Wrath of Iron

by Chris Wraight

  Then he was over, crouching down on the floor, his heart beating harder than usual.

  Vertigo. With all the neurosurgery I’ve had, you’d have thought they could have fixed that one thing.

  Ahead of him was a long, twisting corridor, barely high enough for him to walk down without stooping. The walls were black and caked with accumulated filth. Old mechanical workings, mostly broken and filmed with rust, covered sheets of metal panelling. The place smelled fungal and claustrophobic.

  He didn’t know how far in he’d come. Even with the use of retinal-mounted chronos and locators it was all too easy to lose one’s sense of where one was. Everything was dark, wet and echoing – kilometre upon kilometre of meandering service tunnels and access tubes and maintenance shafts and drive pits and utility gantries, all of it full of stinking air and distant, echoing clangs.

  Most of the ways he went were deserted, long forgotten by the inhabitants of Shardenus Prime. He crept through old generatoria, still humming with power, abandoned sewage ducts and mechanised tunnels used only by sightless servitor-piloted drones.

  When he saw living men, he killed them. He crept up on them in the dark, keeping even his breathing silent, unleashing his needles into their soft, unwary flesh. When the killing was done he’d drink their blood, feeling hot pleasure wash into his system as he gulped it down.

  Then Valien would bless the name of the Emperor, the Master of Mankind, the living god who gave him his powers over life and death. He would speak reverently in the hidden tongues of the Talica death cult, remembering the spare beauty of the temple on Ghanreta Tertius where he’d been trained. He’d remember the way the light had come through the stained glass of the inner chapel, casting a halo on to the stone floor in the shape of a human heart.

  At times, the memory of that place would make his eyes prick with tears.

  From up ahead, somewhere in the maze of tunnels and access shafts, he heard a noise. It was faint, very faint, like the brush of leaves in foliage.

  Valien crept forwards, dropping almost to all fours and letting his fingers drift against the floor in front of him. He picked up speed, sweeping soundlessly along the silent, shadowy routes through the heart of the hive.

  The noise grew as he drew closer to it. It was nebulous, diffuse, muffled by the effects of the labyrinth.

  He reached the end of the tunnel. The ceiling gradually lowered to meet the floor, causing him to sink onto his belly and snake forwards. He felt the press of metal above and below him, and tried not to think too closely about how many thousands upon thousands of tonnes of spire structure stretched away above his tiny, burrowing body.

  The tunnel ended abruptly at a sheer cliff-edge. Ahead of him, a vast cavern lined with soaring pillars carved its way into the heart of the spire foundations. Looking right and left, he couldn’t see where it began or where it ended – each extremity was lost in a haze of smog and shadow. Looking straight ahead, he could just make out the other side: a sheer face of soot-black iron, banded with gothic ornamentation and studded with mechanical workings. Faint lights blinked in the gloom like lost sentinels adrift on a huge, black ocean.

  The noise came from far below, over a hundred metres down. Valien perched on the lip of his precarious vantage, and absorbed the information.

  Men were marching. They were organised into platoons, and the platoons into companies, and the companies into battalions. They went slowly, almost mechanically, arranged in close, grey-clad ranks. The noise of their massed boots striking the ground swirled and echoed up in the cathedral-like space, drumming and booming in the cavern above them.

  Valien extended his face a little further out, carefully checking his balance. He narrowed his right eye, and felt the auto-enhancement filters in his cornea do their work. His view zoomed in, overlaying cartographic data sequestered alongside his mission orders.

  The men were heading south-west, out of the central hives and towards Melamar Primus where the fighting was. They were well-equipped, with thick plated armour and what looked like non-standard-issue lasguns. He saw grenades hanging from their belts, and savage blades. They wore full-face masks with rebreathers attached, obscuring their faces entirely. Only the officers, marching ahead of their troops in command squads, had any exposed flesh on them.

  Valien swept his gaze over to them, recording the pict-sequence in his earlobe-mounted buffer for transmission into the grid. He concentrated on one man, a bulky figure at the front of a large contingent with a swaggering, rolling gait. His skin was entirely grey, like dregs of ration-gruel. Even by the standards of a sun-starved hive like Shardenus, that colour was unnatural.

  Valien zoomed in closer. The man’s eyes were white-less, like the black orbs of an animal. Faint pink lesions throbbed at his collar, pulsing with a life of their own. A tattoo had been gouged into his forehead, though Valien couldn’t make out much of its shape.

  Valien withdrew his optical enhancements and sat back inside the tunnel lip. As he did so, he heard the rumble of tracked vehicles. He waited, utterly motionless, until the tanks came into view, rolling along slowly in the wake of the marching men. He saw a variety of a standard Imperial heavy armour – Leman Russ tanks, Malcador mobile fortresses, Chimera troop carriers, Medusa fire support platforms. Each vehicle had been defaced with grey and purple icons that made his eyes itch. Imperial aquilas had been gouged off the armour plate. The tanks ground their way along the cavern floor, shrouded in choking clouds of smoke.

  As he watched, he fed observed details into a comm-pulse unit for transmission.

  Estimate: >12,000 infantry; 8 armoured brigades; 2 engineering brigades. Observed heavy weapons squads, infiltrators, sniper units. Advancing down major arterial route [F56] from Capitolis to silos under Melamar Primus. Arrival at front within five standard hours. Endemic physiognomic corruption. Transmit to all field commanders within zone of operations. Originator: Valien TDC, Ferik special attachment. Timestamp: N07:44:56.

  It was a substantial force, just one of many detachments of defenders he knew were moving from the inner zones of control up to the front line. As the invaders cut deeper into the heart of Shardenus Prime, more re-inforcements would be called up and shipped down the huge transit arteries within the depths of the hive cluster. Such gigantic caverns had been delved to permit the movement of bulk goods carriers between spires; they were just as useful for allowing the movement of armed divisions.

  Valien watched until the last of the heavy armour had trundled off into the dark. He felt a qualm of disquiet as he considered the numbers that Nethata had at his disposal. From what he’d seen, Shardenus Prime was well-defended, well-resourced and very hard to make quick progress through. For all the bravado of the Imperial commanders, he couldn’t see a quick way to force a result.

  Additional: I reiterate supposition that air supply is a weak link. The spires and transit routes are sealed; breaking seals will make atmosphere unbreathable. Transmitting coordinates of filtration stations uncovered during survey: the Capitolis perimeter may be vulnerable.

  He shuffled back down the tunnel, drawing away from the cavern and back the way he’d come. After an uncomfortable few minutes of cramped struggle, the roof of the tunnel lifted sufficiently for him to twist around and creep along on all fours. He went quicker then, flitting in the dark until he met an intersection and changed course.

  After that he resumed his silent, watchful progress. With every step, that watchfulness increased. He recited Talica litanies of concentration, keeping his mind alert and his senses pitched.

  He knew that the danger he was in increased the further he went. With every passing metre he was headed further away from any possible help and deeper into the heart of the corruption. Soon, he knew, the tunnels would start to open out into inhabited areas of the cluster again, areas where he’d have to use all his conditioning and guile to remain hidden.

  And after that, the C
apitolis: the cluster’s central spire, immense and unknown. No sensor array had succeeded in penetrating its depths, and no agents had managed to get through the perimeter. Its flanks were lit with a strange, lurid light – a violent purple that bled out into the night sky like blood in water. Whatever had corrupted Shardenus lay within that spire, slowly exerting its control across the whole cluster.

  Holy will of the Immortal Emperor, grant me nothing more than life and strength enough to bring justice to Your enemies.

  For a moment, Valien paused, pondering the words he recited to himself so freely. Though the formula was set, he’d never given much thought to the concept that he might die in the pursuit of his objectives. It was always a background consideration, something that was often statistically likely, but which until then had never impinged greatly on his thinking.

  It occurred to him with unusual force that the odds of coming out of the Capitolis alive were slim. No other agents had managed to do so, and they had been operating in the days before full-scale hostilities had commenced. With the spires on full alert and crawling with increasingly mutated defenders, the odds of doing so were even less favourable.

  Perhaps his reversion to blood-drinking was clouding his judgement. It was weak, to give into such primal urges, and unworthy of the trust his masters had placed in him. He’d never given pause to consider the odds before, not when an assignment was under way, and he knew that it was a bad time to start.

  Still, for whatever reason, he couldn’t shake the sensation.

  Nothing more than life and strength to bring justice to Your enemies.

  He sloped off down the corridor, slipping into the pools of darkness, forcing his mind to return to the task at hand. His fingers curled up into fists, cradling around his drawn needle gun.

  Then he was gone, lost in the dark, a single figure heading deeper, ever deeper, into the heart of the hives.

  Marivo coughed up blood, and the world swam into something like focus before him.

  For a moment, he felt very little. Then he felt a lot, and none of it was good. His shoulder throbbed with repeated waves of pain. His throat felt as if he’d been lost in the ash-wastes for weeks without water and his tongue was swollen in his mouth. Every joint ached, and the skin across his face felt taut and dry. He tasted bile at the back of his mouth but couldn’t swallow it away. His eyes watered. He blinked, and it felt like grit had been rubbed under the lids.

  ‘Where…’ he croaked, trying to lift his head. ‘What…’

  Someone came over to him, cradling the back of his neck and lifting a cup to his lips. Brackish water spilled into his mouth.

  Marivo couldn’t do much more than passively let the liquid absorb. As it seeped down, he managed to swallow. The movement made his throat flare, and fresh tears started in his eyes.

  ‘Who…’ he rasped as soon as the cup was removed, breaking off in pain.

  Wherever he was, it was dark and cold. As feeling returned to his battered limbs he gained the impression of lying on a long, hard table. He wasn’t wearing his armour, though he was still in the olive-green uniform Valien had provided for him. Its cloth was dirty and stiff with blood; presumably his.

  ‘Awake, then,’ came a familiar voice.

  For an instant he couldn’t put a name to the voice. He tried to lift his head again. Despite the fresh blur of pain behind his eyes, he managed it.

  ‘Khadi,’ he croaked. ‘Where are–’

  ‘Do not speak,’ ordered Khadi, pushing him back down to the table.

  She was still in her armour, minus the helmet, and looked fairly brutal in the dim light. Marivo could see other figures moving around in the dark beyond her, but couldn’t make much out beyond that.

  ‘We are in Melamar Secundus,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘Right at the bottom. Keep your voice down.’

  Marivo tried to piece together his memories. He had the distinct feeling he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while. Fleeting, dreamlike images remained in his mind, like outlines burned onto a retina: dragging himself out of the toxic soup, coughing his guts out; crashing into the walls of a tunnel, deafened by explosions in the air outside; feeling hands grasp at his collar and pull him away; whispered voices in the dark.

  ‘How long?’ he asked.

  ‘Two days. We had to keep moving. You’ve been given some sedatives, and some anti-inflammatories, but we’ve run out now. That’s why you’re awake. Sorry.’

  Khadi didn’t sound sorry. She sounded distracted and irritated, as if he’d done something, somehow, to offend her.

  Marivo tried to move, and found that he could. His limbs responded to his commands better with every passing second, though his mind was still sluggish and numb.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you remember?’

  Marivo took a deep breath, and it made his throat sting.

  ‘The tower,’ he said. ‘We brought it down. I took a hit. We were getting out, and I was running – I thought you’d gone on ahead.’

  ‘I had,’ said Khadi. The sound of her voice was flat, as if she were regretting a decision she’d made. ‘Maybe something about your damn Guard training got to me. Leave no man behind – isn’t that what you say?’

  Marivo had to concentrate to follow what she was saying. Only some of it made sense to him – the events after he’d been hit were jumbled in his mind.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘What’s–’

  ‘What’s our status?’ she finished for him. Even in his weakened state, Marivo found her constant speaking over him annoying. What was wrong with her? ‘I’ll tell you. We got back into shelter just as almighty hell broke out on the walls. For a while I thought we had more guards after us, but they weren’t stupid enough to try to cross the wasteland, and anyway they were needed on the walls pretty soon. Your spy was right – as soon as the tower went down, there were soldiers everywhere, coming over in drop-ships and landing on the walls.’

  Marivo felt relief flood through him.

  The Guard. At last.

  ‘So what happened?’ he asked.

  ‘They got the shit kicked out of them,’ said Khadi. ‘The whole thing was a bloody mess – guess they didn’t have the numbers, or the backup, or whatever. We didn’t hang around long enough to watch.’

  Marivo’s relief drained away as soon as it had arrived, replaced by a sensation that felt as if his insides had hollowed out. For weeks, for as long as he’d been persuaded that something rotten dwelt in the Capitolis and needed to be resisted, he’d believed that everything would turn once the Guard arrived. He’d seen the landers come down from orbit, waves of them – back then, the invasion force had looked unstoppable.

  He let his head fall back. He felt sick, and it wasn’t from the toxins still fizzing in his airways.

  ‘Then it’s over,’ he said.

  ‘No it isn’t,’ said Khadi, activating a microlumen and examining the wound in his shoulder. ‘Something else has happened. There’s fighting everywhere, over in Melamar Primus, along the wall sectors out west, spreading fast.’

  Marivo narrowed his eyes, trying to concentrate. Khadi’s face was drifting in and out of focus.

  ‘Any signals? Valien gave me secure comm-lines, with passwords.’

  Khadi laughed. It was an empty, caustic sound.

  ‘If you can get close enough, you can try it,’ she said. ‘Why do you think we’re down here? It’s bad further up. They’re burning everything. Everything.’

  She flicked the microlumen closed. The light briefly illuminated her face. She looked gaunt.

  ‘We have to regroup,’ said Marivo, struggling to drag himself up on his elbows. ‘I have idents for the other cells. They’ll want our positions – we’ll coordinate, form a front.’

  Khadi stared down at him. Her expression was a mixture of disbelie
f and contempt.

  ‘You haven’t seen what we have,’ she said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It’s impossible.’

  With a huge surge of willpower, Marivo hauled himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the table he was lying on. He saw the other figures in the darkness crowding round, some listening to the exchange, others pretending not to. To the extent he could see them, they looked exhausted and ragged, clad in broken plates of armour and cradling poorly bandaged wounds.

  ‘So what is it?’ he asked, genuinely curious despite his annoyance. ‘What is the actual, specific problem?’

  ‘We can’t contact anyone!’ she blurted out, letting her exasperation show. ‘We can’t do anything – they’re the Angels of Death, just like that freak told us, and they’re killing anything they see. And the Capitolis has sent more troops to fight them, and they’re not human anymore. They’ve got grey skin and black eyes and… other things. It’s hell up there, and they’re ripping the whole spire apart.’

  Her voice began to shake. She jabbed a finger at him, and Marivo saw how it trembled.

  ‘You started this! You let that monster manipulate us! What do you think they’ll do, when they get here? Thank us?’

  She laughed bitterly.

  ‘They won’t even know it was us that took down the tower. They’ll do to us what they’re doing to everything they come across. They’ll kill us, Marivo. It doesn’t matter which side does it; we are all going to die.’

  Marivo looked her in the eye. He could see how close she was to breaking. He’d seen it in men under his command many times, and knew how delicate the tipping point was.

  He didn’t reply immediately. He let his eyes flicker to one side, seeing the crowd of faces in the dark, all waiting for him to speak.

  With a spasm of hot pain, he pushed himself from the edge of the table and stood shakily on his own feet. A wash of nausea and dizziness passed over him, but he ignored it.