by Steve Parker
‘Messy,’ said Zeed, ‘but two of the ammo boxes are still intact.’
He crouched over the ruined man-machine and lifted the grey boxes from the battered metal chassis.
There was a smooth black container strapped to the servitor’s broken back. It, like the two ammo boxes, was dented and scraped, but had suffered no more damage than that. The servitor’s white body fluids were splashed along one side of it.
‘The hexagraphe?’ asked Voss.
Sigma’s servo-skull drifted over, anti-gravitic motors buzzing, like a fat beetle on the wing.
‘Detach it from the body,’ he commanded, ‘but do not open it. We must not deploy it here, because the moment we do, every psychic eye on this planet will be turned to your location. I say again, keep it sealed.’
‘We heard you,’ said Voss as he bent and unclasped the container from the pale and twisted torso.
‘Strap it to another of the servitors,’ Sigma ordered. ‘And keep that servitor between you. This operation cannot afford a repeat of what just happened here.’
‘If you had told us in the first place,’ Zeed countered.
The skull whirled to face him.
‘As your Alpha has already pointed out, the mission-chrono is ticking. I suggest you proceed.’
‘Solarion,’ said Karras. He needed no more words than that.
The Ultramarine had already turned and was walking off towards the tunnel mouth they must enter next. He disappeared into it, his light shimmering on the walls. But the quality of that light had changed again, and Karras noted it. The air wasn’t quite as crisp now. He checked his external temperature readout.
It’s getting warmer. We’re going deeper and it’s getting warmer.
According to the automapper projection on his retinal display, they were soon to cross into uncharted territory. It would not be long before they’d have to use the hexagraphe.
And if what Sigma says is correct, the moment we do, it will bring the onslaught right down on top of us.
He hefted his bolter in his hands, comforted by the weapon’s reassuring weight, and followed Solarion into the tunnel mouth.
So be it, he thought, gripping the weapon firmly. It’s about time we got to the real business.
Perhaps the force sword Arquemann, sheathed and slung over his left pauldron, felt the same way. Karras couldn’t tell. While he kept his inner gates closed to the flow of his power, he was cut off from perceiving the blade’s mood.
Be patient, thirsty one, he told the blade regardless. The killing will come.
And when it did come, it would hit them all like a perfect storm. One they’d be lucky to survive.
6
Four hours in, and these were no longer the same mines they had entered. Not any more. Signs of human exploitation were non-existent. There were no more support beams or thick plasteel safety doors. No tools had worked these walls. No ore had been pulled from these deep rocks to be taken to the refineries above. These were the planet’s natural caves and lava tunnels, at least for the most part. Criss-crossing them at every angle were the passages cut by the diamond-hard teeth of the leviathan rock-eaters.
Karras couldn’t shake the feeling that the earlier quake had not been the result of simple tectonics. Was it possible that some of the rock-eaters had survived down here, undiscovered? Or had the quake been caused by something much, much worse?
It was lighter here. Karras studied the nearest wall. Patches of bioluminescent growth dotted the rock. He reached out and touched one. It was about a centimetre deep at the middle, springy but quite dry. The moment he touched it, patterns of colour rippled across it, and a faint puff of powder rose into the air. His helmet sensors warned him of a mild cytotoxin in that dust, mixed with a trace of hallucinogen – a defence mechanism.
Sigma had urged them beyond the extents of the map projected by their retinal displays. Karras noted the moment on his automapper when the blips indicating his kill-team left the glowing loops of digital tunnels and chambers behind and moved into dark, empty space. They would, Sigma insisted, continue in the general direction of the prime objective until they came to a suitable location from which to deploy the hexagraphe. That meant the next tunnel intersection because, as things stood now, there was no other way to discern the proper path until the strange device was put to use.
‘Turn off your lights,’ Karras told the others as he thumbed off his own. ‘These organisms on the walls provide more than enough illumination for low-light vision mode.’
Voss stopped to study one and noted the same ripple of light and defensive toxin release. ‘Interesting reaction. Quite an aggressive response. If this were analysed, I’d wager we’d find tyranid DNA.’
Zeed was unimpressed. ‘I didn’t come here to fight moss. Five hours in and no hard contact. How sure are we of a xenos infestation? We’ve seen nothing. How good is your intelligence, Sigma? Because, so far, it looks like no one is home.’
The servo-skull, or rather its operator, ignored him. Still trailing its comms hard-line all the way back to the relay by the Inorin vent, the proxy device continued to move relative to Solarion’s position as the Ultramarine stayed on point up ahead.
Whether tyranid organism or not, the moss-like patches cast everything in an eerie bluish glow, not unlike the moon of Damaroth, only nowhere near as bright. In fact, there was something about the quality of light and air here, the tone of the scene, that cast Karras’s mind back to his times struggling against the Black River. Perhaps it was the sense of being channelled towards something unknown. Perhaps it was just the sense of confinement with only forward motion possible. Whichever was true, the memories and the sensations they brought with them were unwelcome. Fortunately, they were soon broken by the dry, crackling tones of Sigma speaking through his fleshless floating remote.
‘This will suffice, Talon. We will deploy the hexagraphe here.’
Up ahead, Solarion and the floating skull had emerged from the end of the current passage. Karras stopped beside them, finding himself on a broad ledge before a sheer, craggy drop that plunged about thirty metres into a strange glowing pool. Looking over the edge, he noticed masses of crystal below the waters, shimmering in pale hues of blue and green. The water itself was perfectly still.
The rest of the kill-team and their three remaining gun-servitors emerged onto the ledge. Voss whistled as he gazed around the massive cavern. ‘Impressive. It reminds me of the caverns on Valaxos. Minus all the dead and dying, of course.’
‘Sigma,’ said Karras. ‘That water looks like it’s heavily infused with margonite.’
‘It should not be a problem. If there is any effect, it will only be to boost the strength of the device’s charge. Think of a psychic hood. It is the margonite folded into the metals which resonates with the gifts of the wearer. We think this is why the broodlord opted to nest so deep in the tunnels. The margonite may be magnifying its powers. The miners had already stripped the upper levels. Regardless, the hexagraphe will work. Take it to the centre of this chamber and extract it from its carrying case.’
The ledge they were on followed the curving cavern wall a short distance to the left, then branched out into the middle of the chamber, forming a natural bridge across the glowing lake below. In the approximate centre, beneath a ceiling dense with stalactites, that bridge split into four sections, each leading off to a different part of the cavern walls. Three of those narrow spans led to dark hollows, like the gaping mouths of dead men. It was down one of these that Talon’s primary objective lay. But which?
‘G-17,’ voxed Karras. ‘Come forwards.’
One of the servitors trundled out from behind the others and rolled over to stop in front of the kill-team leader. Karras looked at the servitor’s white-fleshed face, lens-eyed and steel-jawed. Its papery skin was the same colour as his own, though for entirely different reasons.
‘Turn,’ he told the man-machine.
Obediently, the servitor rotated on its treads, presentin
g its back.
Karras stepped in and removed the case containing the inquisitor’s hexagraphe.
‘Return to your place in line,’ he told the servitor. Wordlessly, it obeyed.
Rauth, Zeed and Solarion kept their weapons raised and their attention on the tunnel entrances. Voss, however, joined Karras to watch him extract the device. His flamer lacked the range to cover the far side of the chamber, and he was curious to see what marvel of technology was so critical to the success of the operation.
Sigma’s servo-skull descended to hover a metre over the black case. There was a high-pitched screech from the skull’s vox-grille – a pulse-burst code – and the case hissed open, releasing its hydraulic seals. The lid swung up slowly on small pistons. The inner walls of the box were intricately carved with ancient and baroque symbols, only a few of which Karras had ever seen in all his many decades of reading and dedicated study.
Hexagrammic and pentagrammic wards, he thought. But different from the ones with which we Space Marines are tattooed and branded.
He wondered at their origin, probably lost long ago in the mists of time, as was so much mankind had once known and had taken for granted. To Karras, the loss of knowledge always seemed particularly tragic.
The device itself sat in a circular depression in the centre of the box and was remarkably unassuming at first glance. A perfect sphere, little bigger than a child’s skull, flawlessly smooth and absolutely black. It seemed that such a thing ought to reflect light, but, much like the anti-specular resins used on Deathwatch armour, it did not. In fact, like their armour, it appeared to absorb it. At a casual glance, it might have been mistaken for a hole in space rather than a solid object, but solid it was, for around its middle was a band of ancient lettering, the script extremely fine and gold in colour.
Solarion, standing a metre to Karras’s left, glanced over. ‘Eldar! I’ve seen enough runes like that in my time!’
Voss stiffened and spun to regard the inquisitor’s floating yellow proxy. ‘Is this how the Ordo Xenos conducts its operations? By trusting Space Marine lives to the enemy’s tainted artefacts?’
The servo-skull turned its hollow sockets on the Imperial Fist.
‘A disappointing and predictable response from a warrior of the Adeptus Astartes, but one I had not expected from you, Talon Four. I had thought your affinity with technology would have taught you the value of looking beyond the source. Put your distaste aside in the name of expedience. This device is our only hope of mapping the tunnels beyond this point and selecting a route to the primary objective. There is no alternative, alien or otherwise.’ To Karras, he continued, ‘The Ordo has secured a number of hexagraphes over the millennia, and we have spent significant time and resources in their study. Our understanding is, if not complete, at least practical and applicable. We have employed them in the field before with success. We employ this one now, for there is no other way you can complete your mission in the time remaining.’
‘The woman is surely dead already,’ Zeed protested. ‘Forget accursed eldar orbs and all this stealth. Reclassify this as a purge and let me loose. I have genestealers to kill.’
The skull faced him. ‘When will you listen, Raven Guard? It is no mere genestealer that rules these depths. The broodlord is a foe beyond even your capabilities and, if you engage it directly, you will not survive. Whether my agent is alive or dead, you are to avoid contact with the broodlord. Do not seek it out. Do not stand your ground when it comes for you. This is no hunt to satisfy your ego and your bloodlust.’
‘White Phoenix,’ said Zeed. ‘Just what is her strategic value? Why are the lives of Space Marines being gambled on her recovery?’
‘No more questions,’ said Sigma. ‘You will proceed as ordered. The scalpel does not ask the surgeon why it cuts.’
That was too much for Zeed. Pride and anger erupted, crashing over his usual good humour and self-control. He moved in a blur, intent on striking down the servo-skull, obliterating it. With little more than a flinch, he covered two metres, but there he stopped, suddenly and abruptly. Karras heard him roar beneath his helm. It was followed by a furious torrent of invective. He realised Zeed was struggling against his own ceramite shell. His greatest asset had been turned against him at the speed of thought.
‘Armour lock,’ said Sigma coldly. ‘Consider it an insurance policy against just such folly as this. Should any of you act to compromise the mission, I can and will disable you.’
The servo-skull rose another metre into the air and turned to face Karras.
‘In attempting to damage this proxy, Talon Five has acted against the best interests of the kill-team and this operation. If you cannot elicit proper discipline from your people, Alpha, I will.’
‘This is an outrage,’ rumbled Voss deep in his throat, stepping forwards to glare at the hovering skull. ‘One does not–’
‘I agree,’ hissed Solarion, cutting him off. ‘The Inquisition oversteps the mark. Do not ever utilise this on me, Sigma, I’m warning you now.’
‘All of you, listen well,’ Sigma snapped at them. ‘The Ordo Xenos respects the Adeptus Astartes more, perhaps, than any other body in the Imperium. We know your value. We know what you can do. That respect comes from a long and fruitful cooperation. It is I who selected you, I who respects you most. But the war my Ordo wages is unlike any you have known. Nothing is ever as it seems. Taint and corruption are everywhere. The Imperium is besieged on all sides and in ways you cannot yet imagine. I need your capabilities to help me win that war. What am I to do if you will not listen to orders? Armour lock is a regrettable necessity. It gives me no pleasure to employ it, and I will do so only when pressed. Put your pride aside, work with me, and I shall not have to. Siefer Zeed, had I let you strike this servo-skull, you would have ended the mission right here. How many millions would die needlessly then because the Inquisition did not get the critical intelligence it sought? And how much suffering would White Phoenix have endured for nothing? Think on it.’
There was silence, heavy with angst.
‘You should have told me,’ said Karras at last. ‘We should not have found out like this.’ He turned to Zeed. ‘Your word, Ghost. Recall your oath. Give me your word. I need you back on mission.’
‘He pushes us too far, Scholar,’ grated the Raven Guard. ‘We are scions of the Emperor.’
‘And in His name, we took our oath and accepted our secondment. I’ll have your word, Ghost,’ Karras insisted.
The moment stretched out. At last, gruffly, Zeed answered. ‘You have my word, Scholar. I’m back on mission. But it’s not the end of this. The Raven Guard are puppets to no one. You speak of cooperation, Sigma. That does not mean unilateral control.’
Karras stepped in close and faced Zeed, visor-to-visor. ‘While we are Deathwatch, we are assigned to the Ordo, and Sigma has operational command. But I’m the kill-team leader, Ghost. Look at me. I’m Alpha here. I have tactical command. Take orders from me, for your Chapter’s honour, if nothing else.’
Zeed tried to nod, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even move a finger.
‘I gave my word, Scholar.’ His voice was low, the heat of his rage bleeding. ‘It will stand.’
‘Sigma,’ said Karras turning. ‘Unlock him. We don’t have time for this.’
‘No,’ replied Sigma pointedly, ‘we do not’.
There was a sharp burst of high-frequency noise from the servo-skull. Zeed’s armour unfroze. He flexed his plated limbs and rolled his shoulders, cursing quietly under his helm.
Be patient, brother, thought Karras. Let this play out for now. We are bound by oath to do our duty, but this cannot stand. Once we return to the Saint Nevarre…
With the situation now defused, at least for the moment, Sigma’s proxy drifted back down towards the case containing the hexagraphe, ignoring the glares of the giants surrounding it.
Over the link, the inquisitor addressed Karras. ‘Alpha, listen closely. It is almost time to unshackle your power. The he
xagraphe requires your gifts in order to function. It is a machine designed for a psyker’s use. You understand what this means, yes? The broodlord will sense you and send its mind to seek you out. You will feel it watching you, studying, evaluating. The horde will come down on you shortly after. That is unfortunate, but inevitable. We have come as far as we can unnoticed.’
‘Just tell me what to do,’ Karras demanded.
‘Pick it up and hold it out in front of you.’
Fixing his bolter to the mag-lock on his right cuisse, Karras did so. The sphere looked so innocuous in his hand. Did it really warrant so much caution?
‘Now release the lock on your power. Let the eldritch energies of the empyrean flow back into you and through you.’
Karras was only too happy to do that. As he felt the swell of ethereal energy within him, he saw the auras around him brighten, and felt Arquemann’s soul linking with his once more, the force sword as anxious for battle as the rest of the kill-team.
‘With your gift,’ said Sigma, ‘raise the orb into the air and push it out into the centre of the cavern. There! Hold it there. Good. Now listen carefully. Focus your mind on the hexagraphe as if it were a foe. Attack it with your witchfire. Attempt to destroy it.’
‘How will my destroying it help us?’
‘You won’t. It will absorb the energy and utilise it. You will see. But be ready. Once the energy is sufficient, the device will detonate. The moment it does, you need to throw a psychic shield around yourself and the others, and that includes the servitors. You must protect them from the device’s detonation.’
Even Rauth? wondered Karras.
‘Do you understand, Alpha? You must shield them immediately.’
