‘Whom do you speak to?’ asked Pillium. His eyes never left the door, as if all of his attention were focused on this one spot because it was the most likely place that danger would appear.
‘Major Roan.’
‘He is a punctual man, this Roan?’
‘Every week, by the hour, by the minute. He’s never missed a scheduled supply drop.’
‘Until now,’ said Pillium pointedly.
‘Until now.’
‘How many?’
‘Almost a hundred men, a full platoon.’
‘Any reported casualties?’
‘Not that I am aware of.’
‘And the reason for the quarantine order?’
‘Self-imposed by the commanding officer. Spates of mania, catatonic behaviour, some psychosis, though to be honest it’s not really my field. They were involved in the lower deck incursion a few weeks ago.’
Up until the most recent attack on the ship, the lower deck incursion had been the single worst and most penetrative assault the Emperor’s Will had suffered. Hundreds had lost their lives and several important shipboard systems had been destroyed. Roan’s men had fought in the engagement, albeit peripherally, and the trauma of it had inflicted psychological damage. Roan had simply done what any good officer would have done, made a hard choice and quarantined his platoon.
‘Have any tried to get out?’ asked Pillium.
‘Not recently, though no one is getting through this door without industrial-grade plasma cutters and even then that’s the work of hours, not minutes. We’d know if they had tried.’
‘How so?’ asked Pillium.
‘I beg your pardon, my lord?’
‘This deck has suffered power outages. Visual surveillance has been dark for weeks. How would you know if they had tried to escape or not?’
‘I… well, I don’t suppose…’ Sharna was sweating, and nervously glancing up at the monstrous Astartes, who stared coolly. ‘The door has not been tampered with, so I think we can assume–’
‘Then you assume they have not tried to escape.’
Sharna swallowed loudly. ‘Yes, of course. That’s it. Confinement was for their own safety,’ she added. ‘There’s no contagion here.’
‘It’s a disease of the mind, quartermaster. I expected not.’
‘Ideas can be contagious…’
Pillium turned his hard gaze in Sharna’s direction as if weighing the meaning of her words. She froze, imagining the ice creeping up her spine to be literal.
He turned away, allowing her to breathe again, and murmured something into his vox that Sharna didn’t catch before declaring, ‘Open the gate.’
His brethren took a step forwards at the same time and she could feel the tension ratchet up by several degrees. The fear instinct in her brain kicked in, that animal imperative that results in either fight or flight. Sharna doubted she was suited to either, and was glad of the small bodyguard of armsmen she had been afforded. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the Ultramarines, she just didn’t know or understand them. Certainly, ten armed and armoured Adeptus Astartes would prove a more effective deterrent than a hundred armsmen, but she felt comfort in the presence of her own kind, even if there were only five of them in carapace and flak-vests.
Sharna nodded and went to input the access codes that would unlock the gate. She caught the faintest whirr of movement, the micro-tremors of power-armoured servos tensing for immediate and explosive activation.
‘Secutius,’ she heard Pillium say into the vox, just loud enough for Sharna to make out the name of the other sergeant.
The second five-man squad of Ultramarines in the background moved up to support the first. They occupied a slightly refused position as Pillium and his squad took point. She assumed Secutius’ squad were there for her protection.
The gate took a few seconds to move, and even then the motion was slow. Pneumatic pressure hissed and ghosted in the air as it was expelled. The reek of stagnation and other less salubrious aromas came with it as the atmosphere of the sealed deck spilled out. Supplies had previously been delivered through maintenance hatches and via tracked servitor units. A recently revived pict screen that provided a view into the deck showed a grainy, black-and-white threshold and the supply crate unclaimed and untouched.
As the gate rolled aside, its pneumatic locks now fully disengaged, that self-same supply crate was revealed in full colour and clarity. Dingy lighting flickered over the scene, kept that way so as not to aggravate the warp sickness that had befallen the entirety of Major Roan’s regiment, the 45th Mordian. Sepulchral as the vista and overall atmosphere appeared, Sharna felt an instant prickling of apprehension at the revealed stillness. A weird, crepuscular quality had settled over the deck, the air musty and softened by a sweaty fog.
Poised at the threshold, Pillium listened. Sharna could hear nothing beyond the usual settling of metal and the groaning shift of the deck itself. She assumed the Adeptus Astartes had greater aural acuity and that when Pillium ordered the advance that he had discerned nothing untoward.
As they walked slowly beyond the threshold, Sharna reflected on how the presence of the Ultramarines had quelled discontent in the lower decks almost immediately. Order had been restored, and with it proper function. It came as no surprise to her that this was accomplished through fear and the salient reminder that all must do their duty and make the appropriate sacrifice if anyone was to survive. How that situation could be maintained in the absence of the Space Marines she did not know, but she chose to focus on the present. Let such problems be consigned to the uncertain future.
‘Seal the gate, quartermaster,’ said Pillium once they were all inside.
‘I beg your pardon, sire?’
‘No one gets in or out without my sanction,’ he said firmly, and Sharna had wit enough to obey without further question. Though the thought of being locked in here terrified her, even with all of her bodyguards.
She re-engaged the locks and watched as the heavy portal rolled back into position, sealing with a dolorous clang.
EYE
Sergeant Ludik hurried down the main arterial. He bypassed the barracks where the off-shift armsmen were taking advantage of a forty-five-minute sleep rotation and carried right on in the direction of the lieutenant’s personal quarters.
A few feet from the turn where Reda’s corridor was situated, Ludik saw another armsman coming his way. At first, in the low and sporadic light, he thought it was the lieutenant, securing her belt, adjusting her breastplate and helmet. He was about to call out when he recognised Trooper Gerrant. Ludik frowned as the two men met each other going in opposite directions.
‘I thought you were on sleep rotation, trooper?’ he asked.
‘I am, sergeant,’ Gerrant replied. ‘Couldn’t settle, warp insomnia, so I went for a walk.’
‘Did it work?’
Gerrant yawned. ‘I hope so.’ He went on his way.
‘Rotation is almost over,’ called Ludik.
‘I’d best sleep fast then.’
Confused, Ludik shrugged and carried on until he reached Reda’s door. He knocked twice, hard with the side of his fist.
He heard a voice from the other side – nothing distinct, just assorted murmurings – and then Lieutenant Reda opened the door. ‘Forget something…?’
Ludik swallowed hard. He had never heard the lieutenant speak in this way. She almost sounded playful. She also looked a little dishevelled, her hair slightly wild and her shirt and fatigues loose.
‘Shit! Ludik, it’s you. What the hell is it, sergeant?’
‘I’m sorry, lieutenant. I did not wish to disturb you, I realise you are still healing and–’
‘Throne! Out with it, sergeant. Why are you here?’
‘There has been an incident.’
‘What?’ She scowled. ‘What kind of incident?’
‘The sanctum. Navigator Barthus. A squad went in to… ah, retrieve him. After what happened to Lord Arkaedron, he’s needed.’
/>
Reda’s expression darkened, grew haunted. ‘I know what happened to Arkaedron, I was bloody well there.’
‘And so you understand then, lieutenant. The Navigator…’
‘Yes, I understand,’ she said, her irritation returning. ‘What I don’t understand is why you’re standing at my door?’
‘I have lost contact with the squad.’
‘And what do you want me to do about it? Where’s Kraef?’
Ludik paled a little. ‘The colonel went in after Elam’s squad. I haven’t heard back from him either.’
Reda frowned, the gravity of what Ludik was saying starting to settle. ‘Nothing?’
‘Just vox static.’
‘Could be interference? The sanctum is psy-warded.’
‘I considered that, but no. The signal is live, there is simply no response. Either they won’t answer or they can’t.’
Reda paused, seemingly weighing up a decision.
‘Shit,’ she muttered under her breath, reaching for her gear.
‘Should I alert the Adeptus Astartes?’ Ludik offered.
‘Absolutely not,’ she answered from behind the door. When she reappeared, she had fully dressed and was pulling on her flakweave vest. She’d already clipped on her belt, the power maul deactivated on its tether. ‘I don’t want them thinking we can’t handle our own business. We can deal with this,’ Reda added, slinging her combat shotgun on its strap over her shoulder and grabbing up her helmet and carapace breastplate. ‘It’s probably an equipment malfunction or power outage. Entire ship is susceptible.’
‘Of course, lieutenant.’
‘Good. Now,’ said Reda, struggling with the breastplate. ‘Help me get this damn thing on, and then I want you and four others with me.’
‘I saw Trooper Gerrant just now in the corridor,’ offered Ludik, tightening up Reda’s armour straps as she adjusted the fit.
‘Fine,’ she said, not missing a beat, ‘him and three others. Let’s move.’
The part of the ship that housed the sanctum was all but deserted. A few lone servitors walked the decks, but other than that not a soul stirred in the gloomy, echoing depths. The ceiling lamps flickered constantly, an irritating insect buzz grating at the senses before a plink of deactivation and then cooling silence. A second later and the lights flared again, bright and angry.
The sharp report of the armsmen’s footfalls resonated loudly, the sound magnified by a stark sense of isolation. A wall-mounted vox-caster crackled out static. Occasionally the hiss and fizz of dead air coalesced into half-heard words and phrases. Just another gift of the warp and another reason, if they really needed one, to fetch Barthus and get him back to his station on the bridge.
After the repairs and the inevitable purges at the points where the ship had fallen under assault, the Emperor’s Will had been becalmed for weeks. The crew had suffered. Violent outbreaks and paranoid episodes had worsened. Most of that time Reda had spent unconscious or recovering from her wounds, but she had heard stories. More scars had been stitched into her body. They itched like false flesh. The mental wounds went deeper still, her nightmares often taking the form of a hulking warrior encased in spiked armour, or a sickle-mouthed vagrant dragging the chains of his damnation behind him.
‘Does it feel cold to you?’ asked Reda. ‘It feels cold.’ She neglected to mention the figure in military dress she saw ahead, his face masked by the shadows. He never came with sleep. He only visited her during her waking hours, with the sort of frequency that Reda could not put down to fatigue or a trick of the light.
Ludik nodded, and blew out a plume of white vapour. He rubbed his hands together for warmth.
‘It’s usually hotter than this. The vents from the enginarium feed into this section.’
‘Was it like this before?’ Reda asked, exchanging a brief glance with Gerrant. He had three other troopers with him, Orrin, Pasco and Careda.
‘Not like this,’ Ludik replied. ‘I thought it might be a power outage. Something related to the heat exchangers?’
‘Those furnaces keep burning in the event of a power outage,’ Reda countered. ‘They don’t just go out if there’s a turbine malfunction. And on a ship this size? That amount of heat? You’re talking years.’
‘Sanctum up ahead,’ Gerrant cut in, an autocarbine braced across his body.
‘Is this a combat situation, lieutenant?’ asked Pasco, an overly firm quality to her voice.
‘I don’t know what it is yet,’ Reda confessed. ‘The only weapons in the sanctum are whatever Kraef and his men took in with them. Even so, keep that flamer handy.’
‘Are we planning on burning out the Navigator?’ asked Gerrant.
‘I hope not,’ said Reda as they reached the sealed door to the sanctum, ‘but I’m not rejecting anything at this point.’
The lights were out, so the armsmen turned on the lamp packs attached to their weapons. Six grainy beams of pale light stabbed into the darkness of the sanctum and hovered in mid-air.
‘Keep it steady,’ Reda said, quietly but firmly, when she noticed Orrin’s lamp beam shaking erratically.
‘Sorry, lieutenant,’ he replied, ‘it’s freezing in here.’
Reda couldn’t argue with that. She traced her gloved fingers down the wall and left four mushy streaks in the glittering frost. ‘Could be a heating malfunction,’ she murmured, examining the white powder on her fingertips.
‘They could be anywhere in here,’ said Gerrant.
‘Sanctum’s not that large,’ Reda countered.
‘Feels pretty large about now.’
‘I didn’t think you were scared of the dark, Gerrant.’
‘I’m not. I’m scared of what’s in it,’ he said. ‘I’m just saying, lieutenant, Kraef, Elam and the others came in here and they haven’t come out, so where are they?’
Reda listened, thinking.
They had stalled about twenty feet beyond the threshold, loitering in a loose defensive formation, guns trained on the shadows. A corridor led into a vaulted atrium, which in turn led to the rest of the sanctum. This was the Navigator’s domain, his expansive quarters aboard ship when he wasn’t performing his duties.
‘I heard he went insane,’ whispered Orrin, as if to speak of it aloud was taboo or would turn the rumour into fact.
‘He saw something he shouldn’t have. It took a toll,’ said Careda.
‘You know or you heard?’ asked Pasco.
‘Shut up,’ snapped Gerrant.
‘But–’ Pasco began to protest.
Ludik turned and glared at her.
‘He said shut up, trooper. It’s good advice. Take it.’
Reda agreed, silently impressed with Ludik’s reading of the situation.
A slow, metronomic drip-drip could be made out farther into the sanctum. Reda considered it might be the condensing effect of the heat exchangers trying to kick in and melting some of the ice.
‘Ludik, try the vox again.’
A sudden burst of static almost made her drop her shotgun and she glared knives at Ludik who raised a hand contritely.
‘Just static,’ he said, the hiss of the receiver proof of his words.
‘The signal is getting through though?’
‘Yes, lieutenant.’
‘Then say something.’
Ludik did. He stated his name and rank, then requested confirmation of message received. His voice echoed from somewhere deeper in the cold darkness.
‘Follow it,’ said Reda, and Gerrant led them out. ‘Pasco, take the flank and keep that burner lit. Ludik, repeat the message every ten seconds so we can pinpoint the source.’
They got moving again, treading carefully but with more confidence now they had a plan.
That confidence evaporated as soon as they found Colonel Kraef.
A lamp beam strafed across him slumped against the wall. He had come to rest in a large chamber, part of the outer sanctum, sat on his backside with his booted feet sticking out.
Orri
n nearly tripped over them and swore.
‘Get a light on him,’ snapped Reda, slinging her shotgun over her shoulder and sinking down next to her commanding officer.
Careda’s beam alighted on Kraef’s face. He cursed as soon as he saw what had become of it.
‘Throne…’ hissed Pasco.
Kraef had taken his own eyes. A bloodstained combat knife lay within reach, his arms by his sides. He had taken off his patrol cap, which sat in his lap.
‘Is he alive?’ asked Pasco.
‘His lips are moving,’ noted Gerrant.
‘What’s he saying?’ asked Pasco.
Reda leaned in, suddenly aware that her breathing and heart rate had increased. Ghostly white clouds were spilling from her mouth.
She got as close as she dared, feeling the gentle touch of Kraef’s breath against her cheek as she listened.
She frowned. ‘Eye…’
‘What?’ asked Gerrant.
‘He’s just saying “eye”, over and over.’ She leaned back, tried to look at Kraef’s mutilated face. Ludik’s fear breathing was sawing through the vox-unit attached to Kraef’s breastplate. ‘Shitting hell, Ludik,’ Reda snapped, glancing over her shoulder.
Ludik turned off the receiver, muttering an apology.
Reda returned her attention to Kraef.
‘Sir,’ she began. ‘Can you hear me, sir? It’s Lieutenant Reda.’
Kraef didn’t respond.
‘Sir, it’s Arna. Colonel, what happened to you?’
Still nothing.
Pasco’s flamer rumbled dulcetly but provided no comfort.
‘He’s catatonic,’ she said. ‘What could have made him like that?’
Reda got to her feet. ‘Careda, Orrin, get the colonel out of here.’
‘Lieutenant…’ Orrin began.
‘Just obey the order, trooper.’
‘No, lieutenant. It’s…’ Orrin was facing the way they had come. ‘It’s Barthus.’
Orrin’s lamp beam fell on a huddled figure in dirty green robes.
‘Oh, shit…’ hissed Pasco, bringing up her flamer.
Knights of Macragge - Nick Kyme Page 7