Let The Galaxy Burn

by Marc

  For a moment, Korpus stared, entranced by the sight. Orris’s cry of pain as his armour was breached by bolter fire from a dozen attackers jerked him back to the deadly present. Spinning on his heel, Korpus made to rejoin the fray.

  Orris lay where he had been defending the Apothecary’s back, his chest a smoking ruin. One more son of the Emperor to be avenged. Tallis was nowhere to be seen; had he also fallen? Korpus noticed also that Hawk Four’s lascannon had fallen silent. Was he the last Avenging Son alive on Antillis IV? If so the hordes of Chaos would remember his name.

  ‘Avenging Son!’ he bellowed, launching himself at the nearest of the surrounding Chaos-spawn, chainsword raised, bolter spitting death.

  He never reached his target. The power fist detonated, vaporising the lower half of the Dreadnought. The corrupt war machine tumbled backwards, lascannon firing a wild, ineffectual volley into the sky. The shock wave from the blast slapped Korpus in the back, scattering him and the Chaos Marines around him like so many model soldiers, swept off a table at the end of a game. Ears ringing, Korpus momentarily lost consciousness.

  Blinking back to awareness, Korpus found himself on his back, staring up at the sky. Above him arched a single vapour trail – the Thunderhawk, powering through the stratosphere, safe from attack.

  His killing rage, his Vengeful Heart, had subsided. He felt a strange sense of peace, one borne of exhaustion and the knowledge that he had done his duty. He tried to move, to get to his feet, but his legs wouldn’t respond. Something had been broken by the power fist’s detonation. Was he dying? He thought briefly of Sergeant Pereus.

  ‘Man is born alone.’ he whispered. A grey mist edged his vision. He knew he should complete the Rite of Extreme Unction, but felt too tired to continue. The grey mist enveloped him.

  ‘Apothecary!’ It was the voice he had heard earlier, while marching alone across Antillis IV He had thought it to be an echo, an old transmission bounced off the upper atmosphere. Now, undisguised by static, it sounded close to his ear. It was not the voice of any of the Second Company. It had a soft, unpleasant tone.

  He tried to turn his head, open his eyes, see to whom the voice belonged. But his head wouldn’t turn and his eyes wouldn’t open.

  The grey mist turned to black.

  ‘APOTHECARY?’

  Surprised that he was able to do so, Korpus opened his eyes. Rather than the sky above Antillis IV, or the ruins of the airfield, he found himself staring at the walls of what might have been a laboratory in the Avenging Sons’ Apothecarion – might have been, were it not for the nightmarish collection of specimens that hung upon the walls and sat in clear jars of preserving fluid. The malformed limbs, misshapen heads and torsos bore no relation to humanity, but to the breeding grounds of the warp. In the shadows cast by the dull reddish light which illuminated the room, Korpus thought he saw movement. Narrowing his eyes, he saw that he was right. A collection of what resembled nothing so much as clawed, fanged foetuses thrashed against the glass of one large vessel.

  ‘Apothecary!’ The tone of the voice at his ear shifted from enquiry to satisfaction. Korpus tried to turn his head, move any of his limbs, but found that he could not. He was all but naked, stripped of his armour and robe, secured by metallic straps to a table of some kind, tilted at an angle close to the vertical. ‘Of course.’ the voice purred. ‘You would like to see your saviour.’

  A figure stepped into Korpus’s field of view. Covered from throat to floor in a robe made from a slick, vulcanised fabric, he held in one hand a pair of gloves of the same material. The hand which held the gloves appeared normal, but the other was twisted, possessed of too many knuckle joints.

  Noticing the direction of Korpus’s gaze, the figure held up the hand – his left – and flexed the fingers before Korpus’s eyes. The digits moved with an unnatural, insectile grace, each of the extra joints allowing the fingers a range of movement that Korpus, dedicated to the preservation of the human form, found appalling.

  ‘One of my first refinements.’ the vile figure said, proudly. ‘I find it allows for a more subtle surgical approach.’

  For the first time, Korpus focused on the stranger’s face. With the bald pate, the sallow skin and sunken cheeks, Korpus might have been looking at his old instructor, Apothecary Lorus. But the skin was stretched too tightly over this man’s skull, as if it had been removed, the fat scraped away from under the skin and then reapplied too closely. The black eyes shone out from under heavy brows. A warped intelligence, perhaps genius, danced in those eyes.

  ‘It has been some time since I sought to preserve a human life.’ the stranger continued. ‘I am pleased that I have not forgotten how.’

  Korpus tried to speak, but his throat was clogged as if from an unnaturally long sleep. He coughed, and tried again, his voice cracking. ‘Who… ?’

  ‘Of course!’ the stranger laughed. ‘How impolite of me! It has also been some time since I received a guest schooled in simple social manners.

  ‘I am Fabrikus. Apothecary Fabrikus.’

  The words froze Korpus’s heart. Fabrikus’s name was a dark legend in the Apothecarion of every Space Marine Chapter. A brilliant man, he served with the First Company of the World Eaters, gaining distinction as a warrior and as a surgeon, before following Primarch Angron into the service of the Ruinous Powers. In the centuries since the Great Heresy, his name had become a byword for perverse experimentation.

  Some said he was even behind many of the mutations undergone by Chaos Marines: the fusion of flesh to armour of the World Eaters, the hellish combination of near-dead warrior and implacable war machine that was a Chaos Dreadnought.

  ‘I see you have heard of me.’ Fabrikus smiled at the look of horror on Korpus’s face. ‘And I imagine you are wondering what my interest might be in a fallen Space Marine on a fallen world. The answer is simple: the gene-seed.’

  Korpus’s mind spun back in time, to his last communication with Commander Selleus. He heard again his words, obscured by the waves of static: ‘New incursion… Cognis dead…’

  ‘Your Librarian was a truly powerful psyker.’ Fabrikus purred, as if reading his mind. ‘Fortunately my… allies… were more than his equal. It seemed, however, that before his death he gleaned enough of our purpose in joining the assault on the planet you knew as Antillis IV to warn his commander. Their suicide destroyed all of our advance party. Had it not been for our interception of your leader’s last transmission, we would have believed our cause was lost.’

  ‘All viable glands… out of enemy hands…’ Selleus’s words rang in Korpus’s memory.

  ‘You see, my masters require more troops, more than can be provided by the harvest of the seed from those already serving their holy purpose. I have spent centuries experimenting with the other races available to me, but the seed refuses to take, or else it produces mutations that are… unhelpful.’ Fabrikus’s words carried a hint of frustration. As if hearing them, the fanged things thrashed against the confining glass walls of their preservative-filled prisons.

  ‘Though I would never say this to my masters, I believe the warp causes problems with the seed from our own warriors, affects their potency. I have, therefore, decided to return to take up my earlier role and harvest glands from a more pure source, unaffected by the energies of my masters’ home.’ To hear Fabrikus speak, he and Korpus might have been fellow professionals, discussing the results of a failed experiment and the new measures that might be taken to ensure future success.

  ‘I believe that the seed from those who continue to stubbornly serve the False Emperor might provide me with the material I need to create new types of warrior, loyal to the Dark Lords of the warp, unstoppable in battle.’

  ‘You… you knew I had the glands.’ Korpus whispered.

  Fabrikus nodded. ‘We tracked you across half the world.’ he said, smiling. ‘And we found you!’

  Now it was Korpus’s turn to smile. ‘But I have them no longer! By the time I blew your Dreadnought to oblivi
on, they were already off-world! You have failed, Fabrikus! Failed!’

  ‘By the time I found you, all the glands you carried so heroically were indeed off-world.’ Fabrikus conceded, apparently unaffected by Korpus’s mocking words. ‘All of the glands – bar two.’

  The import of his words crashed in on Korpus. Nestling at the base of his throat and deep within his naked chest, were the glands he had carried since the day of their implantation, the day that he truly became a Space Marine, a day of such pride, such honour.

  ‘No!’ he gasped, wide-eyed with horror. He had been so intent on vengeance, of dying as an Avenging Son should. Believing his duty as an Apothecary was complete, he had delivered the future of his breed, perhaps of the entire human race, into the hands of this monster, this twisted reflection of all he held dear.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Fabrikus purred. Before Korpus’s horrified gaze, the skin around his left eye began to bulge, the eye itself changing shape, elongating in an impossible manner, as if supplementary lenses were pushing forward from within the confines of his skull, improving his focus for the surgery to come.

  He reached towards an instrument gurney set beside the table upon which Korpus now struggled vainly. The multi-jointed fingers of his left hand selected a scalpel. Longer and thinner than the others, it was designed for only one purpose: excision.

  ‘I prefer to operate without analgesia.’ he said, stepping up to the table. ‘I think the absence of pain always dulls the experience, don’t you?’

  Apothecary Fabrikus set to work. His subject’s screaming served only to excite the thrashing abominations within their tank into a frenzy, snapping and clawing at their fellows. Korpus cried out, not for himself, but for his honour, lost in the heat of battle. Lost forever.

  UNTHINKING JUSTICE

  Andreas Millward

  AND THOSE DEDICATED to the Emperor’s work will be beset upon all sides by enemies. Be vigilant, for they—

  The door signal sounded. Codicier Levi, of the Librarius of the Imperial Order of Black Consuls, sighed and ran a hand through his close-cropped dark hair. Reverentially, he closed his leather-bound copy of the Codex Astartes, stood up and walked to the window of his spartan quarters. The landing lights of one of the Chapter ship’s shuttles briefly illuminated his angular, clean-shaven features.

  ‘Enter.’ Levi continued looking out of the window, contemplating the vast starry backcloth before him and the inauspicious verse he had read in the codex. He spoke again, softly, on hearing his visitor enter his quarters. ‘A good day for the Emperor’s work, standard bearer.’

  A short laugh came from behind him. ‘Your powers do you justice as always, Levi. But surely all days are fitting for His blessed work, brother-librarian. Or does your faith wane in these dark days?’

  Levi turned to face his visitor. Brother Aeorum, standard bearer of the Black Consul’s Third Company, stood smiling in the doorway. A powerfully built man, he was dressed as Levi was, in a black tunic edged with yellow. Levi gave a rare smile of his own. ‘Aeorum, it’s good to see you on this ill-omened day. Come in.’

  Levi welcomed the unexpected appearance of the youthful standard bearer. He studied the broad face before him, the scar that ran across one cheekbone and the bridge of Aeorum’s nose. The deep mark, left there long ago by a genestealer’s claw, may have faded with time but the standard bearer had changed little since they had last met. Decades ago, Levi and Aeorum had served together in the Black Consuls’ Scout Company, their friendship forged in tyranid blood during the bloody and costly battle for Manalar. While Levi’s psychic powers had taken him to the Librarius, Aeorum’s fearsome fighting ability had led to him being the youngest standard bearer in the Chapter’s history. They met infrequently these days, but the inhuman terrors they had faced together ensured that the bond between them remained as strong as ever.

  Aeorum sat down opposite Levi, his muscular bulk dwarfing the plain wooden chair. ‘Ill-omened? So you’ve heard the news?’

  ‘Heard what?’ Levi asked. He’d already picked up enough warning tremors during the previous day’s preparations, but had not heard anything concrete about their current objectives. The Second, Third and Fourth Companies had been mobilised, which suggested that the Imperium was responding to the gravest of threats.

  ‘The Black Consuls have picked up a distress call from Suracto. Nearly half the planet has rebelled, brother. The Emperor’s hold on the planet is threatened and we speed to answer their call. Captain Estrus will brief us later this morning.’

  Levi nodded. ‘So I understand. But this is grave news indeed, and explains the speed with which we were dispatched. Suracto has been a shining beacon against the encroaching darkness we face across the galaxy. An orderly, productive planet as I recall, unquestioningly loyal to the Emperor. We cannot let planets such as these slip from the Emperor’s grasp.’

  ‘You are not idle at the Librarius, I see,’ Aeorum said, though there was little humour in his voice. ‘Suracto has voluntarily yielded tithes a third higher than all other neighbouring planets in the system for the last five years. To see such a planet fall to disorder and disarray is a near-catastrophe for the Imperium.’

  Levi nodded. ‘What manner of heresy threatens the planet?’

  ‘The rebels reject the Emperor’s order and discipline. They claim His way is too harsh, too demanding. They seek a “more equitable and just way of life”.’ Aeorum laced his words with scorn. ‘Their heretical ways threaten to snuff out your shining beacon, Brother Levi.’

  ‘It shall not be so, Aeorum. Such a fundamental threat to the true order must be eradicated. Completely.’ His words hung in the air. Abruptly, the codicier got up and extended his hand to Aeorum. ‘In spite of the circumstances, I am pleased to see you, brother. As always, it will be a great honour to fight at your side.’

  LEVI SENSED CAPTAIN Estrus struggling to dampen his annoyance with the newcomer. Less than an hour after the Black Consuls had made planetfall on Suracto, another ship had appeared from the warp, heading directly for the Space Marines’ landing site, to the north of the hive city of Thuram.

  The ship bore the markings of the Inquisition and immediately on landing an inquisitor, together with a small detachment of stony-faced retainers, had presented himself to the captain, demanding that all the loyal forces regroup with the Black Consuls in order to reassess the situation.

  ‘Inquisitor Parax, I am simply not interested,’ Captain Estrus was saying. His irritation seemed to deepen every furrow on his already heavily lined, tanned face. ‘We have made planetfall, but over sixty minutes later we have still not fully deployed.’ Estrus fought to make himself heard over the rumble of the Rhino engines revving behind him and the noise of a nearby squad of Tech Marines and their blank-faced servitors loading missiles onto the company’s Whirlwinds.

  Inquisitor Parax’s lean face registered no emotion. A slightly built man, clad only in his dark official robes, he struggled to maintain some semblance of authority next to the armoured Space Marine captain towering above him. ‘While I appreciate the subtler points of the codex, captain, nevertheless—’ he began, but the rest of his sentence was drowned by the piercing noise of a Land Speeder squad roaring immediately overhead.

  Once the craft had passed, Estrus spoke at once. ‘With respect, inquisitor, the blessed codex is not in question here. However, your request to re-group is. We must deploy and go to the aid of the loyalist Suractan forces as soon as possible. Administrator Niall, assistant to Planetary Lord Koln, will rendezvous with us in fifteen minutes and I am sure that he will brief us all, in full. I am most grateful that…’ Estrus paused, choosing an appropriate phrase. ‘That your Eminence has chosen also to respond to the distress call but we cannot afford to wait and give the rebels any chance to gain the upper hand.’

  Parax glanced at the closed faces of the half dozen members of his retinue who stood behind him, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. He gave himself a moment to think, then turned back. ‘Very well,
Captain Estrus. I accede. But I warn you that the Inquisition will frown upon any rash decisions you may make.’

  Estrus’s face darkened. ‘Inquisitor, I can assure you that the Black Consuls have never made any rash decisions. Company sergeants, prepare to deploy.’ He grabbed his helmet from a nearby Consul and strode towards the Whirlwinds.

  Levi watched as the inquisitor and his retinue returned to their shuttle. An ill-omened day, indeed, he thought. The arrival of the inquisitor did little to alleviate the sense of foreboding that hung heavy over him. He hefted his chainsword, checked the armour diagnostic reading on his viewer then turned to follow the captain.

  HIS FACE A mask of hatred, the rebel soldier brought his lasgun to bear on Levi. Reacting with preternatural speed, Levi stepped towards him and brought his chainsword down. The sword’s buzzing rose to a brief scream before the man’s torso split apart, showering Levi with blood.

  The faintest of sensations, at the back of the head.

  Levi spun smoothly and squeezed off two bolter rounds. The two rebels behind him were hurled into the Rhino’s sides, leaving a pair of dark smears on the vehicle’s large white tactical arrow as their lifeless bodies slid to the ground. Catching a glimpse of the Consul’s standard, he turned to see Aeoram, knee deep in rebel corpses, calmly aiming and firing his bolt pistol, felling an opponent with each shot. Like the old days, Levi thought, before taking aim with his own bolter.

  The rebel ambush had caught the vanguard of the Black Consuls as it began to make its way to the rendezvous point, through the battle-scarred suburban wastes on the outskirts of Thuram City. The ferocity of the rebels had initially caught the Space Marines off-guard but very quickly the attack crumbled in the face of the Black Consuls’ disciplined and dogged defence.

  The attack was over in a few minutes, with no losses for the Consuls. As they re-grouped and prepared to move on, Levi studied the corpses at his feet. Strange how he could not feel any hate for these, the kind of heretical traitors that he had come to loathe during his decades as a Space Marine. He had come to expect feelings of justified anger when dealing with such traitorous vermin, but now those feelings were oddly absent. Distracted, he strode over to the command Rhino.