[Warhammer 40K] - Legends of the Space Marines

by Christian Dunn - (ebook by Undead)

  Shaidan nodded to the sergeant, understanding his reasons, misguided by the lies of war as they may have been, and he turned his back on the Space Marine. In that instant, the Novamarine snatched his bolt pistol from its holster and squeezed a shell into the Librarian’s back.

  But Shaidan was gone before the shell could impact. With the lightning speed of the quickening, the Librarian flashed out of sight. The first the sergeant knew of where Shaidan had gone was when he felt the burning cold of the twin-bladed Mantis Staff slice effortlessly through the back of his neck. Instinctively, the Novamarine tried to turn to face his foe. Even as the twin blades severed his spinal column he managed to twist the grip of his bolt pistol around and fire one last shot. As his head fell to the ground, the shell punched through his own armour and abdomen and cracked into Shaidan’s chest plate, where it stuck, lacking the power to break through another layer.

  As the sergeant’s crimson life spilled into the grey lunar dust at his feet, Shaidan could feel his surprise and gratitude. The Novamarine had not expected such honour, and his death was sullied by his own sudden but deep-seated doubt. For his part, Shaidan mourned the fact that one of the Astartes could expect so little from the Mantis Warriors. How has it come to this?

  The vox-bead in his ear hissed suddenly. “Mantis Warrior. We have been expecting you.”

  Shaidan looked up to the rim of the crater and saw a contingent of Space Marines assembling, silhouetted against the starry sky. He looked over to Sergeant Treomar on the wall of the crater, who nodded an acknowledgement and signalled that these were the Astral Claws they had been sent to meet. But his signal seemed hesitant, as though he were not immediately sure who the newcomers were.

  “It is good of you to join us, Astral Claw,” replied Shaidan as he climbed towards his hosts. He wondered why the Claws had neither warned nor helped them, but it was not the way of the Mantis Warriors to complain or reprimand, and certainly not to suggest that they would have benefited from assistance in a battle that they had already won without it. “Your timing is impeccable, friend,” the Librarian said sarcastically.

  “We have much to discuss, Librarian,” came the voice again. “And time is short.”

  As Shaidan climbed out of the crater he got his first clear look at the Space Marines of the Astral Claws. Despite himself, he stared at them with disbelief. They were arrayed before him in the great splendour of the ancient armour of the Adeptus Astartes, which glinted like multi-coloured jewels in the starlight. And yet there were too many colours. The splendid golds and blacks of the House of Huron, about which Maetrus had told him so much after his visit to the Palace of Thorns, were obscured and hidden, peeking furtively out from beneath gaudy daubs of colour, blacks and crude, bloody patterns of red. They were like the perverted progeny of Astartes and eldar Harlequins, if it were not heretical even to imagine such things. And even stranger, Shaidan could see that the Imperial aquila had been prised off the armour of some and obscured or desecrated on others.

  He stood on the very brink of the collapsing crater, looking between the detachment of bizarre Astral Claws and the honourable corpses of the Novamarines that littered the dissipating lunar dust. He could feel Sergeant Treomar and the assault squads shifting uneasily, as though unsure about the next move. They were tense and ready for anything.

  “Yes, time is short, friend,” said Shaidan at last, “and I can see that you must have a great deal to report to us. First, you will permit us to reclaim the gene-seed of our fallen brethren, then we will talk.” He nodded over towards the mouth of the cave that held the base they had been trying to reach, and he winced when he saw that the double-headed eagle carved into the rock above the cave had been decapitated. “We will also thank you if you can spare a Thunderhawk or other transport for our voyage back to the fleet. I’m sure Captain Maetrus and the Chapter Master will be eager to hear my report.”

  “Master Neotera, this council need hide nothing from you, and we should tell you that we are fully aware of the events of the war that you unleashed on this sector. You need not trouble yourself to tell us the details of how you finally surrendered before the gathered might of the Novamarines, the Exorcists and Star Phantoms after the Lamenters had crumbled against the Minotaurs, how you routed the Marines Errant on Kalibus IV, how you miraculously escaped the formations of the Salamanders at the Siege of Comsil, or even how you managed to capture the Rapturous Flame from the Fire Hawks back in 904. We do not need this information from you—it is already a matter of record. The gaps, such as they are, can be filled in by any number of observers. We do not ask for a confession of these acts, for they are undeniable. The blood has been spilled, the Space Marines have been slaughtered, and whole planets have been ravaged. All at your command. We do not seek denials or descriptions.

  “What we cannot judge is why. What we require of you is explanation. What did you seek to achieve? Why would you desert the light of the Emperor and forge an allegiance with this Tyrant of Badab? And what could have driven you to launch those first attacks against the Fire Hawks, knowing that such acts would drag the Legions into the kind of war unknown since the Heresy itself? Even Huron himself dared not strike at his fellow Space Marines—it was only with you that the petty insurgency became a war. How were you convinced to turn away from the honour and devotion of the Astartes? What kind of promises could buy the soul of Khoisan Neotera, Chapter Master of the Mantis Warriors and guardian of the realms of Mordriana and Ootheca?”

  What did the cowardly shape-changer offer you, Mantis? Did he promise you a seat at the right hand of a tyrant or liberty from the discipline of the Adeptus? Did he taunt you with the artefacts of his xenos allies, or tempt you with the forbidden knowledge of his corrupted brethren? How did he turn your will against the father of us all, and twist your spirit into treachery? Or would you have us believe that he did nothing… that you were already lost, and that you found a kindred spirit in this Blackheart? Is the great legacy of the Mantis Warriors nothing but an illusion, a cover to hide your own tainted gene-seed? Have you been hiding like cowards for a thousand years, living in pretence and hypocrisy and treating us all like fools? Are you to be damned as well as condemned, Mantis Lord?

  “You must explain, Neotera. We are not beyond mercy here.” The shadow-veiled words were not without kindness.

  Do you not know me at all? The thoughts stayed inside his head. Of course you do not know me. I cannot even recognise myself. I have no answers to your questions, and I would offer none even if they burned like firebrands in my mind. We are beyond these words and reasons now. Deeds are done; we must be measured by them just as we must be held to account for them. How can you taunt me with the threat of mercy? Do you think I want your mercy or your forgiveness? Do you think I can go on knowing what I have done, what I have allowed myself to do? Your mercy mocks me and offends yourselves; do not belittle us all with this kind of talk. I am undeserving of your kindness, and you should know even the Emperor in His infinite wisdom would offer me nothing less than condemnation. In the fall, there is only flame and sword. Speak your judgement and rid yourselves of me.

  “I seek no mercy.” Barely more than a breath, he wasn’t sure if he had spoken the words out loud, yet they wisped around the hall like the scent of poison.

  Ah, the silent Mantis speaks after all. Venom was laced through the disembodied thoughts; they ridiculed him, as if certain that he would be broken. We just offer you a little selfish hope and your resolve shatters. Mercy and treachery are such an exquisite pair. Did Huron offer you mercy? Did you hear the whispered echoes of Horus himself, offering to bring you back into his fold? Was this all it took, feeble-minded insect? Can your soul be bought for a little mercy?

  I seek no mercy, he repeated in his mind, clenching his jaw in the agony of self-betrayal. He had not meant to speak, but his resolve was so powerful and consuming that it had vocalised almost by itself. I seek no mercy—the thoughts spiralled around inside his head like a mantra, and just once
in three days had they leaked out into the air. It was as though he were becoming the words; he was giving them physical meaning through the remains of his life.

  Yet see how easily even those four brief words could be twisted and contorted. Their purity was sullied and despoiled as soon as they left his mouth. Before they had even reached the ears of his judges, their psychic resonance had already been distorted by the noxious mind of the nameless Librarian who wanted nothing more than for the Mantis Warriors to fall into the abyss, to leave them dishonoured and desecrated by the judgement of history. There was genuine hatred in that mind, and it oozed toxically into Neotera’s head. The Chapter Master could feel a hunger for profit and spoils in those psychic intrusions, and he realised that not all of his judges were here for vengeance, justice, or knowledge; some were in pursuit of ships and worlds.

  “So you are unrepentant, Neotera?”

  Even the voices of reason misunderstood him. How could they find him unrepentant when his very being screamed in torment at his deeds? If only he could take back those four simple words and let his devoted silence remain unbroken. But the words could not be revoked, no more than the actions that had brought him to this place. Words could not explain what he had done, and any words that he uttered would only pervert even further the faith that remained in his heart; they would be twisted and tortured until they no longer resembled themselves and he could not see truth from lies. He knew when his choices had been made, and it was becoming clear to him that he had been wrong for many years. But he knew—deep in his soul he knew—that his intentions had been pure.

  Intentions are nothing. A servant is judged by his deeds. I seek no mercy. I offer no words and no excuses. I stand ready to bear the unendurable.

  The Palace of Thorns was everything that they had been led to expect. It was the ostentatious seat of power on the home world of a proud Space Marine Chapter, full of the pomp and regalia of military exploits and glory. Great statues towered over the gates and reached their arms into arches over vaulted ceilings. Ornate frescoes filled the walls, depicting the most awesome and legendary victories of the Astral Claws: the Purification of the Badab system itself, the Scouring of Tesline, and the Reclamation of Mundus IV. The Chapter Master’s honour guard stood sentinel in the corridors and halls, resplendent in their radiant gold and black striped ceremonial armour, like majestic tigers surveying their realms. And the Imperial aquila, the universal sign of devotion and loyalty to the Emperor, held pride of place on each of the grand spires that pushed up towards the heavens.

  The contingent of Mantis Warriors was unfazed by the grandeur as they swept through the corridors on their way to the throne room. Their own fortress monastery on Ootheca was no less glorious, and even the jungle palace of Mordriana III could inspire awe. However, their delegation to Badab was understated. Four squads of Space Marines acted as honour guards for a command squad of unusual austerity and gravity: the Chapter Master himself strode through the hallways of the Palace of Thorns. His guards shone in emerald battle armour, polished to the point of ceremonial splendour, yet they moved with the kind of focused caution that spoke of veiled distrust. As a special token of good faith, Lord Huron had permitted them to enter his palace fully armed; and not quite willing to return the confidence, the Mantis Warriors had taken full advantage of his offer. On the landing field beyond the gates, a group of deep green Mantis Thunderhawks held heavy reinforcements.

  On their approach to the Badab system, the Mantis Warriors had seen for themselves the evidence of Huron’s recent activities. They had heard the rumours and reports, but seeing the evidence gave the official accounts of insurgency and revolt more power and resonance. The adjoining space-lanes were littered with debris and the ruined masses of raided freighters, damaged beyond salvage or repair. Before they had agreed on the rendezvous on Badab, Huron had warned them what they might see and how it might appear to them. He had not sought to deny anything, but had invited the Mantis Warriors to bear witness to the facts.

  He had explained that many of the apparently civilian ships had been unmarked, covert Imperial gunships, sent to spy on the Badab system. He claimed that he had discovered that such ships were normal parts of all mercantile convoys to Adeptus Astartes controlled systems, and he had challenged them to forcefully inspect the shipping lanes around their own system of Ootheca if they doubted him. He argued calmly that there were powerful factions in the Imperium that hated and distrusted the Astartes, jealous of their intimacy with the spirit of the Emperor and their resemblance of his body. These factions were now in the ascendant at the Terra-bound end of Segmentum Ultima, where fear of the Maelstrom mixed with distrust of the glory of the Astartes to produce officiousness and insidious suspicion. Huron had told Master Neotera that the Mantis Warriors were also being watched.

  As the Venomous Blade had cut its way into the outskirts of the Badab system, Neotera had seen the torn prow of an Imperial light cruiser tumbling through the wreckage of a group of freighters. In amongst the debris, he could see the twisted remains of weapons batteries and the charred icon of the aquila. It seemed that Huron was telling the truth about the presence of the Imperium’s eyes in this sector.

  On the edge of the star-system, the Blade had registered a wide spread of signals on its long-range scanners. A fleet of battleships was assembling in the interstellar space between Badab and Rigant. Most of the signatures were too indistinct to be accurately discerned, but those at the vanguard had the solid and menacing echo of Space Marine strike cruisers and frigates. The unusual shape of the Rapturous Flame, the legendary Fire Hawks strike cruiser that had survived the destruction of the Chapter’s home world of Zhoros more than five millennia before, was at the heart, as the formation slowly shifted and manoeuvred. They were less than a warp-jump away, but probably several days under normal power. They were waiting for something, and their presence suggested that their attention was fixed on Badab. Perhaps Huron’s paranoia was not without substance? Would the Imperium really send Space Marines against their own again? What kind of Chapter would heed such a call?

  In one of his first communiqués, before the trouble had exploded into bloodshed in the region of Sfantu, Huron had asked Neotera about the frequency with which the Mechanicus demanded a sample of Mantis Warrior gene-seed. At first, Neotera had not understood why another Chapter would request such information; it had seemed disrespectful to the point of being insulting. He had been suspicious of Huron’s motives, and then fearful that rumours about the Mantis Legion were spreading to neighbouring systems. Captain Maetrus of the 2nd Company, the Prophet Captain as he was known, had cautioned many times about the suspicions that could be raised about the Chapter if the mental state of the Mantis Religiosa were to be misunderstood as some kind of genetic anomaly. Maetrus was especially concerned that the condition, which sometimes enhanced a Space Marine’s reflexes to such an extent that they seemed to develop mild precognitive abilities, might appear to represent the spontaneous onset of psychic tendencies. Given the proximity of the Mantis Warriors’ realm to the Maelstrom and the conditions of constant internecine war on some of its core systems, such as Mordriana, it was not beyond imagination that the Mechanicus would seek to police their gene-seed even more vigorously than that of other Chapters. Yet Maetrus was adamant that the condition was a normal state of mind, and was determined to develop a training programme that would enable all Mantis Warriors to harness this natural ability.

  In any case, Neotera had not been willing to share information about the frequency contact from the Mechanicus until Huron had openly admitted that he had made a decision not to submit the gene-seed of the Astral Claws for inspection anymore. He had spoken passionately about the ways in which the Mechanicus had lost their legitimacy when they had reinterpreted themselves as a form of genetic police, monitoring the Astartes and holding over them the threat of disestablishment should they fail to meet some arbitrary criteria. Huron had called this oppression. He had labelled it as an evil against t
he spirit of the Emperor—nobody had ever monitored the Emperor’s genetic make-up to try and restrain his development. The Imperium needed the free development of the Astartes, just as it had once needed the free development of the Emperor to give it form, whether it was willing to admit this or not.

  Even worse, Huron had attempted to convince Neotera that there were corrupt Space Marine Chapters that knew of this agenda, and which sought to exploit it for their own selfish advancement. He worried that the Imperium was not above turning these lackey Space Marines against their fellow Adeptus Astartes, turning one Chapter against another in a horrible civil war in order to prevent the truth being realised. With barely disguised disgust, Huron had named the Ultramarines and the Imperial Fists, with their intimate ties to the Administratum, as the most likely to turn against the most free-thinking Chapters—those that held the true legacy of the Emperor in their genes.

  Neotera had listened to Huron with a mixture of horror and empathy. His words were not without truth—the Mantis Warriors knew the angst and insecurity of dark secrets, like many other Chapters—but he did not dare to trust them. However, the presence of the Fire Hawks just beyond the Badab system seemed to confirm Huron’s suspicions.

  And now, as the heavy, illuminated doors to the throne room pushed slowly open, Neotera stood before Lufgt Huron himself for the first time. The Chapter Master sat on the far side of the hall, raised on a dais and seated in the most elaborate throne Neotera had ever seen. Fanned out behind him were the twelve Space Marines that comprised his personal guard, each holding their bolters formally across their chest-plates. Along each side of the long room, arrayed as though for inspection, were twin lines of Space Marines in full battle armour. The chamber was brilliant with gold and black.