by Gav Thorpe
‘You are charged as a traitor to the Emperor and Lion El’Jonson, and I, as an Interrogator-Chaplain of the Dark Angels Chapter, am here to administer your salvation,’ Boreas intoned. Astelan laughed harshly at the man’s overly sombre tone, the sound echoing off the bare stone walls.
‘You shall be my saviour?’ snarled Astelan. ‘And what right do you have to judge me?’
‘Repent the sins of your past, accept the error of your Lutherite ways, and your salvation shall be swift,’ Boreas said, ignoring Astelan’s scorn.
‘And if I do not?’ asked Astelan.
‘Then your salvation shall be long and arduous,’ Boreas replied, pointedly glancing at the blades, tongs and brands on the shelf.
‘Has the glory of the Dark Angels been so forgotten that you are reduced to barbarian torturers?’ Astelan spat. ‘The Dark Angels are warriors, shining knights of battle. And yet, here you skulk in the shadows, turning upon your own.’
‘Do you not repent of your actions?’ Boreas asked again. His face was intent, and his voice was tinged with anger.
‘I have committed no wrong,’ Astelan replied. ‘I refuse to answer your charges, and I refuse to acknowledge your right to accuse me thus.’
‘Very well, then we shall endeavour to relieve you of the burden on your soul,’ Boreas stated with another glance at his torturer’s instruments. ‘If you will not repent freely and earn a swift death, then we must exorcise the sin from your soul with pain and misery. The choice is yours.’
‘There is not one here amongst you who could lighten the weight I have borne upon my shoulders,’ Astelan declared. ‘And there is not one in this room who shall lay a finger upon me without violence.’
‘That is but the latest error of judgment you have made.’ Boreas smiled grimly and gestured to one of the other Dark Angels. ‘Brother-Librarian Samiel shall set you right.’
The Space Marine pulled back his hood to reveal a dark, weathered face. Tattooed above his right eye was the winged sword symbol, its pommel in the shape of a glaring eye. His head was also shaven to the scalp, and criss-crossed with scars and branding marks. There was movement in Samiel’s eyes, and it took a moment for Astelan to realise that they were tiny sparks of psychic power.
Astelan took a step towards Boreas, fists raised to attack.
‘Arcanatum energis!’ Samiel spat. Blue bolts of lightning leapt from the psyker’s fingertips and struck Astelan full in the chest, hurling him across the room to slam into the wall. Ancient stone cracked and splintered under the impact and Astelan grimaced with pain from the blow. Flickers of blue sparks danced over his armour for a few more heartbeats as he pushed himself to his feet.
‘You call me traitor, you who have brought a witch into your own ranks!’ Astelan growled between gritted teeth, staring with loathing at Boreas.
‘Be still!’ Samiel barked, his voice cutting into Astelan’s mind, hammering at his senses as much as the psychic bolt had hammered into his body. He resisted for only the briefest of moments before he felt the strength sapped from his limbs and he slumped within his armour, its servos whining to keep him upright.
‘Sleep!’ Samiel exerted his will again, and this time Astelan’s resistance was stronger and he fought off the urge to close his eyes for several seconds. His gaze caught that of the Librarian, and in that moment, the full force of the psyker’s mind was unleashed. Astelan felt his own thoughts being twisted into a whirl, his vision spun and a roaring filled his ears. He tried desperately to shake himself free of Samiel’s burning gaze, but could not move. His attention was locked and he felt his will draining away, leeching into the witchfires that burned in the psyker’s eyes.
‘Sleep…’ Samiel repeated and Astelan fell into unconsciousness.
When he awoke, Astelan was not surprised to find himself chained to the interrogation slab. Looking at the thick links of iron binding his legs and arms, he knew instantly that even with his prodigiously enhanced strength he would have little chance of breaking his bonds. He had been stripped of his armour, and he lay naked upon the stone table. His skin was tight across his corded muscles, marked by dozens of surgery scars where he had undergone his transformation into a Space Marine. Across his chest and abdomen a second skin glistened a dull black, broken in places by steel fittings for wires and cables, which allowed him to interact with his power armour when armed for battle. Now the metal sockets and circuits lay dormant, and his body felt cold where they pierced his flesh.
Glancing around the room, Astelan found himself alone. He wondered how long it would be before his torturers arrived. It mattered not, he knew well that he could block out whatever pain they dared visit upon him. Pain was a weakness, and as a Space Marine of the Dark Angels, he had no weaknesses. He reminded himself, as he lay there waiting, that he had suffered many wounds in battle and had continued to fight on. Even now, fettered in the prison of those who had forsaken the heritage he had left them, he would continue that fight.
Others had warned him that the Dark Angels were not as they had always been, that they were now ruled by suspicion and secrecy, but he had not truly believed them. Had he realised what they intended, he would never have surrendered himself to them on Tharsis. He had spent the last few weeks in a state of constant turmoil. First, the Dark Angels had attacked the world he had commanded, forcing him to fight back. It was only after considerable bloodshed that, against the advice of his subordinates, Astelan had relented in his defiance and allowed his attackers entry to his bunker.
The first Space Marines he had seen had seemed very wary, and were confused. Soon they were recalled and the Chaplain, Boreas, had arrived, flanked by Space Marines in white heavy Terminator armour. The unconventional form of their livery and the barbaric decorations of bones and feathers had only added to Astelan’s confusion, as had the term Boreas had used to describe them – the Deathwing. He had not resisted, in his ignorance, when they had manacled his hands with thick chains of titanium, so that even in his armour he could not break the links. A gunship, also in the colours of the Deathwing, had landed directly outside his command centre and as he was hurried on board he saw no sign of any other Space Marines.
From then on, he had been kept in total isolation. When he had been transferred from the gunship to a cell aboard the Dark Angels’ vessel he had been hooded with a black sack, his mouth gagged with thick cord. He had received no contact other than when Boreas had introduced himself and brought him food and water. Astelan was unsure how long the journey had taken, several weeks at least, before Boreas had returned with the gag and the hood, and the shuttle had brought him to the hidden landing pad.
Now he was due to be tortured by those who falsely imprisoned him. He knew that in their ignorance they thought him a traitor, and in their own superstitious way they believed they were saving his soul. It was a mockery of everything he held dear, of everything the Dark Angels once represented to the galaxy. As his anger grew, Astelan resolved to show them the error of their ways, to demonstrate to them how far they had fallen from grace in the eyes of the Emperor.
While he waited, Astelan let himself fall into a trance, calming his mind. As he had been trained to do, he detached himself from his physical body, allowing the catalepsean node implanted into the base of his brain to control his mental functions. In a partial slumber, he remained aware of his surroundings and alert to any threat, but his brain also rested itself, redirecting neural signals from dormant areas to those still awake.
In his dreamlike state, his perceptions shifted focus, so that the room became bright and full of colour for a few minutes, before turning stark and grey as his consciousness transferred through the different lobes of his brain. Sound came and went, memories flooded his mind and then were lost, and he felt as if he were floating in the air, swiftly followed by the crushing weight of the air pressure around him. Through all this, the inner eye of his mind watched the door, awaiting th
e return of his jailers.
Astelan was aware that a considerable time had passed, perhaps several hours, and he eased himself back into full consciousness. His augmented hearing picked up the sound of approaching footfalls from outside the room. It had been this that had pricked his subconscious mind, forcing him to return from his mesmerised state. With a rattle of heavy keys, the lock was turned with a loud clanking, and the door swung open. Boreas entered, followed by Samiel, and the Chaplain swung the door shut behind him. He had divested himself of his armour and now wore a plain white robe, its front opened to reveal the Space Marine’s massively muscled chest.
Boreas turned and hung the keys on a hook by the door.
‘I hope you used your time of solitary peace to consider your thoughts carefully,’ Boreas began, standing to Astelan’s right. Astelan watched Samiel circle the room to stand on the other side of him.
‘Your threats are meaningless to me, surely even you can understand that,’ Astelan replied, turning his head to meet Boreas’s gaze.
‘If you will not recant your evil deeds, we must proceed according to the ancient traditions of my office,’ Boreas intoned, beginning the ritual of interrogation. ‘Tell me your name.’
‘I am Chapter Commander Merir Astelan,’ he replied with a note of indignity in his voice. ‘Your treatment of me has taken no account of my esteemed rank.’
‘And who do you serve?’ Boreas asked.
‘I once served the Emperor’s Dark Angels Space Marine Legion,’ Astelan told the Chaplain, dropping his gaze to the floor.
‘Once served? Who do you serve now?’ Boreas demanded, stepping forward.
‘I was betrayed by my own lords,’ Astelan replied after a moment of painful recollection, still avoiding Boreas’s stare. ‘They turned their backs on me, but I have endeavoured to continue the great task that the Emperor created me for.’
‘And what is that great task?’ Boreas leaned close, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Astelan.
‘That mankind might rule the galaxy, without fear of threat from within or without,’ Astelan replied fiercely, meeting the Interrogator-Chaplain’s stare. ‘To fight proudly at the forefront of battle against the alien and the ignorant.’
‘And so how is it that you fought against the Space Marines of the Dark Angels on the world of Tharsis?’ Boreas asked.
‘Once more I was betrayed by the Dark Angels, and again I had to fight to defend myself and to protect what you would unwittingly destroy.’ Astelan raised his head to look straight at the Interrogator-Chaplain, and the Chaplain recognised the hatred in his eyes.
‘You enslaved a world to your own selfish whims and needs!’ Boreas spat, reaching down and clamping a hand around Astelan’s throat. The muscles in the prisoner’s neck corded as he fought back against the pressure of the Dark Angel’s powerful fingers. There was loathing in Boreas’s voice when he spoke next. ‘You betrayed everything you were sworn to uphold! Admit it!’
Astelan said nothing as the two gazed venomously at each other. For several minutes, they were locked together in their mutual disgust, until Boreas eventually eased his grip and stood back.
‘Tell me how you came to be on Tharsis,’ the Chaplain said, crossing his arms, acting as if he had not just been trying to squeeze the life out of the man chained in front of him. Astelan took a few deep breaths to steady himself.
‘Tell me but one thing,’ Astelan said, glancing first at Boreas and then at Samiel. ‘Tell me where I am, how this place can be so familiar and yet so different, and I may consider listening to your accusations.’
‘Has he not yet worked it out?’ Samiel said, looking in amazement at Astelan. There was a flicker of a frown on the Chaplain’s face before he looked down at his prisoner.
‘You are in the Tower of Angels, renegade,’ Boreas said.
‘That cannot be so,’ protested Astelan, trying to sit up but raising his head only a little against the strength of the chains. ‘I saw nothing of Caliban when we approached. This cannot be our fortress. Why do you mock me?’
‘There is no mockery,’ Samiel said quietly. ‘This fortress is all that is left of our homeworld of Caliban.’
‘Lies!’ Astelan declared, trying to sit up, his muscles bulging as he fought against the chains. ‘This is just a trick!’
‘You know we speak the truth,’ Boreas said, forcing Astelan down again with a hand on his chest. His eyes bored into Astelan’s as he spoke his next words: ‘This is all that remains of Caliban, our homeworld that your treachery destroyed.’
No one spoke for several minutes as Astelan absorbed this information. A chill began to seep into his flesh from the stone slab he lay on. Astelan watched his breath coalescing into a faint mist in the air as he breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling quickly. In all the years he had sought out information of his former masters, he had never heard of such a catastrophic event taking place. Perhaps it was a trick to weaken his resolve? He fast dismissed the notion though, as he considered the evidence he had witnessed since his arrival.
He was indeed in the catacombs below what had once been the glorious fortress of the Dark Angels Chapter, now somehow ripped from the planet and sent into space. It was this thought that prompted him to speak.
‘Is this why you attacked me, unprovoked, on Tharsis?’ Astelan asked, ‘Was it misplaced revenge for the loss you have suffered, to destroy my new home?’
‘Your new home?’ Boreas repeated scornfully. ‘A world full of soldiers and slaves, all sworn to be loyal to you. Can you not admit the heresy of your actions?’
‘Has it now become heresy to rule a world in the Emperor’s name? Is it wrong of me to command an army again, as I once did?’ Astelan said, looking first at Boreas, and then quickly at Samiel.
‘We were created to serve mankind, not to rule them,’ Boreas rasped, leaning forward and wiping a bead of sweat from Astelan’s brow with his thumb.
‘You deny that we ruled Caliban?’ laughed Astelan. ‘You forget that a million serfs toiled in the fields of our homeworld to keep us clothed and fed, and in the forges and machine shops to arm us, and on our ships and in the factories.’
‘A world does not exist to be enslaved to a single Space Marine,’ Boreas said.
‘We are all slaves of a kind, some of us willingly serve the Emperor, and some must be forced to,’ Astelan told him.
‘And which are you?’ Samiel asked suddenly, stepping forward. ‘Was it not you and your kind who refused to serve, taking it upon yourselves to usurp the Lion and betray the Dark Angels?’
‘Never!’ spat Astelan, thrashing at his bonds. ‘It is the rest of mankind who betrayed us! I watched you fight on Tharsis, and I was appalled. My armies were great, worthy to be led by the Emperor himself, and trained well, but against the might of the Dark Angels that I fought alongside, the battle would have been swiftly lost. Now, they have pulled your teeth, scattered you across the stars. This I have learnt these last two hundred years.’
‘You are wrong,’ argued Boreas, pacing back and forth, his eyes locked on Astelan’s like a predator. ‘The Legions were broken up so that no single man could wield that kind of power again.’
‘An act done by weak-willed men who were jealous of us, and afraid of what we were,’ said Astelan, moving his head to keep Boreas in sight. ‘I commanded a thousand Space Marines, just one of many Dark Angels Chapter commanders, and whole worlds fell before our wrath. I would have taken Tharsis in a single day, but you waged war upon me for ten times as long.’
‘The power you wielded has corrupted you, as it has corrupted many others,’ Boreas said, turning away. ‘It was that temptation that could not be allowed to exist.’
‘Corrupt? You call me corrupt?’ Astelan was shouting now, his voice ringing around the small cell. ‘It is you who have become corrupted, hiding out in this dark cell, slinking in the shadows, afraid o
f the power you possess. I remember this place as one of celebration and victory. A hundred banners flew from the towers, and the great festivals lit these rooms with fires by the thousand as we revelled in our glories. I remember when the Dark Angels cut across the galaxy as the Emperor’s own sword. We were the first and greatest, never forget that! We never once knew defeat as we followed the Emperor, and even when we were given Caliban and El’Jonson became our leader, we were still the lords of battle. It was that time of glory that we should be living in again. We exist for battle, and I forged an army to continue the Great Crusade.’
‘The Great Crusade ended ten thousand years ago, when you and others like you turned on the Emperor and tried to destroy all that he had built,’ Samiel said. Boreas still looked away, brooding silently.
‘I do not accept your accusations,’ replied Astelan. Again the cell was silent for a while, until Boreas turned and loomed over the slab, arms crossed over his bulky chest, his biceps straining the cloth of his robe. ‘If you are not a traitor, then explain why you commanded your army to resist us on Tharsis,’ the Interrogator-Chaplain asked calmly.
‘You left me little choice,’ Astelan replied bitterly. ‘I had reports from my ships and outposts of a vessel breaking from the warp, and I sent them to investigate. Your strike vessel opened fire without replying to their hails, destroying one of my ships. It is only natural that others in the patrol should attack, when assaulted without provocation. You showed no mercy, killing nearly a thousand of my men!’
‘And yet, when the battle-brothers landed and you saw that it was the Dark Angels you faced, you did not surrender, nor order your army to give us free passage,’ Boreas continued.
‘I told them to resist at all costs!’ spat Astelan.
‘It was your guilt that commanded them!’ roared Boreas. ‘Fear of facing justice for your evil deeds!’
