Dark Imperium: Godblight

by Guy Haley

  Felix walked to the wall and looked out, unconsciously following the movement of the missile system.

  ‘An endless watch, tetrarch,’ said a voice Felix knew. He turned about and met the gaze of another Space Marine.

  ‘Codicier Donas Maxim,’ he said, and let his pleasure at seeing the man show in his voice. ‘I have not met with you in some time. It is good to do so again.’

  They clasped forearms as warriors did, wrist to wrist, ceramite vambraces touching.

  ‘Good to see you too, tetrarch.’ Maxim stood by Felix.

  ‘You have undergone the Calgar Procedure,’ Felix said. ‘When?’

  ‘Two weeks ago. It only seemed right,’ said Maxim. ‘I thought that here was a way to make me better able to serve the Imperium. I had no right to turn down the chance. The risks were commensurate with the gain.’

  ‘I am curious to know what effect it has on the firstborn. How do you feel?’

  ‘Bigger,’ said Maxim.

  Felix snorted.

  ‘I mean it,’ said Maxim. ‘It is strange to grow suddenly. I was one shape for three hundred years, and now I am another, though I think what I like best is your wargear,’ he said. He opened one gauntleted hand and examined it. ‘Superior in every way. It should be made more widely available.’

  ‘I sometimes think Cawl refuses to manufacture his weapons to suit the firstborn in order to tempt them to cross the Rubicon,’ said Felix.

  Now Maxim gave a brief laugh. ‘Perhaps. I am sure the real reason is far more practical. The firstborn are a dying kind. Why waste resources on them? I suspect that is closer to the truth. I for one appreciate my new form, and the strength it gives.’ He paused. ‘It was worth the experience of having my bones melted from the inside out, anyway. And I am told the residual pain will pass.’

  ‘You have fought much, since I saw you on Macragge, I understand.’

  ‘The primarch has had me busy,’ said Maxim. ‘After Mortarion’s challenge to him at Hecatone, he summoned me back from my Chapter, and had me join his Concilia Psykana. After a few months of that, I began to consider crossing the Rubicon. The things I have seen and done…’

  Maxim was not an overly emotionless sort, Felix thought, but a little strain crept into his voice.

  ‘I understand. I was there three weeks ago, remember, at the interro-gation.’

  ‘How could I forget? That sort of thing is the least of it. I’ve faced my fair share of warp peril in my time, but these years have been unprecedented. There are daemons everywhere, while the number of psykers climbs every higher. The universe is saturated with the wickedness of Chaos, tetrarch.’ He stopped. ‘Enough of my woes, how goes it in the east?’

  ‘It goes,’ said Felix. ‘Oftentimes I think the task given me is beyond my ability, but I persist.’

  ‘In that we share something,’ said Maxim. ‘This is why you walk the walls without your Chosen? It is why I roam tonight.’

  ‘It is,’ said Felix. ‘That, and the wait before the battle is always the worst of times. The anticipation of slaughter, the possibility of death. I admit, I have come to enjoy the resolution of disputes that do not require a bolt rifle.’

  ‘I am sure you have. Whereas I long for troubles simple enough to be solved by a gun.’

  They fell silent a moment, enough time for the missile system to makes its traversal three times. Clunk, jerk, whirr. Magical lightnings raced through the sky. The planet was being smothered by the warp.

  ‘I heard you found a spy, a daemon of some sort,’ said Felix.

  ‘You are not the primarch’s watcher now,’ said Maxim.

  ‘Yet I would still like to know,’ said Felix. ‘Will you not tell me?’

  ‘I will tell you. I rile you a little for my own amusement,’ said Maxim. He took a deep breath, rasping in his helmet. ‘It was a plague imp of some sort, of a kind I have never seen before, and its manner of control over its host was unusual. Not a possession, more of a parasite. It had hold of a captain of the Ultramarian Auxilia. I drove it out.’

  ‘Terrible,’ said Felix. ‘I commend the poor man’s soul to the protection of the Emperor.’

  Maxim glanced at him. ‘Oh, he’s not dead,’ said the Codicier. ‘Though if I were you I would have guessed the same. No, the poor fellow yet lives, I’ve been told. What will happen to him now is unsure. I read his soul, and the corruption done him by the thing’s touch was minimal, and though his body is full of cancers, they are curable. He is a staunch man, a true believer in the Imperial Cult. It may be that preserved him from greater harm.’

  ‘Perhaps. Or it was the imp’s work. A rotting corpse or screaming mutant hardly makes a good spy.’

  ‘Indeed not,’ said Maxim. ‘His relative purity will not help him, I expect. He will be away to the shrivers of the Ecclesiarchy, and their mercy is limited. We cannot afford kindness. We must instead think of what he has been used for. He was in the initial briefing. I felt something coming off him, so I tracked him down. In all likelihood Mortarion knows of our plans. I should have acted sooner.’

  ‘I would not let that disturb you,’ said Felix.

  ‘You are not concerned?’

  ‘Lord Guilliman anticipated spies. He told the assembled officers of this world enough so they could perform their role. Not the whole plan. He has concocted some scheme with the aeldari that is not widely known. Even I am privy only to the half of it.’

  ‘I would expect nothing less,’ said Maxim. ‘Still, even knowing what we are to do here gives Mortarion an advantage.’

  ‘Or it will pull him into a trap,’ said Felix. ‘Little by little, the primarch lures his brother in. This storm keeps out our orbital support, but bars any aid for him as well. All the forces he can commit are here on this world. He may summon up his daemons, but there will be no more Death Guard to come. Guilliman will wait until the last before calling out the fallen primarch. And though we may appear weak, we are not. To win, the artefact that supports all this effort of Mortarion’s to steal Ultramar away must survive, and it will not. He will have anticipated an attack on the cauldron, and diverted some forces there. But how many, how much will be enough? These questions will have taxed him, and divided his armies. When the time comes, Mortarion’s eyes must be firmly on this place.’

  ‘Guilliman has managed to locate the artefact, then?’

  ‘I do not know,’ said Felix. ‘There are elements in play, a trusted force, the wild card of the militant-apostolic. Natasé assures us of victory if we follow the right path.’

  ‘The aeldari,’ said Maxim. ‘It sickens me that we must put so much faith in his scrying.’

  ‘What else should Lord Guilliman do? Lord Tigurius might match the farseer in prophetic ability, but he is far away. There are no others with such strength of foresight in our forces here. All weapons must be used. The trap is set, brother. We must hold our nerve.’

  ‘I can see now why Guilliman chose you for one of his tetrarchs,’ said Maxim. ‘Yet I for one still misgive. What of this disease? How can he counter that?’

  ‘As I said, I do not know everything.’

  Felix stood up straighter, alert.

  ‘Something’s changed,’ he said. He turned to the missile system. It had ceased its steady sweeping of the horizon, its single eye staring out over the plains. The light was getting brighter, but the fog thicker, and so everything was soaked in a sickly glow.

  From far out over the plain came the tolling of a sorrowful bell, then another, and another. Thunder boomed. The clouds shone purple and gold, like spoiled sides of meat.

  Maxim held out a hand. ‘I sense daemons, and Traitor Marines. They are coming.’

  A distant firecracker ripple announced the commencement of bombard-ment.

  ‘The battle begins,’ said Felix. ‘Fight well, Brother Maxim.’

  They departed to their statio
ns.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  COLLATERAL DAMAGE

  Reconnaissance Force Edermo stopped again to calibrate Fe’s machine, and find their way through the nonsense landscape of corrupted Iax. They found a few dozen acres of muddy ground rising over the flooded plains, and set up there. A dead olive grove spread contorted limbs into the fog, the carefully tended paths between them treacherous with fallen leaves.

  Justinian guarded Fe while he tinkered with his machine. It was a strange thing when opened up, all tubes of glass and coils of copper; it looked like a still, though there was nothing in this universe that would convince Justinian to drink the contents. He had been born in less superstitious times, and to him technology was not the work of magic many in the 41st millennium took it to be, but even he knew this particular machine for sorcery when he looked inside it.

  ‘How does it work then?’ asked Maxentius-Drontio.

  Fe was fishing about inside with a fine silver spanner. He was finding it difficult to work with his vision limited by the environment suit and he gave out a little noise of irritation.

  ‘Your unpleasant attitude towards me would suggest you are only feigning interest in order to mock me,’ said Fe. ‘Emotional degradation by mockery among Adeptus Astartes is common upon apotheosis from standard Homo sapiens stock in order to build unit cohesion. Advisory – if you wish to be informed of the secrets kept by others, attempt, if you will, to be friendlier to non-Space Marines.’

  ‘Talkative, aren’t you, when you’re not falling out of the sky?’ said Maxentius-Drontio. ‘My apotheosis has little to do with it. I incline to surliness, that is all. I am one of those people who finds life overwhelmingly sad, and therefore protect my delicate soul by being dismissive of nearly everything.’

  ‘You see?’ said Fe. ‘Your vocal patterns, though suggesting truthfulness, show heightened indicators of insincerity. Conclusion – I shall tell you nothing of my craft.’

  ‘Come on, I mean it, tell me, how does it work?’ said Maxentius-Drontio. ‘I am interested, and not just because I am bored.’

  ‘Hmm, calculating potential for targeted, induced social embarrassment.’ The magos stopped, stock-still. Something clicked in his chest. ‘Risks acceptable. Bond with me. Pass me that size nine molecular manipulator, please, in order to initiate emotional pairing,’ said Fe.

  Maxentius-Drontio pulled out a tool from the box. It was very small, but he managed to pick it up. ‘This one?’

  Fe took the manipulator. ‘Thank you for your care in retrieving my article and rapidity of response to my request.’ Fe made an adjustment, and shut the casing. Closed up, it looked like an ornamental cylinder of bronze. Three feet high, featureless, abstract art. ‘Are you aware of a witch-finder device?’ asked Fe, his little face serious.

  ‘No. But I believe I can figure out what it is,’ said Maxentius-Drontio.

  ‘Some ordos and adepta employ mechanical detection devices to supplement their human psykers. They are temperamental, hence the dual deployment alongside organic search mechanisms. All warp tech is temperamental. To operate a witch-finder of this kind in this environment is extremely difficult. But bringing a psyker here, to a place saturated with and opening up to the warp, would be dangerous to us with a potential of discovery nigh on one hundred per cent. It would be tantamount to announcing our presence by open vox-hail, and singing a little song.’

  ‘What?’ said Maxentius-Drontio.

  Fe blinked mechanically, though his eyelids were entirely organic, as far as they could tell. ‘You see, I too am capable of performing humour.’

  ‘Right. I suppose you are,’ said Maxentius-Drontio.

  ‘We are forced to use this alone, for the sake of safety and concealment. However, the source of warp energy we are seeking is so powerful that it is relatively easy to lock on to, and it gives us a true location we may aim for among all this uncertainty.’ He looked down at his machine with an obvious sense of pride.

  ‘I know all that. How does it work?’

  ‘I do not cast aspersions upon your advanced intelligence. You are Astartes and better equipped for comprehension than most Terrans, but you would not understand,’ said Fe. ‘I will humour you a little and explain as much as I calculate you can take in. It is mostly a fluidic construct. Positively polarised blackstone particles in suspension, mixed in with a little cerebrospinal fluid from harvested psykers. It is a compass, in effect. An esoteric one, but the principle is the same.’ He tapped a dial set into the top of the cylinder, the sole feature on the casing. One half of the needle was red, the other white. A hand-painted dial was divided into quadrants. ‘Follow the red indicator. That is the totality of necessary action.’ He stopped suddenly, and went to pack up his tools into his box.

  ‘Charming little man, isn’t he? Typical magos, never get a straight answer out of them,’ said Maxentius-Drontio to Justinian.

  ‘Would you have understood, if he had explained?’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘It is not the habit of the people of this age to question the functioning of things,’ Justinian said.

  ‘It wasn’t in mine either,’ said Maxentius-Drontio. ‘But I always have.’

  ‘Then that makes you very special, brother,’ said Justinian.

  Maxentius-Drontio gave a short noise of mirth. ‘I am glad you noticed, brother sergeant.’

  They walked together away from Fe, to where Edermo and Locko were by their parked tanks. Men manned pintle weapons on the Impulsors and, along with the Executioner, kept watch over the island, while Sergeant Vasilon of the Infiltrator squad was busy with the orbital relays carried by all three Impulsors.

  ‘How goes it?’ Justinian asked.

  Vasilon shook his head. ‘Even in linked series I do not know if we will be able to contact the fleet, and when we are in combat we will not be able to link them anyway. Not by hardline. There is an unnatural silence lying on this world that stifles everything. The warp storm.’ He gestured upward. ‘I guess it will only get worse.’

  ‘Keep trying,’ said Edermo. ‘Our whole purpose is to get loc-data for bombardment and potential teleport assault. If we cannot broadcast, we are wasting our time.’

  ‘I shall do what I can,’ said Vasilon. ‘I am getting some communications from central command, but I cannot gauge our own uplink capability without revealing our presence. It will be a test of the hour whether the equipment will serve or not.’

  ‘Well,’ said Maxentius-Drontio. ‘It is either that, or a glorious death. I know which I would prefer.’

  ‘He lacks gravity, your second,’ said Vasilon to Justinian.

  ‘My apologies,’ said Maxentius-Drontio. ‘I shall attempt to mediate my natural tendencies the better to follow the example of Honourum.’

  Vasilon grunted again.

  ‘Lieutenant,’ said Fe, joining them. ‘I have recalibrated the machine to provide optimal directionality.’

  ‘Do you have a location?’ asked Locko.

  ‘I regretfully provide a negatory response to your query. I may provide non-specific data in so much as’ – he pointed in a direction that could have been any direction at all – ‘that way.’

  ‘Very well. Recon force, mount up. We depart–’

  ‘Movement, on the ridge,’ said Maxentius-Drontio. He brought up his bolt rifle. A shadow was disappearing through the mist. ‘Too slow,’ he said. ‘Permission to begin pursuit?’

  ‘Wait, brother,’ Vasilon said. He put his finger to the extended vox-pickup attached to the side of his helm. ‘I have notification of energy signatures and life signs on this island. Triangulating with other members of my squad. A moment.’ He gave clipped commands to his warriors, ordering them to spread out, consulted his instruments again, then looked further up the hill. ‘We are not alone.’

  ‘We should investigate. We may have been sighted,’ said Edermo. ‘S
quad Vasilon, Squad Parris, with me.’

  ‘And I thought today was going to be boring,’ said Maxentius-Drontio.

  Two more of Vasilon’s squad appeared from the mists to join them. Their Phobos armour was completely silent, and the first indication of their presence that Justinian got was the thin lines of their targeting lasers attached to their bolt carbines: shorter ranged than his squad’s weapons, with a smaller, less penetrative bolt, but exceedingly accurate, and easy to handle.

  ‘Over there,’ one of them said. ‘There’s a temple building. Gallio and I read seven-plus devices, light power draw.’

  Justinian looked downslope. Over the haunting shapes of dead olive trees, he could see what might have been the outline of a building. ‘Civilians?’

  ‘A possibility,’ said Vasilon.

  ‘Then we should leave them be,’ said Justinian. ‘Get out of here before they notice us.’

  ‘We may have been seen already,’ said Vasilon.

  ‘Not maybe,’ said Maxentius-Drontio sadly. ‘We definitely have been.’

  A young woman was pointing at them, waving on an old man who leaned heavily on a stick. Both were filthy, ill looking and thin with hunger, but their faces were lit up with joy.

  ‘I told you, I told!’ she said. ‘I saw the angels, they have come!’

  Tears brimmed in the old man’s eyes. ‘Praise Lord Guilliman. We are saved!’ He struggled through the muddy ground. When he reached them, he cast his stick aside extravagantly and threw himself down before them.