The First Wall

by Gav Thorpe

  ‘I need some fresh air.’ Zenobi said the words and a moment later realised how ridiculous the request must sound, coming from a downhiver who had lived in a family hab-chamber only a little less crowded than the train car. ‘I feel…’

  Alekzanda handed the knife to the other sergeant and stood up, hand moving to the handle of a door behind him.

  ‘There’s a sort of gantry on the roof.’ He opened the door and the noise of the train’s passage intensified. ‘There’s a few folks up there already.’

  She thanked him with a nod and stepped past. A gnarled hand barred her, the fingers moving to the haft of the banner that Zenobi had brought with her.

  ‘Don’t want that going over the side, do we?’ Alekzanda said sternly.

  Zenobi reconsidered going outside, but her head was spinning and she really did need to get away from the smell and the heat of everybody. Reluctantly, she relinquished her grip on the banner and watched Alekzanda stow it in the corner.

  Through the door was a short walkway that connected to the next carriage, made of wooden slats and canvas. Guide ropes lined the sides at waist and shoulder height, but it didn’t look at all inviting as it swung with the motion of the locomotive. Thankfully the ladder to the carriage roof was a set of metal rungs bolted to the end of the car itself. Zenobi pulled herself up, taking deep breaths as she did so. The air was cool, not cold, tainted by the oil fume of the engine that passed along from the smokestacks, but it didn’t taste of sweat and fear so that made it the most refreshing draught she had ever taken.

  Another smell lingered on the breeze. Mozo. It reminded her of her aunts and uncles – her mother and father were both against smoking, a rarity among their family – and her thoughts strayed thousands of kilometres back across the world to Addaba.

  There were three others on the gantry, which was little more than a metre-wide strip of metal with a short lip that ran the full length of the roof. There was nothing to stop anyone falling off, but the train wasn’t going fast so if the fall didn’t cause a serious injury it wouldn’t be too much trouble to run and jump back on.

  She didn’t recognise the three that were there, two men and a woman. Their eyes flicked to her chest and hers to theirs, checking out their identity badges.

  ‘Epsilon. Command squad?’ said the woman, raising an eyebrow and affecting an air of being impressed. Her eyes were lined with wrinkles, a touch of grey at her temples. Her hands had calluses from manual work, a few burn scars on her cheeks that spoke of labour near the forges. If she’d been an uphiver she might well have been forty or fifty, but life aged one fast on the line and Zenobi guessed the other woman was ten years older than her, perhaps ­fifteen at the most.

  ‘Zenobi,’ she introduced herself, choosing to drop her second name for the time being. ‘You’re all from Beta Platoon?’

  ‘Better Beta than nothing,’ one of the men joked, flashing a gap-toothed grin. He extended a hand. ‘Name’s Wrench. Well, not my name, obviously, but what folks call me.’

  ‘Wrench? You good at fixing things, I guess.’

  He nodded and drew a slender hand-rolled paper tube from inside his coat, and offered it. Zenobi shook her head with a polite smile and pulled herself up the last couple of rungs. They all shuffled as best they could to allow her to step by, venturing further along the top of the carriage. Zenobi picked her way carefully past. She’d ridden moving crane booms when she had been no older than ten but the manufactories were definitely lacking in crosswind, unlike the roof of the train.

  She looked back along the length of the vehicle, saw the track beyond it stretching into nothing. The ground was hillier here than where they’d embarked, a line of low mountains visible along the horizon to the right. There was a smudge against the sky, perhaps smoke where they’d transferred. It was dwarfed by vast columns of black fumes billowing into the sky from beyond the horizon. Every now and then she thought she saw a flash or heard the distant thunder of a detonation. It could have been a trick of sunlight and the rattling of the car.

  Turning around, she looked where they were heading. An indistinct haze in the furthest distance might have been more mountains but it was impossible to tell. The sky above them danced with constant colour, reds and oranges of fire mostly, sometimes struck through with flares of blue and purple or a stark beam of yellow blinking down from orbit.

  She watched for several minutes, thinking the display would stop. It didn’t. She swallowed hard, confronted by the impossibility of imagining the power that was being unleashed upon the Imperial Palace. It stretched reality to consider the forces raging through the atmosphere, and the titanic energy holding it at bay. How long could such defences last against such unruly might?

  Zenobi turned quickly as she felt someone standing behind her. It was the third of the Beta Platoon members, the one that had not introduced himself. The other two were deep in quiet conversation, arguing over something Wrench was holding, a book or pamphlet of some kind.

  ‘When we find ourselves powerless, we understand what it is to look for the power beyond our knowing,’ said the man. He smiled warmly and thrust his hands into the pockets of his coveralls, swaying gently with the motion of the train. He had the easy balance of one that had lived as an ore-rigger, riding the monorail cars from the foundry to the production line.

  ‘I know where this power comes from,’ Zenobi replied, eyes turning heavenwards. ‘The wrath of Horus visited upon the city of the Emperor.’

  ‘And He resists, doesn’t He?’ The man took in a deep breath, nostril’s flaring. ‘I’m Natto. Zenobi, right?’

  She nodded confirmation.

  ‘What if I told you that this wasn’t about the Warmaster, but something vaster and more majestic?’

  ‘I’d say you have a knack for stories,’ Zenobi replied cautiously. ‘Or perhaps fancy yourself a line philosopher.’

  ‘We all wonder about life, don’t we? What’s it about? Why do we do what we do? Who makes us what we are?’ He stepped closer, so Zenobi moved aside. Natto sauntered past, still talking, not looking at her. ‘Most of the time it doesn’t amount to a bucket of bolts, am I right?’

  Zenobi said nothing, not sure what he was talking about. This didn’t deter him.

  ‘We’re standing on top of a recommissioned mining train – that’s what this is, I’ve seen them – heading towards the most destructive force ever to visit Terra. Wouldn’t you like to know what that’s really about? Why this war had to happen?’

  ‘It’s about Terra,’ replied Zenobi. ‘We all know it. Control Terra, you can control the Imperium. Slavery on one side, freedom on the other. For Addaba, for Terra and for all of humanity.’

  ‘The recruiters’ words, so well crafted, aren’t they?’

  ‘Are they false?’

  Natto turned, still casual, a half-smile on his lips.

  ‘I’m not trying to trick you, Zenobi. I’m not going to tell you what to think, what to believe.’ He put his hand inside his coverall and pulled a small book from within. It seemed to be the same as the one Wrench was holding. Zenobi glanced back to see that the other Beta Platoon troopers were watching her and Natto, glancing up from their discussion frequently.

  ‘I don’t know why you think I’m here…’

  ‘This book doesn’t claim to have the answers,’ continued Natto, oblivious to her suspicion. ‘It does ask some interesting questions. It’s called the Lectitio Divinitatus.’

  ‘The lecto-what?’ said Zenobi.

  ‘Lectitio Divinitatus. That means Book of the Powers, something like that, in the language of the Palace. There’s a whole sphere of understanding that’s been kept from us. The Emperor, Horus, is all part of a universe that was hidden away.’

  He held out the booklet but Zenobi folded her arms, determined not to be dragged into the man’s lunacy.

  ‘What sort of thing do you mean?’ she foun
d herself asking. Almost immediately she regretted opening her mouth, but Natto gave her no time to revoke her interest.

  ‘The warp. It’s not just another part of our universe that lets ships travel fast.’ His hand still held out the book and he thumbed open some pages, trying to show her the lines of small print within. ‘And the Emperor. The Emperor isn’t a man, Zenobi. He’s a–’

  ‘I don’t need to hear this,’ she snapped. She advanced, but there wasn’t room to push past. For a moment they both teetered around each other, almost falling from the roof, but he spun away with an easy movement, letting her regain her balance. Natto said something else but she was deaf to his words.

  The other two stood up but didn’t try to stop her passing. With an effort to still her trembling hands, Zenobi swung down onto the ladder and descended to the carriage at a slide.

  She barrelled through the door and almost straight into someone on the other side. She saw the flash of crimson and looked up into the unforgiving features of an integrity officer. His name was Abioye, assigned to Gamma Platoon.

  ‘Is something amiss, Trooper Adedeji?’

  She backed away, heart thumping. He stepped after, eyes intent on her face, trying to read her like a book.

  ‘You seem out of sorts.’

  Zenobi steadied herself, feeling squeezed between the integrity officer and the end bulkhead of the carriage. It was difficult to see past him, to the press of soldiery that filled the rest of the compartment, where her platoon companions and friends were.

  There was nobody to help her.

  She swallowed hard, but her fear subsided, replaced by a sudden anger. She hadn’t done anything wrong, why was she feeling so guilty?

  The lie of omission. That’s what it was called, when you knew something but didn’t tell someone.

  ‘On the roof,’ she said, flicking her eyes towards the ceiling. ‘Beta Platoon. They tried… They had a book they wanted to show me.’

  It took a moment for Abioye to understand her meaning. When he did there was just a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

  ‘I see.’ He stepped back, allowing her past. ‘Return to your platoon. Tell nobody of this.’

  ‘Yessir,’ she snapped, her hand rising in automatic salute.

  She stumbled past into the main part of the carriage. There was more of a semblance of order than when she’d awoken. Sergeants were gathering their squads and proper billeting arrangements were being made with weapons and kitbags.

  Zenobi glanced back and saw that Abioye was gone. She felt pleased at her honesty, and not just because it assuaged the guilt by association that had tarnished her conscience the moment she had seen the prohibited book. As company standard bearer she had to hold herself to the highest standards of loyalty and, yes, integrity.

  Rejoining her squad, she was soon swept into the daily life of the defence corps trooper, coming to terms with the same routine but in different circumstances. About half an hour later they were called to attend to the captain, who had reappeared in the carriage from whatever quarters had been secured away from the bulk of the company. She stepped up onto a bench near the door so that she could be seen by the whole compartment, several hundred pairs of eyes all turned towards her as one.

  ‘The transfer station where we boarded has been destroyed,’ she told them, each word enunciated carefully, her expression a study in sober impassivity. ‘There were no survivors.’

  Zenobi took this news with a sigh of resignation, and there was no particular reaction from the rest of the company.

  ‘The trains we boarded are following different lines to the battle­front. It is unlikely that we will see the others again. Certainly not this side of victory for us. Elements of the 64th, 65th and 70th Defence Corps have come together on this train. Nearly six thousand troopers and three hundred officers and other ranks. Colonel Tadessa is not among them. The corps are combining higher officer staff functions and we will come together as a single operating unit. Old squad, platoon and company designations will remain for the sake of simplicity. However, we are no longer the 64th Defence Corps. All troopers, officers and other ranks aboard this train are now proud soldiers of the Addaba Free Corps.’

  There were smiles and shouts of approval to greet this news. Zenobi grinned, catching a look from Menber past the bodies of her companions.

  ‘The Free Corps!’ someone shouted.

  ‘The Free Corps!’ Zenobi called back, along with a deafening ­chorus of other voices.

  Egwu smiled, nodding her acknowledgement of their enthusiasm.

  ‘Yes,’ she laughed. ‘We thought that would be popular.’

  The shout of ‘Free Corps’ went up again, and once more, until the captain raised her hands for quiet. The troopers settled as her expression became serious.

  ‘The truth is, the hurried transfer has left us in bad shape. We have the same manpower as before, but heavier weaponry and specialist equipment was still being loaded at the time of our quick departure. The same is true of rations, water sanitation packs, ammunition and other supplies.’

  The captain paused to allow the importance of this to sink in. Her stare roamed across her command.

  ‘In addition, the crew that were trained to operate the defensive systems of this locomotive were mostly on the ground.’ Disquieted mutters greeted this news, and Zenobi sagged with the thought of going almost defenceless into the attack on the Palace. ‘A few that were servicing their weapons remained behind. You will each be shown how to man the guns over the next few hours and defence shifts will be drawn up by your platoon officers.’

  Once more she waited for this information to seep into the minds of the troopers, hands clasping and relaxing round the baton she held at her waist. Zenobi could only imagine the strain the past twelve hours had placed on her commander and the other officers. She had no illusions that the rest of her life was likely to be brutal and short, but at least she didn’t have to weigh up decisions that would alter the life chances of hundreds, perhaps thousands of others.

  ‘Alpha Platoon, you will be first to report for gunnery training.’ Egwu lifted her baton in dismissal and received the salute of her company in return. A burst of chatter filled the carriage as she stepped down from the bench and disappeared back through the door.

  ‘Was never going to be a long fight anyway,’ said Lieutenant Okoye.

  The shiv cuts deeper

  Evidence of daemons

  Punishment

  Lion’s Gate space port, tropophex core, twenty hours since assault

  A hundred and twenty strong, the Iron Warriors insertion force pushed up into the Lion’s Gate space port like a splinter worming its way towards a person’s heart. One by one they had gathered, the small force coming together over the course of several hours, while similar formations did likewise in other parts of the port-city.

  Forrix had expected more resistance but having passed through the outer skin of the space port the warriors of the IV Legion had encountered little in the way of opposition. Most of the defenders were occupied with the tumult of beastmen and rogue troopers rampaging through the lower levels, or defending against the aerial attacks and landings that had begun in the uppermost reaches. As yet it seemed that the Imperial Fists and their allies thought the middle levels of the port unthreatened.

  ‘Auspex shows nothing within seven hundred metres of our position,’ reported Allax, sweeping the scanning device left and right as the company waited at the junction of a dormant travelator and an arterial corridor.

  The innards of the space port betrayed its purpose as a place of labour rather than a domestic hive. While the outer regions had been packed with defended hab-blocks, communal areas and transit ­plazas, the core of the Lion’s Gate space port was filled with immense machinery for the transportation of materials to and from the landing docks at the summit and arranged in a spiral down the flanks. Th
ey had passed loading bays vast enough for Emperor-class Titans to pass through, accessed by lifters capable of carrying a company of battle tanks. Monorail stations abutted these cavernous spaces, their locomotives missing but their sidings filled with carriages, each a hundred metres long and forty high.

  With vox contact too much of a detection risk, the IV Legion infiltrators were reduced to picking up the energy signatures of power armour, coupled with transponder beacons with a range of only two hundred metres – signals too faint for the standard monitoring stations to pick up. The click-click-click of the auspex on passive scan was audible above the creaking of the port’s ancient metal skeleton, the clatter of chains swinging and the rumble of the ongoing barrages.

  ‘We’ll move up,’ said Forrix, pointing his bolter towards the stationary travelator. They swept suit lamps into the dark tunnel, the light swallowed after forty metres. ‘Nobody to find here.’

  Captain Gharal led the way, a ten-strong squad with him. The others followed a hundred metres behind, close enough to give support if needed, far enough to slip away if that proved the more prudent course. Each of the thousand Space Marines had been chosen by the Trident, based on the reports of the field commanders regarding temperament and patience. No glory-hound heroes, no warriors that would put personal honour above the mission.

  An army of pragmatists, Falk had called it.

  Forrix was in command, but his objective was nebulous. Kroeger’s cunning plan was good enough to get them inside the space port but ran short of details on what to do once they were inside. To follow the shiv analogy, Forrix had promised to find a vital organ to pierce.

  Lacking any detailed intelligence regarding the interior of the space port – their allies in the Alpha Legion had been disappointing on that account – Forrix was left with finding a target of opportunity. In lieu of any defined objective, he had chosen a geographic rendezvous, appointing a grid coordinate as the final meeting point for the force. Smaller formations within the army had been given waypoints so that they approached from different routes, their full strength concealed until it had come together.