The Eye of Ezekiel

by C Z Dunn

  Though he had seen the Space Marine in his mind’s eye only seconds before, to bear witness to him in the flesh was no less disconcerting. Just as he had done in the vision, the Space Marine drew his pistol and pushed it through the bars. The coldness of it on Ladbon’s hot brow caused him to shudder involuntarily. Even though this was where his vision ended, him standing helpless with a gun to his head, Ladbon knew that the very next thing that would happen was that the Space Marine would pull the trigger and he would never see Marita again, never meet the son or daughter they had created together. Every Guardsman in every regiment of the Astra Militarum knew that if a Space Marine drew his weapon, he was bound under millennia-old oaths to the Emperor not to replace it until it had claimed a life. Ladbon’s death was a foregone conclusion.

  He closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again, the Space Marine was ascending the stairs, the confused and excited whispers of the prisoners ushering him out. Something had happened to prevent him pulling the trigger but Ladbon did not know what, just that he had felt some kind of connection between them for the briefest instant.

  What he did know was that he needed to get out of this cell and find Marita and their unborn child.

  Chapter Eight

  The moment Serpicus and Diezen were out of the considerable earshot of the rest of the Dark Angels command squad, the tech-priest’s personality underwent a startling change. It was as if a switch had been activated inside him, turning off the befuddled old tinkerer persona and allowing his true self to come to the fore instead.

  ‘Where do your loyalties lie, Dark Angel?’ Diezen’s voice had changed, harsher, more metallic.

  Serpicus grinned and shook his head. ‘Finally decided to drop the act, have we? I knew the mind of the great Hieronymous Diezen would not have atrophied to the point where it rendered him an imbecile.’

  ‘Answer the question, Serpicus. Where do your loyalties lie?’ Diezen stopped, the mechadendrites on his back poised menacingly.

  ‘Where they always have,’ Serpicus replied, his servo-arms coming to life, grasping at thin air to demonstrate their potential to destroy as well as to create. ‘Split between my debt of duty to Mars and my sworn oaths as a son of the Lion.’

  Diezen snorted, a grating sound that resulted in feedback. ‘And this loyalty to your “brothers”, is it reciprocated?’

  ‘There is not a single Dark Angel who would not lay down his life for me, and I for them,’ Serpicus replied defiantly.

  ‘But they don’t trust you, do they, Serpicus?’ Diezen said, his tone sympathetic. ‘The brother who spent years away from the Chapter studying on Mars. Do they keep you at arm’s length? Are you constantly made to feel as if you’re an outsider, as if they are keeping secrets from you?’

  Serpicus remained silent. In all Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes – with the possible exception of the Iron Hands and their successors – Techmarines stood as a breed apart. Whereas many Space Marines underwent augmentation treatment as a result of battlefield injury, limbs and eyes replaced thanks to the actions of the enemy, Techmarines actively sought to improve their bodies regardless of necessity. Those who had spent time being tutored on Mars also spent most of their time among the vehicles, Dreadnoughts and servitors of their respective Chapters, further alienating them from their battle-brothers.

  In a Chapter such as the Dark Angels, this effect was magnified tenfold. Though it was true that any of Serpicus’ brothers would lay down their life for him, it was also true that he was kept in the dark about many Chapter matters, even those that directly impacted him. Serpicus had long ago lost count of the number of times the Ravenwing had taken to battle, their bikes and speeders unblessed, as no Techmarine had accompanied them on their mission, or the numerous occasions elements of the Deathwing had disappeared for months on end taking vast amounts of Chapter assets with them. What made matters worse for Serpicus and his ilk was when the First and Second Company returned from their unplanned secret missions with their vehicles and kit damaged, or worse. If only the Techmarines were allowed to perform their duties to the fullest then perhaps the unnecessary losses of the Omnissiah’s gifts could be avoided.

  ‘Allow me to show you something, Dark Angel,’ Diezen said, shattering the silence with his artificial grate. He produced a small data-slate from within his robes, activated it with a mechadendrite and passed it to Serpicus.

  ‘What am I looking at here?’ Serpicus asked.

  ‘I was hoping you could tell me,’ Diezen replied, his grin suggesting that he already knew the answer.

  The flickering screen of the data-slate showed a colour vid taken on a battlefield. Atanix Triumvirae skitarii were engaged in fierce battle with technocultists of the Dark Mechanicus, dozens of wrecked vehicles and hundreds of corpses strewn across the desert wastes of the unnamed planet. Something caught the Techmarine’s keen eye and he pinched a pair of mechadendrites together to zoom in close on one particular section of the vid.

  ‘When was this taken?’ Serpicus asked.

  ‘Four years, seven months, nine days, three hours and fourteen minutes ago, Terran standard,’ Diezen said without pause or hesitation.

  Serpicus’ brow furrowed. He could tell that what he was seeing was the truth, that the vid was undoctored, but what it was showing him was impossible. An unhelmeted figure, clad in black Mark III power armour adorned with the livery of the Dark Angels stood in the midst of the battle. His face, like the armour he wore, was ancient and unfamiliar to Serpicus. If it was one of the brothers of the Ravenwing then it was one that the Techmarine had never encountered, and he had certainly never tended to that magnificent suit of battleplate. What was most disturbing about the vid, though, was not who it showed but what it showed him doing; his unknown brother was fighting alongside the technocultists.

  ‘Quite illuminating, isn’t it, Dark Angel?’ Diezen said, the artifice of his voice doing nothing to mask the relish with which he said it. He took the data-slate from the Techmarine and slipped it back into his robes.

  ‘Come, Serpicus. I have something else to show you.’

  The steaming cup of weak recaff felt good in Allix’s hands, returning feeling to frozen fingers and colour to pallid flesh. The rest of the squad drank from their mugs, wincing at the taste – something akin to chemically tainted boiled water – while a local medic finished checking Grigori over. After shining a light in the Vostroyan’s eyes, he turned to the translator and said something in Honorian.

  ‘He says you are all very fortunate,’ the dark-haired girl said. Her uniform was identical to that of the medic – light grey overalls with a single red stripe running the length of each sleeve and trouser leg – but hers had no markings at the shoulder to denote rank or position. ‘To have walked away without a scratch from a crash that destroyed your flyer and killed the pilot.’

  ‘We’re just naturally lucky, I guess,’ said Dmitri, caressing the warm metal mug in his hands like a long-lost lover. The girl translated what he had said, causing the medic to eye the Vostroyans sceptically. He said something back to her.

  ‘He is declaring you all fit for duty,’ she said. ‘Finish your drinks, gather your kit and report to Colonel Oosthousen of the Mordian Seventeenth. He will make arrangements to return you to your own regiment.’

  ‘We’ve already got that taken care of,’ Grigori muttered under his breath.

  ‘Please thank the medic for all that he has done,’ Allix said, pre-empting the translator asking Grigori to repeat himself.

  The girl said something in Honorian and the medic smiled and nodded to the Vostroyans before taking his leave. The translator was just about to follow him out of the small medicae facility when Allix spoke again.

  ‘Excuse me, miss. What is your name?’

  ‘My name is Ishobel. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Ishobel,’ Allix said, warml
y. ‘I don’t suppose you know a translator by the name of Marita, do you? We’re here to take her back to the capital.’

  Ishobel’s eyes grew wide. ‘I share a dorm with Marita! She said you’d come for her. Which one of you is Ladbon? I’ve heard so much about you.’

  The Vostroyans looked at each other uneasily. ‘Ladbon couldn’t come with us,’ Allix said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Dmitri added. ‘He was unavoidably detained.’ The albino grinned at his own cleverness. The rest of the squad simply glared at him.

  ‘Come with me,’ Ishobel said, practically bouncing out of the room in her excitement. ‘I’ll take you to her.’

  The wind swirled and eddied around the high battlements of Aurelianum, bringing with it fresh deposits of snow to add to the half metre that had already settled. Neither of the man-machines noticed the inclement weather, both of them focused intently on the massive weapons turret before them.

  ‘The construction is immaculate,’ Serpicus breathed. ‘Not a single rivet out of place, the welds airtight.’

  ‘The men and women who built and maintained these turrets dedicated their lives to their work in the same way as the Adeptus Mechanicus devote their lives to the veneration of the Omnissiah. For ten thousand years they remained hidden away not realising that they were doing the Machine-God’s great work.’

  ‘And where are they now, those men and women?’ Serpicus asked, unable to take his eyes from the perfect lines and curves of the turret and the huge guns it housed.

  ‘On Atanix Triumvirae – most of them, at least. Their leaders are on Mars already sharing their secrets. The turrets themselves will be shipped there once the ork forces have been dealt with.’

  Serpicus turned to face the arch magos. ‘So that is why you invoked the Pact. We’re not here to save the planet, we’re here to protect the technology.’

  Diezen laughed a harsh, rasping laugh. ‘Of course that’s why you’re here! Did you think I would have called upon the Dark Angels for any other reason?’

  ‘There are billions of lives at stake here, Diezen. Do you really expect my brothers to allow Imperial citizens to die so you can rob a world of its treasures?’

  ‘What your brothers choose to do is irrelevant, Dark Angel. I expect you to keep the turrets safe for the duration of the war against the orks.’

  Serpicus was just about to protest, to point out to Diezen that by the tech-priest’s own calculations it was a war that could not be won, when the turret spun into action, the enormous lascannon at its heart arcing skywards.

  ‘Excellent!’ Diezen said. ‘Now you will see exactly why these weapons systems require preservation and greater study.’

  Serpicus looked at where the eighteen-metre-long barrel of the weapon was pointing and saw fire in the sky from where an ork rok had entered the atmosphere. Belying its sheer size, the turret reacted to every little movement of the out-of-control craft, instantaneously correcting the position of the lascannon to keep it firmly locked on to its target.

  ‘I’d stand back if I were you,’ Diezen called. He had retreated further back along the battlements. Serpicus moved to join him as the weapon charged up with an excruciating hum, loud enough to damage the hearing of an unaugmented human.

  Reaching its crescendo, the barrel unleashed a bolt of searing energy, for the briefest of moments burning as bright and as hot as a star. Serpicus felt the exposed parts of him that were still flesh burning and his augmented optics shut down altogether to protect his vision. When his eyes came back online they revealed the bloom of an explosion in the sky, millions of tiny rok fragments raining down onto the planet’s surface.

  But the turret wasn’t done yet.

  At the very edge of the trench system that Diezen and the Dark Angels had navigated to reach the capital, orks stirred, seemingly using the destruction of the rok as cover to approach the city walls. With impossible swiftness, the lascannon adjusted once again, its long barrel pointed at the hundred or so greenskins charging in the distance.

  ‘Wait!’ Serpicus cried out. ‘If that thing fires it’ll destroy the entire–’

  Unheralded, the mighty weapon fired. Serpicus threw his arm across his face as a reaction but was surprised that this blast generated neither the heat nor the brightness of the previous shot. It was quieter too, his Larraman’s ear having to compensate less. When he looked to where the orks had been, not a single one remained, while the trench system was remarkably intact – not even telltale black scorch marks to show where the lascannon had hit.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Serpicus said. ‘An anti-aircraft weapon of this magnitude should have torn the planet asunder, at the very least ripped a hole in its surface deep enough to reach the core.’

  ‘But it’s not an anti-aircraft weapon,’ Diezen said, eyes suddenly wide with enthusiasm. ‘It’s whatever it needs to be. As you’ve just witnessed, it can be the perfect anti-personnel weapon, killing any living thing it strikes but leaving buildings and weapons intact. Had that been a Gargant or Titan instead of greenskins down there then it would have adjusted accordingly, likewise if it had been tanks or flyers. Though I have yet to see it for myself, the elders who maintain these weapons claim that they are powerful enough to bring down a craft in orbit around Honoria.’

  ‘Incredible,’ Serpicus said, marvelling at the smoothness with which the barrel traversed back into its dormant position.

  ‘Isn’t it just?’ Diezen said reverently. ‘And there are hundreds of these all over the planet, each one subtly different in some way.’

  ‘But the speed at which it moves, at which the gun switches between modes. The amount of servitors and calculus logi needed to operate it must be staggering.’

  Diezen laughed again, not cruelly but devoid of warmth nonetheless. ‘Come. Follow me.’

  The tech-priest scurried back along the battlements towards the base of the turret. He put his hand against the smooth wall and revealed a control panel identical to the one that had granted them access to the city walls. Muttering a control phrase in flawless binary, a section of the wall slid away to reveal the workings within. Diezen slipped into the darkness, Serpicus followed.

  ‘Sweet Omnissiah…’ Serpicus gasped, his artificial eyes irising wide in the near-perfect dark. Where he had expected to see scores of servitors and other slaves of the Machine-God stood at control lecterns, there were none. Instead, tons of cogs and gears and kilometres of pipes and wiring filled the vast dome of the turret. ‘It’s automated.’

  The Techmarine walked among the guts of the machine, each component as immaculate as the outer workings. Many of the systems he could identify, analogous in some way to machinery he was already familiar with, but there were parts of the internals that he did not recognise, could not even say for sure were possessed by the machine-spirit.

  ‘Is it controlled by arti–’ Serpicus began to say before being rudely cut off by a loud screech from Diezen’s voice box.

  ‘Do not say those words! Do not even think them!’ the arch magos yelled.

  Serpicus could have cast aspersions on Diezen’s lineage, called into question the sanctity of his sainted mother or even accused him of being a clumsy and slapdash toolsmith, and it would have provoked less of a reaction in the tech-priest.

  ‘So if it’s not… that, then how is it controlled?’ Serpicus said, closely examining a piece of unfamiliar technology that appeared to control a series of pistons and levers.

  ‘There are a multitude of technologies at work here, some known to the Priesthood, others that remain a mystery to us.’ Diezen turned to look at Serpicus, two sets of artificial eyes locked, unblinking. ‘Do you see now why it is so vital that this technology is protected from the greenskins, no matter the cost? Can I rely on you to do the right thing? To put the interests of Mars ahead of the petty concerns of your Chapter and the Imperium?’

  Serpicus looked away from
the arch magos, taking in all he could survey of the turret’s workings.

  ‘You can rely on me to do the right thing,’ he said, stepping back out into the cold.

  Marita’s excitement at soon being reunited with Ladbon did not wane, even when faced with the long march through the trenches to meet the waiting Valkyrie. Her cheeks, which were always ruddy, took on a glow thanks to the cold and her ringlets clung to her cheeks as the snow settling in her hair melted. Even wearing the thick trench coat loaned to her by a now shivering Grigori, the bulge at her belly was still visible – but if the extra weight she was carrying hindered her progress, she did not show it.

  Each of the Vostroyans took turns to walk alongside Marita with the exception of Allix, who maintained position at the head of the squad. All of them had spent time around the Honorian girl when she had been assigned as one of their regiment’s interpreters, and though none had grown quite as close to her as Ladbon had, she had a good rapport with all of his squad, even Mute, who she could communicate with via sign language.

  ‘What’s up with Allix?’ Marita said to Grigori, who had taken over from Dmitri in walking beside her.

  ‘The burden of leadership,’ he said after a moment’s thought. ‘Ladbon showed a lot of faith by giving Allix command of the squad and asking us to find you. If we get caught doing this then all of our asses are on the line, not just Allix’s. That kind of pressure would get to anybody.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s because I’m pregnant, do you?’

  ‘Why would Allix have an issue with you being pregnant?’

  ‘You know…’

  Grigori never found out why, the noise of a Valkyrie’s engines ticking over up ahead diverting everybody’s attention. Picking up the pace, they made it to the end of the trenchworks, Dmitiri scrambling up the walls first before helping Marita out with the aid of the two brothers.