Draw your own conclusions.’
‘They are not necrontyr,’ said Kotov.
‘Then what are they?’ demanded Tanna. ‘A new xenos-breed?’
Kotov shook his head. ‘Strictly speaking, no, they are not alive, though in manifesting cognitive awareness of their surroundings and behaviour that appears to be intelligently reactive, they could easily be mistaken for living organisms.’
‘That doesn’t answer his question,’ said Galatea, stretching one bio-mechanical hand into the image of the Tomioka. Kotov masked his irritation, but Galatea spoke again before he could continue. ‘You know as well as we do the nature of this foe.’
‘Archmagos?’ asked Anders, when Galatea didn’t continue.
‘I believe them to be a form of bio-imitative machinery seeded within the crystalline structure of the plateau,’ said Kotov. ‘Essentially, billions of micro-bacterial sized machines threaded through the crystalline matrix of the ground, each useless in and of itself, but capable of combining into something greater than the sum of its parts. They reacted to our presence, forming a mimicking force to repel us, like white blood cells rushing to the site of a biological infection.’
‘I have never heard of technology such as this,’ said Kryptaestrex, as though affronted by the idea. ‘Why has it not been recorded in the data-stacks of Mars?’
‘Because it was never brought to fruition,’ said Kotov. ‘Magos Telok pioneered this research after his expedition to Naogeddon in the turbulent years following the fall of the High Lord. He never presented his work to any Martian Frateris Conclave, because he could never get it to work.’
Anders tapped the flat slate of the surveyor grid. ‘Looks like he has now.’
‘If Telok never presented his findings, how do you know this, archmagos?’ asked Tanna.
‘Do you think I would mount an expedition such as this without preparation, Sergeant Tanna?’ asked Kotov, rising to meet the implied challenge. ‘Believe me when I say that I have studied all aspects of Archmagos Telok; his every published monograph, his every experimental record and every lunatic tale woven around him since he was inducted into the Martian priesthood and his expedition’s disappearance. My preparations were no less thorough than yours would be for battle. The key to understanding Telok, my Templar friend, is not just in learning everything, but in recognising what amongst that is of value and what is wanton embellishment.’
‘And what do those studies tell you, archmagos?’ asked Anders. ‘Why bother protecting a ship that’s going to be destroyed along with this planet?’
Kotov straightened, logic providing the only possible answer.
‘To keep the ship safe until it fulfils its function.’
‘And what function is that?’
‘I do not know,’ said Kotov. ‘I suspect we will only learn that once we go aboard.’
The range-finder in Tanna’s helmet told him the Tomioka was two kilometres distant, though its immense scale made it look far closer. The Mechanicus contingent, a curious mix of warriors and explorers surrounded by Dahan’s atmosphere-capable skitarii, occupied the port-side assault battlement, while he and his battle-brothers stood on the starboard shoulder mount of Lupa Capitalina alongside a he
avily-armed detachment of void-suited Cadians.
Tanna had seen the mortal soldiers training and knew them to be competent fighters, but they weren’t Adeptus Astartes and that made them inherently unreliable. He kept his thoughts from Apothecary Auiden, his body frozen in the Tabularium’s morgue, knowing it would only compromise his squad’s efficiency. But no matter how he tried to compartmentalise his mind, allowing the grief to build behind walls of discipline and psycho-conditioning, Tanna felt the loss keenly.
Yet another death that would see them lost without hope of returning to the Chapter.
Tanna knew his warriors were suffering too, but he had no words for them, no soul-lifting oratory to salve the loss of their Apothecary. Like Kul Gilad’s death, Auiden’s loss could not be laid at his feet, but Tanna knew it was his responsibility to ensure every warrior under his command came back alive. A task that every commander of warriors knew they would ultimately fail.
The Warlord’s rapid march was devouring the distance between the edge of the plateau and the vertical spire of the ship with every thunderous stride. Putting aside his mournful thoughts, he leaned over the cog-toothed battlements, seeing squadrons of Imperial Guard super-heavies and skitarii war machines following the god-engine. Both Warhounds wove a stalking path ahead of Lupa Capitalina, prowling like the superlative hunters they were.
Far behind the Warlord’s advance, well-defended work crews from the Tabularium were digging the Barisan from its enveloping crystal prison. The honourable gunship was to be brought back aboard the Speranza and made whole once again.
Tanna made a fist and placed it over his eagle-stamped breastplate.
‘You will fly again, great one,’ he whispered.
‘This isn’t right,’ said Varda, the Black Sword balanced over his shoulder guard and legs braced to counteract the swaying motion of the striding Warlord. ‘We came here expecting to find a crash site, the ruins of a dead ship rusting and decaying for the better part of four thousand years. But that vessel looks like it landed here a decade ago. What do you make of that, sergeant?’
Tanna felt the scrutiny of his battle-brothers and knew they expected a meaningful answer.
‘It tells me that we should expect this ship to be defended at every turn.’
Varda nodded, flexing his fingers on the hilt of the Black Sword.
‘By those crystal-forms?’
Tanna nodded. ‘That, and worse,’ he said. ‘We took no measures to avoid detection on our approach to the Tomioka, so it is reasonable to assume that any Mechanicus presence here, even an old one, is aware of our arrival.’
‘Clearly,’ agreed Varda. ‘What is your point?’
‘If Archmagos Kotov is so sure there is someone here, why has there been no response to our arrival on this world?’
‘You don’t think those… gnnnh… crystal-forms that killed Brother… nggg… Auiden were a response?’ declared Issur, his anger making his involuntary twitches even worse.
‘If Archmagos Kotov is correct then those things were an automated response,’ said Tanna.
‘Perhaps the ship is damaged and can no longer detect orbital traffic,’ suggested Bracha, pointing to the crystal growths extruded from the Tomioka’s forward compartments. ‘Or it is possible those things, whatever they are, interfere with the ship’s surveyors.’
Yael grunted. ‘Since when did you become a Techmarine?’
‘You have a better answer, boy?’
Before Yael could rise to Bracha’s caustic words, Tanna intervened.
‘Even if whoever is aboard this ship has lost the capability of detecting vessels in orbit, they cannot have failed to miss a battle on their doorstep. Not to mention the sight of a Warlord Titan approaching. But they have not reacted to our presence at all.’
‘Suggesting what?’ asked Varda.
‘One of two things,’ replied Tanna. ‘Either there is no one aboard that ship or they are waiting for us to get closer before revealing themselves.’
‘An ambush?’
‘We will proceed under that assumption,’ said Tanna, and the posture of his knights racked up from readiness to combat imminent.
‘So it’s going… nggg… to be like an assault into a… nnng… void-lost hulk?’ asked Issur.
‘That is an acceptable paradigm for what we should expect,’ said Tanna, well aware of the difficulties in clearing a space hulk: the darkness, the blind tunnels, the labyrinthine internal structure of the agglomerated vessels – some of which would undoubtedly be of xenos origin. Not to mention the unspeakable horrors that often lurked within, tyrannic life forms, greenskins, fleshless abominations from the warp or worse.
‘At least we will have gravity,’ said Yael, ever the optimist.
‘True, but everything will be canted at ninety degrees,’ pointed out Varda. ‘There will be no floors, only bulkheads for footholds and cross-passages for secure footing. Every metre of our advance will be like the ascent of a cliff.’
‘Enough,’ said Tanna. ‘This is no different to any other assault. We go in, we kill what we find.’
His certitude silenced them, but the unspoken consequence of their Apothecary’s death hung in the air between them like a curse. Nothing more was said until Lupa Capitalina’s advance had carried them to within five hundred metres of the Tomioka, and Tanna scanned the frozen cliffs encasing the lower reaches of the starship.
Glacial ice shimmered with rainbow patterns of violet light and reflected metallic glints swam in its depths. Without impurities, it was virtually transparent, and the distorted image of the entombed ship was like looking at something submerged on a shallow river bed.
Lupa Capitalina raised its plasma weapon to the level of its shoulders and traceries of blue-hot lightning arced from its power couplings. The plasma destructor was a vast, smooth-bored weapon the size of a boarding torpedo with heavy magnetic coiling wound tightly around its oval muzzle. The static buzz of developing power reacted with the voids in a series of squealing rainbow-hued borealis, causing the Cadians to flinch from the violent display of sun-hot energies. Shimmering waves hazed the air around the weapon – the heat of a star’s core primed and ready to be unleashed.
But instead of firing its most potent weapon, Lupa Capitalina thrust its fist forwards as though throwing a punch. A bow wave of heat turned the ice to vapour long before any impact, a hissing curtain of superheated steam billowing from the disintegrating ice. The towering Warlord took a single sidestep and the chained plasmic energies burned away the ice, carving into the entombing glacier.
The precision required for this manoeuvre astounded Tanna, who hadn’t truly believed the vast machine capable of achieving such finesse. Electrically-charged steam wafted through the voids, carrying the scent of incredible age, heated metal and chemically pure nitrogen.
When the hissing clouds were dispersed by the churning atmospherics, Tanna saw a wide gallery had been cut through the thick buttress supporting the lower reaches of the starship. What had been impenetrable only moments before was now open to the world, and through a curtain of melted ice, Tanna saw the gleaming wet flank of the Tomioka.
‘No remorse, brothers,’ said Tanna, as the assault ramp extended from the battlements. ‘No pity.’
‘No fear,’ came the answer from each warrior.
Abrehem turned over, trying to get comfortable on the makeshift bunk, no easy task when one shoulder was an unyielding metallic rotator-cuff. His weight was unbalanced and, until he’d had his arm replaced with an augmetic, he hadn’t realised how difficult that made it to sleep. The bed was a scavenged foldaway Hawke had sourced from Emperor-knew-where, uncomfortable, but better than what Abrehem had gotten used to. He stared at the chamber’s coffered ceiling, where faded representations of Sebastian Thor and his disciples looked back, always seeming to be highly interested in something just out of sight. The iron-wrought skulls
worked into the black walls gave the impression of being in a tomb or a temple, an impression only reinforced by the hunched shape seated upon the golden throne in the adjacent dormis chamber.
Rasselas X-42 wore the aggression-suppressing mechanisms of a pacifier helm, a device Totha Mu-32 assured him would keep the arco-flagellant in a trance-like state of childish bliss. Enraptured by visions of Imperiocentric ecstasy, Rasselas X-42 presented no threat to any living being unless Abrehem voiced the trigger phrase, something he had promised he would not do.
But given his current predicament, that wasn’t a promise he was sure he’d be able to keep.
Abrehem was a wanted man, a fugitive trapped on a starship with nowhere to run.
After Magos Saiixek had withdrawn his skitarii from the feeding hall, Hawke and Coyne had fled with him through the passageways they knew intimately well and yet not at all. Letting the Speranza or the Omnissiah guide them, they’d eventually reached the site of Hawke’s first alcohol still; now revealed to be the activation chamber for an arco-flagellant.
Even dormant, its malicious presence was palpable, a potential for horrific, bloody violence that infected the very air with toxic emanations. They’d cleaned the eldar blood and bodies away, but the memory of that near-instantaneous slaughter still haunted Abrehem. He shied away from thoughts of the slumbering killer and turned his attention to the chamber’s other occupant.
Ismael de Roeven, freshly clad in a robe of pale cream, sat on the floor with his back to the wall. The restored servitor had his knees drawn up to his chest and hadn’t said a word about the incident in the feeding hall. No matter how much Abrehem tried to coax him into an explanation of how he had managed to control those other servitors, Ismael wouldn’t – or couldn’t – say.
Abrehem had lost count of the hours he’d spent in this chamber while Totha Mu-32 and the others took stock of the Mechanicus response to a threatened servitor uprising. With nothing to do but wait until their return, Abrehem was growing ever more restless. He rolled onto his back and rubbed the heel of his flesh and blood palm over his eyes.
Forge of Mars - Graham McNeill Page 52