There was a brief flash. A punishing electromagnetic wavefront blasted out from the device, then another, then three more in quick succession.
The energy shield was extinguished. The pulses hit the Space Marines and the tech-priests hard. Cawl let out an electronic squawk. Qvo staggered. Felix’s displays crackled off and his power plant was knocked offline, even though his armour was hardened against haywire attacks. The Space Marines sagged, forced to rely on their own strength to stand in their heavy battle suits.
The necron drones were far worse affected. The green lights burning in their eyes went out in a spreading ripple. The glow emanating from their innards guttered and died. Wings froze. Gravitic impellers cut out.
‘By the Emperor,’ swore Thracian.
The swarm collapsed.
With a crash of metal, hundreds of drones fell from the air onto the Space Marines. Qvo threw himself down under Felix, who crouched to protect him. Tullio hunkered down, his hands held over his unarmoured head. The drones battered at the warriors. They were hefty, and rang from ceramite with punishing force. Together, they pummelled the warriors of the Emperor into the ground. Only Cawl stood unaffected, the drones slamming into his conversion field where their mass was annihilated and converted into searing bursts of light.
Felix knelt trapped and dazed under a pile of alien metal. His armour clicked and whined as it attempted to restart its power feed. Chimes sounded. His displays blinked back on.
He heaved himself up. The inert shells of xenos drones slithered off him.
Qvo cowered on the ground.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Felix. He offered a hand. Qvo took it and pulled himself upright.
‘I live,’ said Qvo.
Space Marines stirred under a silver carpet as thick as fish poured from a pelagic harvester’s nets. Metal clattered. Cawl looked upon them all with an amused expression.
‘I told you to inform me of your actions, archmagos!’ Felix said.
Cawl chuckled. ‘And spoil the surprise? There was no time.’
‘The phrase “haywire pulse” takes less than a second to voice,’ said Felix.
‘Well,’ said Cawl, which along with a shrug was halfway to an admission of guilt. ‘We’re all alive, aren’t we?’ A mechadendrite darted from his casing and plucked up one of the robots from the floor. Its legs were curled inwards, making it look like a sculpture of a dead arthropod. Cawl shook it then tossed it aside. ‘All things are dependent on the motive force, that will always be a weakness, even for the necrons,’ he said. ‘Although they are somewhat inured to these tactics, so I apologise for the strength of the pulse. Their circuitry must be burned out, it is the only way. Now we must be quick. The immediate threat is past, but the peace is temporary. A facility like this can manufacture an infinity of these devices, and worse. Now we have acted against the mountain, larger and more dangerous constructs will be awakening. Even these will not lie dead for long. Already their self-repair mechanisms begin to make good the damage caused.’
‘Then what is your suggestion?’ said Felix.
‘I have another solution to the problem of the swarms. But to effect it we must go into the Pharos now, where I may interface with its control matrix. The longer we delay the more danger we are in.’
‘Agreed,’ said Felix. ‘I have ordered the Overlord to relocate to the north pad. We now have a way out.’
‘Wise,’ said Cawl.
‘There is more, and you will not object to it,’ said Felix. ‘I have ordered my ship into an anchorage geosynchronous with the mountain. As we speak, its weapons are trained upon the Pharos. If we are not out of this facility before twelve hours have passed, it will be destroyed. If we leave before then, it will be destroyed. If the shipmaster deems fit, it will be destroyed. There is no scenario, Cawl, that sees this mountain remaining intact.’
‘I agree,’ said Cawl, affecting surprise. ‘Why would I not? Send them these codes, and the Zar Quaesitor will help in the destruction. I shall have what I need by then.’
Cawl canted a hefty spread of data to Felix. The tetrarch tasked his cogitator to reroute it to the Lord of Vespator.
‘I am sorry, Thracian,’ said Felix, turning to the Chapter Master. ‘I had hoped to return your fortress-monastery to you, but this device is too dangerous to be permitted to stand.’
Thracian and the remaining Scythes of the Emperor stared at him long enough that Felix thought they would object, but then Thracian nodded.
‘I agreed to its destruction, if necessary,’ he said. ‘Nothing that has occurred here alters that. We lost our fortress-monastery to one alien horror, now another awakens. Mount Pharos belongs to the past. Let the Chapter find a new home now. I told you I would not object, and I do not.’
‘I am glad you agree.’
‘I will follow you willingly, tetrarch, but I have a request.’
‘Name it.’
‘Allow us to leave you now. We must attend to our own task. Performing the last rites for our old geneseed is a matter of honour. Our Chapter has come to the ending of an era. We must lay our legacy to rest.’
They are hiding something. Cadmus’ words came back to Felix. He almost asked them what it was. He did not. The question died inside him. Sometimes, a man must bear his shame alone.
‘Go with my blessing, Chapter Master. Twelve hours, no more. Be at the north landing pad or die with your ancestors.’
Thracian took Felix’s arm in the ancient warrior’s clasp, wrist to wrist.
‘It has been my honour to fight with you, tetrarch. Sothara is in good hands. Destroy this place. Do not let a necron tomb world rise here to add to the sector’s woes.’
‘Oh,’ said Cawl cheerfully. ‘I have already said that it is not a tomb world, Chapter Master. It is something far worse than that.’
Before they opened the blast doors to descend back down to the Hall of the Founder, Felix voxed Diamedes and Austen. Already the Pharos was beginning to overcome the boosted vox signal, and he spoke hastily, ordering Austen to lead the tanks back down the mountain to Odessa Port, which was at sufficient distance to escape the destruction of the mountain. Austen would drive the lead tank, while the others would slave link to his, and proceed under the direction of their machine-spirits.
Diamedes he ordered to bring armour spares up into the Hall of the Founder, though he urged him to take all caution as he came within the monastery, where he would link with Cadmus and Tullio, aid Tullio in rearmament and then accompany them to the northern pad. Tullio was too injured to fight on, and Felix feared the occurrences in the monastery may affect Cadmus’ judgement. Together, the three of them were to secure the pad and await the gunship.
That left Felix, Gathein, Cominus, Ixen, Troncus, Daelus and Yansar to accompany Cawl, Qvo and Alpha Primus. Thracian’s depleted party made ready to leave, with their geneseed vault and their recovered dead protected by their remaining three Terminators.
They all faced the blast doors, waiting for Cawl and Qvo to override the mechanisms. Felix kept a wary eye on the mound of disabled drones, but they did not move. Finally, the tech-priests were finished.
‘These doors will never close again, once we are through. Are we ready?’ Cawl hummed.
‘We are,’ said Felix.
‘Then I bid thee, machine-spirits, open this door for the final time.’
Felix couldn’t tell if Cawl were being sincere or was grandstanding. It could well have been both.
The door opened, and they went down wide marble stairs back into the Hall of the Founder, where Cawl once again busied himself at the centre of the room.
‘Tetrarch,’ said Thracian, ‘it is now that we shall part ways.’
‘Emperor be with you, brother,’ said Felix.
The Scythes filed past onto the downward staircase, carrying their dead. Thracian waited for the gene vault and
its Terminator escort to begin its descent, then slammed his fist against his breastplate in salute.
‘Farewell, Decimus Felix.’
With that he turned and followed his men into the dark.
‘We shall not see him again,’ said Alpha Primus.
‘They may survive,’ said Felix.
‘They will not,’ said Primus. ‘They do not intend to live.’
Cawl was up against the wall towards the rear of the Hall of the Founder, running his hands and other appendages over the marble facing still surviving. ‘Did you notice anything strange about Thracian, Decimus?’ he asked. A mechadendrite played a scan beam over a decorated panel. Metal knuckles knocked on the stone.
‘He is hiding something, so Cadmus said.’
‘What, though?’ said Cawl. ‘Did you not see the modifications to his armour?’
‘There were many,’ said Felix. ‘Field repairs, honours and battle trophies.’
Cawl looked at him while his supplementary limbs continued their work. ‘Really, Decimus. Did you not see anything more significant?’
‘No.’
‘Ah well, the modifications are subtle, and so I suppose easy to miss.’
‘I will put you out of your misery, lord tetrarch,’ said Primus, prompting a grumble from Cawl.
‘You spoil my fun,’ said Cawl, and went back to feeling the marble.
‘Then do you command me not to speak, master?’
‘No, go ahead,’ said Cawl, moving onto the next panel. He gestured impatiently at Qvo-87 to come to his side. ‘Felix obviously did not see. Enlighten him.’
Primus’ glum manner had a hint of amusement. ‘The Chapter Master was wearing a psychic inhibitor as part of his panoply. It was situated at the back of his helmet though I noticed it because of its effect – Thracian is surrounded by a null-field.’
‘What of it?’
‘It is a weak field. Devices like that are of little use against battle psykers or sorcery,’ said Primus.
‘They are commonly worn by those who wish to remain unobtrusive. Criminals. Petty witches. So we have to ask why a Chapter Master of the Adeptus Astartes was wearing it,’ said Cawl. ‘Either he was an undeclared psyker of mean talents, which is unlikely, or we have to consider what possible benefit it could bring him in this particular place?’
‘Are you suggesting he was seeking to block out the genestealers’ psychic net?’
‘It would make sense, don’t you think?’ said Cawl. ‘A low level psychic field like that could be disrupted by such a device. Come on, he is wearing a psy-suppressor. A null-field. Why do you think that is?’
‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me,’ said Felix wearily.
Cawl reared up. ‘Think! That’s why I’m talking to you, my boy. You think I patronise you. I do not. You have a keen mind. It is time to use it. Item one – why is Thracian wearing a null-field?’
‘The Scythes are compromised,’ said Felix.
‘It would explain their secrecy,’ said Cawl. ‘It’s only an idea, and not that I’m right all of the time, but,’ he said slyly, ‘if they are, then we must address item two – what do they have in their box?’
‘The box? It is a gene vault.’
‘Is it?’ said Cawl. ‘Now, here I think.’ A short-range laser flashed at the end of a metal tentacle, scoring an x into the stone. ‘Alpha Primus, if you would.’
Primus searched around the statues, paying close attention to their weapons.
‘What do you mean?’ said Felix. ‘About Thracian.’
‘All in good time. You think about it. I have finished with the subject.’ Cawl came scuttling over to Felix. ‘This place is marked in the old books as Primary Location Alpha. Before it was a memorial to the Scythes of the Emperor’s first Master, it was the centre of research in this mountain. It is named in the books remaining as a tuning stage. It is an apt name. You saw the phantoms we conjured here?’
‘They were hard to miss, archmagos,’ Felix said.
‘Quite. Well, that was my attempt to see if the mechanisms that underpin Primary Location Alpha worked. The mechanisms of the necrons are nothing so crude as moving parts and wires, but atomic arrangements of the most sublime intricacy built into the very stone. From what little remains in the library, I was led to understand that this location was irreparably damaged during the Heresy. It has evidently repaired itself to a degree. However, it does not have the full functionality that I require. Once, this place could project a living being instantaneously across the cosmos. It could send information anywhere in the galaxy.’
‘We do not require those things.’
‘No, we require a map,’ said Cawl. ‘I need to find my way into the belly of this machine before you vaporise it. We can’t do that without a map. This facility does not exist in solely four dimensions. If we go in without a map, we will never come out. I can access the infosphere of the device, but it has yet to regain full functionality. For that we must go deeper.’
‘What is your ultimate goal?’
‘To reach the centre, the Heart of the Pharos. This map will lead us to another map. The second map is what I seek.’
Alpha Primus stopped by the statue of a Chapter Master whose hand rested on the counterweight of a two-handed hammer. He grabbed the handle, and heaved at it, snapping the handle halfway down and yanking the head from its seat. He hefted it as if it were a real weapon, and strode to the marked section.
‘Stand back, everyone!’ Cawl shouted.
Primus hit the marked spot three times. With each strike chips of marble flew. Upon the third blow the hammer shattered into lumps of stone as it crashed through the wall facing. Primus discarded the sculpture and used the opening to wrench the wall away.
On the other side was a surface of blackstone. Halfway across the hole Primus had made the stone turned into ferrocrete, rough with age and discoloured by mineral leaching.
‘Expose more, if you would, Primus!’ Cawl asked.
‘Yes, master,’ Primus replied. He tore down the marble with his bare hands, pulling away whole panels now he could brace himself against the hidden stone of the mountain. In a few minutes, he had revealed a plugged tunnel leading out from the Hall of the Founder.
‘Our way is blocked,’ said Felix.
‘Only for a moment,’ said Cawl. He moved his immense self to the middle of the chamber and raised his hands, then dropped them. ‘You asked me to inform you the next time I did anything dramatic. I am about to. In a few moments, the scarab swarm will be brought back to life, and it will come down those stairs there. They will get us into the Pharos.’
‘How?’ said Felix.
Cawl raised his hands. ‘The breadth of my knowledge is quite amazing, Decimus. They will get us in, because they will be under my control. Now, I advise you to stand back, warriors. You don’t want to get in their way.’
Cawl smiled. He held up his arms. The mountain trembled with the activity of hidden alien machinery.
‘Watch,’ he said.
Chapter Seventeen
The Gates of Death
Down the stairs from the Hall of the Founder were the catacombs of the Chapter. That section of the fortress-monastery alone occupied parts of the alien labyrinth, the rest avoiding the Pharos’ blackstone core and either burrowing through the basalt shell or built atop of it. It was dark down there, and eternally silent, the perfect home for the dead.
At the foot of the stairs was a broad corridor that headed down at a steady angle. For part of the way the walls were ancient masonry, different in style to the rest of the fortress, hiding the black uncanny stone of the Pharos. Legend had it that the Sons of Dorn had built that part of the Scythes’ home. If they had, Thracian and the rest had no idea why.
After a time the ancient masonry ceased, and stonework nearly as old but differently dressed took its
place. The work was inferior, and in those parts tremors and the actions of tyranids had taken part of the walls down. Behind them the mountain’s alien rock gleamed.
Thracian and his men proceeded on high alert. They could have run to the tombs in minutes, but they went at a cautious pace, guns held at readiness. Every shadow was scanned and checked. Soft lightning played around power weapons. Their auspexes and other devices were useless. The mountain throbbed now with the activity of the xenos machines, and tremors coursed from depths to summit with predictable regularity.
Hadrios had the keys to all of this. Thracian interrogated his memories, trying to place him in some context before the flight from the fortress-monastery, but he could not. Nobody, it seemed, could remember Hadrios before the fall. It wasn’t unusual in a Chapter of a thousand and more members, especially when elements of the order could be away on campaign for decades, but Hadrios insisted he had been present at the monastery and had escaped himself. Perhaps he had. It was impossible to say what was truth and what was a lie.
Like fools, they had accepted his story. They had accepted him, each assuming the others knew him, none of them ever checking. Not one of them had put the pieces together. When they turned their attention towards the matter of the infiltrators, their vision was obscured. They became pliant, stupid. Aratus had said repeatedly that they had had no choice, that they were victims of xenos conspiracy. This message formed a large part of Thracian’s reconditioning. Aratus said what Hadrios had done could never be undone. Thracian refused to believe they had no choice. They had been weak. There were no innocents when it came to failure.
The things he had discovered, after the full horror of the situation came to light, chilled Thracian to the core still.
He felt the nullifier nestling against the back of his neck. He felt the shame it represented. He felt more at having deceived the tetrarch.
He was impure.
Every shadow, every crack in the wall, every tunnel uncovered by the Pharos’ shifting, they approached as if it were an armoured portal with enemies behind. It was tedious. They were chafing to get on with the mission, but Thracian trusted only the tenets of the Codex Astartes and applied Guilliman’s wisdom to the letter. He did not trust his own judgement any longer.
Belisarius Cawl- the Great Work - Guy Haley Page 21