The Ultramarines Omnibus

by Graham McNeill

  ‘Sector Secundus, clear!’

  ‘Sector Tertiarus, clear!’

  Uriel lowered his weapon and slid it into the restraining clip on his thigh.

  ‘All squad sergeants converge on me. Keep perimeters secure,’ he ordered.

  Seconds later, Uriel’s sergeants, Venasus, Dardino and Pasanius, his flamer sputtering in the falling rain, gathered at the foot of the temple stairs.

  ‘I want this place searched from end to end, house-to-house. Assume all locations are hostile and report in the moment you find anything.’

  ‘What are we looking for, captain? Survivors or victims?’ asked Venasus.

  ‘Anything out of the ordinary. There may be some clue as to what the eldar are doing in this system. If there is, I want it found.’

  Uriel indicated the weapon impacts on the blackened walls of the temple behind him. ‘Servants of the Emperor died here and I want to know why.’

  URIEL REMOVED HIS helmet and tipped his head back, allowing the rain to flow across his face, then spat a mouthful of water into the mud. He slicked his short, black hair back as examined the splintered remains of the temple doors: running his free hand across the burnt timber and impacts of small arms fire.

  He slid out his combat knife and dug the point of the weapon into a small impact crater and worked the tip back and forth.

  Something dropped from the wood into his hand and he lifted it closer to his face. His cupped palm swam with rainwater, but Uriel could clearly see a long splinter of jagged violet crystal. There were scores of these embedded in the wall and, from their grouping, Uriel could tell they had come from one shot.

  The tactical briefings he had digested on the eldar had told that they favoured weaponry that fired a hail of monomolecular, razor-edged discs of metal. But there had been other weapons, described as belonging to a darker sub-sect of these aliens, which fired just this kind of ammunition.

  Some texts codified this sub-sect as a divergent split of the eldar race, but to Uriel they were all the same: vile aliens that required cleansing in the holy fire of his bolter.

  He levered aside the doors and entered the temple, fighting down his rising fury at such desecration. The stench of scorched human fat still clung to the burnt timbers and Uriel pushed his way through to the front of the church where a blackened statue of the divine Master of Mankind lay half buried under a smashed pew. He pulled the statue clear and, though it was heavy, lifted it from the rabble.

  At the open rear of the temple he saw a muddy hillside with a number of simple grave markers hammered into the ground at its base. He splashed down from the temple, still carrying the statue, sinking calf deep in the mud. Uriel was saddened at the sheer number of graves. The people who had discovered and cared for Gedrik must have dug them for the people of Morten’s Reach.

  ‘Pasanius,’ called Uriel over the vox-net. ‘I am behind the temple. Bring me the boy’s body from the gunship. He should be buried here with his people.’

  ‘Acknowledged,’ hissed the voice of the veteran sergeant.

  Uriel rested the rescued statue before him and awaited Pasanius’s arrival silently in the rain.

  Sergeant Pasanius marched slowly around the temple carrying the bandage-swathed body of Gedrik, the green plaid of Caernus IV wrapped around his waist and his sword laid across his chest. An honour guard of Ultramarines followed the massive sergeant as he approached the mass grave.

  Uriel nodded to his friend and turned to the warriors who stood behind him.

  ‘Find a grave marked with the name Maeren. We will bury him with his woman.’

  The Ultramarines fanned out through the rain, scanning the names on the wooden cross pieces on the grave markers and, after a few minutes’ searching, found the grave of Gedrik’s wife and child. An honour guard dug in the muddy earth until the body of the young man was finally laid to rest in the soil of his home.

  Uriel marched through the graves to where the ground began to rise, intending to plant the statue of the Emperor into the soft earth to watch over His departed flock. He lifted the statue high above his head and rammed it down into the earth, where there was a dull, mud-deadened clang of stone on metal.

  Uriel pulled the statue clear, laying it to one side as he dropped to his knees and scraped away the mud at his feet.

  Perhaps half a metre down, the ground changed from soft, sucking mud to a wet, flaked metal. He cleared more of the mud away, revealing a rust pocked plate of metal.

  ‘Sergeant!’ he shouted. ‘Get over here and bring your squad with you. I think we may have found the Hill of the Metal the boy spoke of.’

  HALF AN HOUR later, the Ultramarines had cleared a vast swathe of the hillside of mud, and Uriel was amazed at the scale of what lay beneath. A strata of rusted metal lay beneath the hillside, its translucent depths awash with the same evil brown tendrils that had infested Gedrik’s sword.

  ‘Guilliman’s blood!’ swore Dardino when the hillside was revealed. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ answered Uriel. ‘But whatever it is, the eldar obviously thought it was worth dying for.’

  Uriel and Pasanius clambered up the slope towards a triangular depression in the centre of the otherwise flat surface of the metal. Metal crumbled beneath their armoured boots and each footfall was accompanied by squealing groans. The corrosion was converging upon the central point and Uriel knew that soon there would be nothing left. He and Pasanius squatted by the depression in the metal’s surface.

  The interior of the depression was lined with sockets and hanging wires that trailed into the depths of the metal.

  The exact purpose of the niche was a mystery, but it had obviously contained something roughly cylindrical, which had been removed. Was this what had caused the metal to die? Ancient script surrounded the niche and Uriel traced the outline of the strange alien letters with his finger.

  ‘Can you read it?’ asked Pasanius.

  ‘No, nor would I want to. These sigils are obviously alien in origin and their blasphemous meaning is best left undisclosed. But we should record them for those whose purpose is to delve into such mysteries.’

  Uriel wiped the rusted metal and mud from his armour. ‘Get a sample of this and we’ll take it back to the Vae Victus with us. Perhaps the techs will be able to identify this substance and decipher this script.’

  Uriel scooped a handful of mud and metal up in his hands, letting the ooze drip slowly from his fingers. ‘I don’t like it, Pasanius. Whenever xenos start acting out of character it worries me.’

  ‘What do you mean? Out of character?’

  ‘Well, look at this place. Every body is in its grave, perhaps two hundred people, enough to populate a settlement of this size, agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘And you checked the remains of the dwellings, was anything taken?’

  ‘Hard to tell, but no, I don’t think so. It looks like everything was burned to the ground rather than plundered.’

  ‘Exactly my point. Why didn’t they take prisoners? Have you ever known eldar raiders leave people behind when they could be taken for torture and slavery? No, these aliens came to this place for one thing only – whatever was in that metal.’

  ‘And what do you think that was? A weapon of some kind? Maybe something of holy significance to them?’

  ‘That’s what worries me, old friend. I don’t know and I can’t even begin to guess either. I’m beginning to dunk that we may have more to deal with than a simple case of alien pirates.’

  They returned to the foot of the hill and marched to the centre of the destroyed township. Rain fell in drenching sheets and Uriel welcomed it, allowing its cold bite to cleanse his skin of the evil sensation he had felt while standing at the hillside.

  A piece of a puzzle lay before him, yet he could not fathom its meaning. The eldar obviously had good reason to risk Imperial retribution by attacking one of the Emperor’s worlds, and he knew that these aliens would never undertake such action without
good reason.

  Before he could ponder the matter further, he was interrupted by a burst of static from the vox-net connection to the Vae Victus, and Uriel heard the excited tones of Lord Admiral Tiberius.

  ‘Captain Ventris, return to the ship immediately. Repeat, return to the ship immediately.’

  ‘Lord admiral, what is the matter? Has something happened?’

  ‘Indeed it has. I have just received word that system defence ships encountered a vessel with an anomalous engine signature around the eighth planet some two hours ago and fired on it.’

  ‘Somebody obviously listened to our warning then. Did they destroy the alien vessel?’

  ‘No, I do not believe they actually hit her, but they have driven it in our direction. We are almost directly in its flight path, captain. The alien vessel cannot know we are here. We can spring our own ambush on these bastards.’

  Uriel smiled, hearing the admiral’s anticipation even over the distortion of a ship-to-shore vox-caster.

  ‘How long before you can get back here, Uriel?’

  ‘We can be ready to depart in less than a minute, Lord Admiral. Transmit the surveyor data to the Thunderhawk’s avionics logister.’

  ‘Hurry, Uriel. They are moving fast and we might not get another shot at this.’

  ‘We shall be seeing you shortly. Ventris out.’

  Uriel replaced his helmet and faced his warriors.

  The foe we have come to fight approach our position and we have a chance to avenge those who fell to their traitorous attack. Honour demands that we accept this challenge.

  Uriel drew his power sword and shouted, ‘Are you ready for battle?’

  As one, the warriors of Fourth Company roared their affirmation.

  ARIO BARZANO RECLINED on his bed, sipping a glass of uskavar and scanning through a sheaf of papers delivered to his chambers by a grim-faced Sergeant Learchus. Barzano had endured the full wrath of the sergeant when he and Jenna Sharben had returned to the palace chambers after their excursion into the manufactorum districts of the city.

  The pair had hit a few beerhalls and alehouses, but had learned nothing much more than the fact that there was whispered talk of a mass demonstration planned. Most of the talk had been aimed simply at deriding the planetary rulers and the general miserable lot of the workers. After three fruitless hours, they had decided to cut their losses and return to the palace.

  The situation on Pavonis was in many ways more serious than he had imagined. There was more going on here than simple piracy and population unrest.

  He put down the papers and swung his legs out onto the floor, rubbing the bridge of his nose and sighing deeply. He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled towards the table where a system map had been spread out over the detritus of his evening meal. Dimly he could hear the persistent scratching of quills and the low prayers of his retinue of scribes. Lortuen Perjed was with them, directing their researches and collating their scrivenings, and Barzano felt a smile touch his lips at the thought of the old man. He had been stalwart support these last few weeks and Barzano doubted he could have come this far without his help.

  He returned his attention to the map and set his glass down on a curling corner.

  A line of blue ink recorded the course of the Vae Victus and Barzano wondered if this one ship would be enough. He quickly dismissed the thought. If they could not prevent the Bringer of Darkness from returning then the entire Ultima Segmentum battlefleet would not make a difference.

  The prospect depressed him and he refilled his glass.

  ‘Shouldn’t you go easy on that?’ asked Lortuen Perjed, appearing from the shadows. ‘It’s quite strong, you know.’

  ‘I know, but it is rather good,’ replied Barzano, pouring another glass.

  Perjed accepted the drink and sat on the edge of the bed. He sipped the drink, his eyes widening at its potency.

  ‘Yes, quite strong,’ he confirmed, taking another swallow. Barzano slumped into the chair before his display terminal and retrieved his glass from the map.

  ‘So what are you still doing up anyway, Lortuen?’

  The old adept shrugged. ‘Not much else to do at the moment.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Barzano. ‘I dislike playing a waiting game.’

  ‘You used to enjoy it. Waiting until your prey made a mistake and played right into your hands.’

  ‘Did I? I don’t remember.’

  ‘Yes, in the old days you were quite the patient hunter.’

  ‘The old days,’ snorted Barzano. ‘How long ago were they?’

  ‘Oh, a good few decades ago.’

  ‘A lot’s changed since then, Lortuen. I’m hardly the same man any more,’

  ‘My, you are in a sour mood tonight, Ario. Was it not Saint Josmane who said that any service of the Emperor should be rejoiced in?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ll bet he never had to do the things we’ve had to.’

  ‘No,’ admitted Perjed, ‘but then he was a martyr and got himself killed, Emperor rest his holy soul.’

  ‘True,’ laughed Barzano, ‘a fate I’d be happy to avoid if I can.’

  ‘That goes for me too,’ agreed Perjed, raising his glass.

  Barzano rubbed the heel of his palm against his temple and squeezed his eyes shut.

  He reached over the desk and picked up a small glass jar of white capsules.

  ‘Are the headaches bad?’

  Barzano nodded without replying, swallowing two of the capsules with a mouthful of uskavar. He shook his head and stuck out his tongue at their vile taste.

  ‘It is worse than before. I have felt it ever since we landed, something vast and older than time, pressing in on my skull.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should go easy on the uskavar. It can’t help.’

  ‘On the contrary, my dear old friend, it is the only thing that helps. To blot everything out in a haze of alcohol is one of the few pleasures I have left to me.’

  ‘No, that’s not the Ario Barzano I have served for thirty years speaking.’

  ‘And just who is that anyway? For I no longer know. The adept, the hive ganger, the courtier, the rogue trader? Who is the Ario Barzano you have served for all those years?’

  ‘The servant of the Emperor who has never once faltered in his duty. Maybe you no longer remember who you are, but I do, and it pains me to see you do this to yourself.’

  Barzano nodded and put down his glass with exaggerated care.

  ‘I am sorry, my friend. You are correct of course. The sooner we are done here the better.’

  ‘There is no need to apologise, Ario. I have served many masters in my time and almost all were harder work than you. But to change the subject, has there been any more contact with the Vae Victus and Captain Ventris?’’

  ‘Not since they arrived at Caernus IV, no.’

  ‘Do you expect them to be able to stop the eldar?’

  ‘I think if anyone can, it will be Uriel. I do not believe he is a man who gives up easily. He was a protégé of Captain Idaeus, you know?’

  ‘Yes, I remember reading the report from Thracia. Was that why you picked him?’

  ‘Partly, but he has something to prove and that’s the kind of man I want on my side when it all comes down to the final scrap.’

  ‘And you are hoping that some of Idaeus’s unconventional dunking may have rubbed off on Uriel?’

  ‘Hoping?’ laughed Barzano. ‘My dear Lortuen. I am counting on it.’

  URIEL WATCHED THE blips indicating the incoming eldar ship and the Vae Victus on the Thunderhawk’s augury panel and the ghostly green lines that connected their approach vectors. It was going to be close: the alien vessel was approaching at high speed and they had still to return to the Vae Victus to refuel. The question was: did they have time?

  He pointed towards the glowing panel and said, ‘How long until we can rendezvous with the Victus?’

  The pilot checked the augury panel. ‘Twenty-six minutes, captain.’

  Twenty-six min
utes. Add another fifteen to refuel, eight if they refuelled hot, with the engines still turning over in the launch bay. The Codex Astartes strictly forbade such a dangerous practice, but time was of the essence here and he could

  not afford to waste it. But then the Victus only had this one operable Thunderhawk and if it blew up in the launch bay…

  ‘Can we reach the eldar ship without refuelling?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Uriel swore. They were unlikely to get a better shot at the eldar than this, but they were hamstrung by distance and logistical necessity.

  If only the eldar could be made to turn towards them.

  ‘Quickly, patch me through to the lord admiral!’

  The co-pilot opened a channel to the Vae Victus.

  ‘Admiral, this is Captain Ventris, I do not believe we have time to reach you and refuel before the eldar will be beyond our reach.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ stormed the voice of Lord Admiral Tiberius from the command bridge. ‘You have to refuel, you don’t have enough to reach the eldar if you don’t.’

  ‘I know that, Admiral, but if we return to the Vae Victus we will miss our chance to take the fight to them on their own ship. You can retrieve us when we’re done.’

  The vox link crackled as Tiberius considered Uriel’s proposal. The admiral’s tone was cautious when he finally answered.

  ‘I do not consider this wise, Captain Ventris. You may be correct, but it goes against everything in the Codex Astartes regarding ship operations.’

  ‘I know that, but it is the best chance we have to cripple them. If we can get on the bridge we can do some serious damage. If you can drive them towards us with some well aimed battery fire, we can manoeuvre more effectively to get a better breaching position.’

  ‘Very well, Captain Ventris, but I shall be noting in my log that I disapprove of your flagrant disregard for the words of the Blessed Primarch’

  ‘That is your right and privilege, admiral, but we can discuss this at a later date. The enemy approaches.’

  ARCHON KESHARQ CRADLED his axe, its blade sticky with the blood of the deck officer responsible for the maintenance of the holofields and ground his teeth in anticipation. The raid on the last site indicated by the kyerzak had been absurdly