by William King
“I am sir. At least I am temporary, although I pride myself on being a better class of person, sir, than most you will find here. I am not indigent, but alas there are few openings for a scribe of the third level these days.”
“You could always consider other work,” said Ragnar a little taken aback.
“Other work, sir! Impossible! Why the very thought of it! My forefathers would turn in their graves if I accepted a position of lesser merit. I am a scribe of third class like my father before me, and his father before him.”
Ragnar was a little astonished by the ferocious intensity of the man’s speech. He sounded almost as if he had been insulted by the Space Wolfs words.
Fascinated as he was by this encounter with a Terran, he had his plans and he needed to move closer to fulfilling them.
“Be that as it may, I need a healer.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, you look the picture of health, although your canine teeth could use a little work by the look of them.”
Ragnar let out a long growl that made the little man cringe backward. “It is not me that needs help. My companion is hurt.”
Linus seemed to notice Ragnar for the first time. He took in his size, his weapons, his dented armour and his threatening appearance. Then he shrugged. “Why did you not say so immediately, sir? I am sure Brother Malburius will be able to help. Come let us seek him.”
“First I must bring my comrade.”
“Of course, sir, of course,” He acquiesced so quickly that Ragnar’s suspicions were aroused. Was the little man preparing to lead them into a trap? With Haegr wounded and himself at less than one hundred per cent things might go ill if that were the case.
Slowly, partially supporting Haegr now, they made their way towards the temple in the middle of the square. By the time they reached the doorway, Haegr had all but collapsed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brother Malburius was a tall lean man with a grey, well kept goatee beard. His hair too was grey and his face was lined. He had a slight stoop. He wore the robes of the Adeptus Ministorum with a weary pride. He looked tired and not at all happy to see two battered Space Marines cluttering up the inside of his ministry.
“Space Wolves, eh?” he said. “Attached to House Belisarius, no doubt.”
“How do you know that?” Ragnar asked. His suspicions were fully aroused. He glanced around the converted tunnel that was the temple. He noted nothing threatening — only some salvaged pews, worn Imperial saints that looked as if they had been scavenged from a dump and a massive Imperial eagle embossed altar. The temple looked as run down as its artefacts, but at least it was tidy.
Brother Malburius looked closely at Haegr and beckoned them to follow him into the depths of the temple. Behind the altar was an antechamber packed with run-down looking medical equipment. It smelled of blood, pain and antiseptic incense. As he walked, the priest talked. “It was hardly difficult. One look at you tells me your Chapter, Brother Ragnar. The Wolfblades are the only Space Marines on Terra. Your kind has not been popular here since the Heresy.”
“Is that so?” said Haegr, grimacing. “I would never have guessed from the reception we got.”
Malburius gestured for Haegr to lie down on an examination table. Much to Ragnar’s surprise the big man obeyed, slumping down on top of it. The bronze and metal table, a mass of universal joints and moulded gargoyle heads, flexed under Haegr’s weight, but held firm.
Malburius screwed a magnopticle into one eye, and bent to examine the Space Marine’s wounds. He adjusted some dials on the control altar and invoked the Machine God. Two globes of light flickered to life on either end of the table. Malburius attached dermal divination sensors and lit two sticks of medical incense.
Ragnar was not sure what good those would do given the armour that covered Haegr and the changes that had been made to his physique when he became a Space Marine, but he did not say anything.
No sooner was the connection made than the sensors began to pulse wildly. Malburius banged the machinery with his fist and uttered an invocation to the tech-spirits but it made no difference. He thrust a thermal sensor into Haegr’s mouth. Linus Serpico watched, eyes wide, saying nothing.
“Don’t eat it,” said Ragnar. Haegr grimaced. The fact he did not speak indicated to Ragnar that the situation did not look promising. After a few moments, Malburius removed the sensor and shook his head.
“It does not look good,” he said. “I have to assume there is internal damage. I will need to remove the carapace and take a look inside.”
“Are you sure you are qualified for this?” asked Haegr with a fixed grin. Brother Malburius looked at him.
“If truth be told, no. I received basic medical training in the seminary. I can perform basic battlefield work and anything necessary to treat my flock. I was never taught to deal with the likes of you. Judging by the readings of my old instruments, I expect to find all manner of alterations to the basic human bio-form. Will that not be so?”
There was disapproval in his voice. Ragnar was not used to this and resented it. Haegr nodded. Malburius had an aura of competence that commanded respect.
“I expect that your battle-brother here…” A gesture indicated Ragnar. “Could most likely perform any surgery as competently as I.”
“This is not what I wanted to hear,” said Haegr. He looked at Ragnar as if expecting confirmation. Ragnar knew the basics of field medicine but he was not a trained chirurgeon. “You have probably had more experience than me,” he said.
“I’ve had plenty of practice down here. There are always accidents and fights and there is no one else to patch people up.”
Haegr looked as if he was weakening rapidly. He concealed his pain from the priest but Ragnar could sense it. He also sensed that Malburius was nervous and was trying to delay the operation for as long as he could. Ragnar came to a swift decision. “Do what you need to. I will assist you in any way I can.”
Malburius nodded and moved to the nearest cabinet. He spoke directly to Haegr. “I have painkillers, somnabulium and surgical tools here. I can render you unconscious and…”
“That will not be necessary,” said Haegr. “Begin at once. A hero as mighty as myself need not fear a little pain.”
“Ah, the famous Space Marine hardihood,” said Malburius. He glanced at Linus. “Friend Serpico bring me boiled, purified water and lots of it,” He looked at Ragnar. “There may well be a loss of blood. I doubt your blood type is common among people here. I may need to transfuse yours.”
Ragnar knew what he was talking about. Many types of blood were incompatible. Fortunately all Space Wolves shared the same type. It was part of the process that turned them into Wolves. “You can use mine,” he said. Malburius nodded and headed over to a strange contraption of translucent tubes and accordion fan pumps. He wheeled it over to the long table. “I don’t get much call for this sort of thing usually. Normally it’s appendectomies, or childbirths or amputations after roof-falls. You two have been in battle,” It was not a question, although he made it sound like one.
“We fought with some of the Brotherhood of Light and their prophet,” Ragnar wanted this out in the open. If Malburius had any sympathy for the heretics he wanted to know before the man stood over Haegr with a las-scalpel in his hand. Malburius only nodded.
“I wondered how long it would be before someone took action against them,” said the missionary. “They have been building up their numbers in the area for a while. It was only a matter of time before someone did something.”
The man was sharp and fishing for information. Ragnar could see nothing to be gained either by contradicting him, or agreeing with him, so he kept his mouth shut.
Malburius slapped the table and looked at Haegr. “We’ll need to remove your chestplate,” he said.
Haegr muttered a curse and bit his lip as they did so. His massive tusks must have made it painful. Ragnar could see that the black filament layer was badly damaged. There were ga
ping holes in it through which pink flesh, clean white bone and glistening internal organs could be seen.
Linus entered bearing a bucket of steaming water and Malburius washed his hands and sprayed them with a chemical designed to kill disease spores. It came from a standard military dispenser marked with the Imperial eagle. Swiftly and competently he hooked Ragnar and Haegr up to the blood machine. “There is no power grid near here, Brother Ragnar,” he said, “so you must power the machine. If there is a need, you must work this pump with your foot. If the pain becomes too intense, say so, and friend Linus will take up the task.”
Linus did not look at all happy to be here.
“I am a scribe third class, not a medical auxiliary,” he said.
“Nonetheless,” said Malburius, “you will help. This man’s life may depend on it. And believe me, the Imperium places considerably more value on his life than it does on yours. Is that not so, Space Wolf?”
Ragnar growled. Linus swallowed deeply in a manner that did not inspire confidence, but he nodded. Malburius kneeled and offered up a prayer to the Emperor and then took up his las-scalpel. Ragnar leaned forward watching closely, ready for any contingency, and prepared to deal with any threat. If Malburius attempted treachery, he would die for it. This maze of thin pipework would not even slow Ragnar down.
Malburius gave no sign that he was aware of how close he was to violent death. He unscrewed the magnopticle and donned a pair of goggles of thick smoked glass. Ragnar could see that they contained some sort of optical magnification system. He lifted the las-scalpel and touched the activation rune. A beam of pure intense light sprang into being. It was about a hand-width long.
Malburius twisted the body of the scalpel and the beam shortened. He leaned forward and began slowly and carefully cutting away the carapace. Then he sliced the flesh to expose the internal organs beneath. Haegr flinched. The smell of seared flesh filled the air.
Malburius moved very carefully. The priest was obviously used to dealing with normal humans, and there was much about a Space Marine’s anatomy and skeleton that apparently confused him. The bones were thicker and reinforced to be strong as steel. The ribs were much wider and flatter than a mortal’s, designed to provide an extra layer of armour over the vital internal organs. Most of these were in different places, intermingled with grafts that had no place within a human’s body.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, priest?” asked Haegr, through gritted teeth. Sweat beaded his brow. “I am very fond of my belly. It has taken a long time to bring it to the peak of perfection that it enjoys today. I would not have you reducing my manly girth.”
“Perhaps you would like to do this yourself,” said Brother Malburius. He shook his head and tutted. “This is what comes from letting your patients remain conscious,” he added.
“Perhaps you could give me a sermon, priest. They usually put me to sleep quickly enough.”
“And blasphemy as well,” said Malburius. “Little wonder the Emperor has seen fit to withdraw his favour from you.”
As he spoke, the missionary leaned forward and pushed aside the oolitic kidney Ragnar could see that it was inflamed. Blood was flowing from several places. The wounds did not look good. He pointed this out to Malburius.
Swiftly the priest moved the las-scalpel over the perforations and with practiced skill, cauterised them closed. Haegr gritted his teeth. He was becoming paler, but emitted no gasp. Malburius looked at him, but the Wolf gestured for him to continue.
Sweat was dripping from Haegr’s brow. Ragnar studied him closely, wondering whether his friend would remain conscious.
Haegr had lapsed into complete silence, as if he were concentrating on conserving all his strength for a superhuman effort to come. His breathing sounded strange until Ragnar realised it was the faint flexion of the lungs themselves. Malburius moved to them and attached suction cables. Blood pumped into the translucent plasmite as it drained away. Ragnar felt a faint sting as his own blood was drawn forth. Haegr was obviously losing the precious red stuff quickly. Still he gave no sign of complaint.
A faint dry retching indicated that Linus Serpico was finding it difficult to remain sanguine. He was obviously not used to dealing with situations like this.
Brother Malburius sucked in air, and leaned forward. It was obvious that he had found something amiss. He reached down and wafted some antiseptic incense onto an area. Haegr let out a stifled moan. Malburius again leaned forward and began making practiced careful movements with the scalpel. “Artery sealed,” he muttered. “Let’s see what else we can find.”
He continued to explore the wound gently, probing with his fingers. Ragnar maintained his silence until the priest seemed satisfied. “That is the best I can do,” he said eventually and began to close up, carefully cauterising the wounds and sealing them with synthi-flesh. “I would recommend to most people that they spend the next few days abed, but you are Space Marines. I have heard much of your miraculous healing powers. I now begin to believe it. Much of the internal damage was healing itself even as I operated. Only the major perforations needed work although they needed it desperately. It is astonishing, and a testimony to the greatness and mercy of the Emperor.”
“If you say so,” said Haegr opening his eyes and belching. “I rather think it a testimony to my heroic powers of recuperation.”
Ragnar shook his head. Weak as he was, Haegr was incorrigible.
“It’s time to begin closing you up,” said Malburius. Only now did he permit himself to look nervous. Ragnar saw him swallow. Swiftly and precisely he began to set about the task.
“What do you know of the Brotherhood?” he asked Malburius as the man worked.
“They call themselves ‘The Righteous’, and they are certainly filled with righteous hatred.”
“You agree with them?”
“They choose to interpret the Emperor’s words in a way that suits their prejudices.”
“Suffer not a mutant to live?” asked Ragnar.
“Aye, but they spread their nets too widely.”
“What do you mean?”
“They hate those to whom the Emperor gave shelter, and to whom he extended the cloak of his protection.”
“The Navigators?”
“Aye, the Navigators.”
“You think they are wrong?”
“If the Emperor himself chose to spare the Navigators, who are they to contradict him? It seems to me that they combine the sins of wrath and pride. They are arrogant.”
“Yet they do not seem to lack supporters.”
“The layfolk are ever easy to lead into error. That is why my brothers and I must continue the great work here on the sacred soil of Terra. Even in this holding, despite all my efforts, they have sympathisers,” There was an obvious sincerity in the man’s voice when he spoke of the holy nature of the home world. It commanded respect, even though Ragnar disagreed with him. As Ragnar listened he constantly watched the doors, as well as the priest who sutured and repaired his colleague’s flesh. He would give any sympathisers of the Brotherhood of Light a warm welcome if they intruded.
“We thank you for your help, brother,” said Ragnar. He glanced at Haegr. The big man had regained some colour. “Now we must find our way to the surface.”
“That will not be easy,” said Malburius. “It is many days’ march to the great access conduit and a long climb from there. I should know. I made the journey myself coming down.”
“It is something we must do,” said Ragnar. “We have work to do up there.”
“I would show you myself, but I have duties here. Linus will show you, I am sure.”
“I am not a guide,” Linus retorted. “My family would never stoop to such a function.”
“It seems to me that you no longer have employment as a scribe,” replied the priest. “And it seems to me that these men are engaged in the Emperor’s work. You must help them.”
Ragnar added. “I am sure House Belisarius could find work for a
reliable third class scribe,” he said. “If you would help us.”
“I am not sure,” said Linus. “My grade applied only to Imperial sprocket works number six. I do not know whether it is transferable to the upper levels.”
“Perhaps it might be worth finding out,” said Ragnar. “You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”
Linus appeared undecided. Ragnar was about to ask Brother Malburius for a less timorous guide when the bird-like little man spoke up. “Very well, I shall do it,” He seemed to be addressing his proud ancestors as much as the Wolves. “I will do all that needs must in order to regain my accustomed station in life.”
“And maybe improve it,” said Haegr, rising from the table. He had begun to apply repair cement to his chestplate, temporarily patching the holes until they could find an armourer. Linus looked a little shocked.
“Maybe even that,” he said eventually, in a tone that suggested he was appalled by his own daring.
“Rest here for a few hours,” said Brother Malburius. “I will provide you with provisions for your journey.”
“We have no need of provisions,” said Ragnar.
“No, but Brother Linus has.”
“As have I,” reprimanded Haegr. “After all, Ragnar, it has been hours since I have eaten, and I need to regain my mighty strength.”
“Please wait here,” said the priest. He seemed astonished that Haegr could even speak of food so soon after surgery. “The fewer people who see you, the fewer tales will be told. No doubt, word of the strangers’ arrival has gone round the whole holding by now,” He strode out.
Ragnar watched him go, uncertain of what to do. Doubts flickered into his mind. What if the priest were in league with the brothers? What if he had gone to summon them? He dismissed the thoughts immediately. Malburius did not seem that sort of man. His scent marked him as one who was trustworthy. He had shown no hint of duplicity. Even if he was treacherous, it did not matter. Ragnar felt sure that they could deal with any threat. He settled down to wait patiently, keeping watch on his companions.
