Damocles

by Various

  ‘If that is so, we have to get you to the command node, to sit this out,’ I said. ‘Come on, we’ll escort you.’

  ‘No, friend J’ten. I have been ordered to depart the world for the safety of the Kor’vattra support cadres until the conquest is complete. Apparently I am too valuable to risk, something of great flattery to me, but I’d rather stay here and help the effort at the front. Still, needs must, I go where the Greater Good requires, not where I desire.’ Something funny came over his face when he said that. He displaced it with a smile. ‘You and your squad are to come with me.’

  ‘Holyon’s dead. I think Helena is too.’

  His face fell. ‘I am sorry to hear that. They died for us all.’

  ‘Tau’va,’ I said reflexively.

  ‘Tau’va,’ he responded. ‘I will personally ensure your comrades’ remains are treated with great honour. They were good friends, and served well.’

  ‘I am grateful. How long until we depart?’

  ‘A ship will arrive soon to extract us.’

  ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘I’m probably speaking out of turn here, but my oath is to protect you. If you go, you’ll be in flight and vulnerable. The Space Marines are rightly named, they are expert void fighters, and their ships are among the swiftest in the Imperium. I might be wrong, but I’ve got a feeling they mean to draw you out so that you might be more easily caught, por’el. We should stay here. You’ll be much safer. The conquest is almost done.’

  That strange expression flickered over his face, a medley of alien and human expressions that I could not read. He knew something I did not, although that might just be me convincing myself retrospectively. He grasped my shoulder with his uninjured hand. ‘I go where the Greater Good demands, J’ten. These are my orders, from Aun’Va himself, and you are to go with me.’

  ‘Obey without question, as the river flows downhill without complaint,’ I quoted. Sometimes I think it’s easy for the tau proper. You obey the aun without thinking. It’s hard for some of us to act so.

  ‘Just so, just so.’ He patted me.

  I looked up and around the ruined room. ‘And Krix, where is he? They didn’t get him did they?’ I said.

  The por’el shook his head. ‘No. He will be eating. He finds it harder than some to suppress his kroot appetites, but he is a fearsome warrior and a loyal guard. I forgive him his lapses. Now, gather your men. The kor’la will be here for us shortly.’

  Chapter Ten

  About five minutes later, we were on the landing field, the bulk of a Manta spinning slowly in the air as it lined itself up to land. They’re so big it looked like it was directly above us, but when it landed there was a good fifty metres to cover, and I hustled the por’el to it faster than decorum allows. We went in the back hatch, past the hangar with its empty drone and battlesuit racks. We made all haste to the upper deck. The craft was empty; everything it had brought down was off fighting, and being in there in all that unoccupied space did nothing for my nerves.

  ‘We are ready to depart, por’el.’ The kor’ui pilot’s announcement came out of nowhere, straight into our helmets.

  ‘Very well. Let us make all haste away from here,’ says Skilltalker.

  Goliath and Othelliar strapped themselves in. Krix took the seat on the left of the por’el, I on the right.

  There was a lurch, then the stomach-dropping sensation of sudden acceleration. I was pressed back into my seat. The speed these things take off at pushes us humans right to the limit, I swear. I’ve seen Kor’la pull off manoeuvres that would make a human black out. The muscles on my face were dragged downwards, I felt the skin on my face rippling with the force of the take-off, and then zero-gravity, and the sensation grew less as the craft stopped accelerating. A second later, the artificial gravity snapped on. T’au standard. Lighter than is entirely comfortable for a human, but a damn sight better than nothing.

  Skilltalker had his eyes closed, his head leaning back on the rests of his seat. Rows of seats stretched away either side of him, each with their straps neatly folded. The empty ethereal’s throne at the prow end of the cabin moved against some force I could not feel.

  ‘Por’el, are you all right?’ I said.

  ‘What?’ His eyes slid open in that slow tau way. ‘Oh yes, yes, I am fine. You are doing an exemplary job, friend J’ten. I will commend you to fire caste auxiliary command.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Thanks,’ I said grudgingly. I wasn’t sure that I really wanted too much attention at that stage. I was still shaken up over the death of the Space Marine, for all that he’d nearly killed me. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  Skilltalker clucked his tongue. ‘Now you are worrying over me as a class mother worries over her teaching batch! I am fine. I have been in worse situations than this, many times over. I think I better ask you, are you all right?’

  ‘Have you ever faced Space Marines before?’I asked abruptly.

  Skilltalker gave a little shiver. ‘No, no I have not. And formidable they were.’ He smiled. ‘But as strong as they may be, friend J’ten, the Greater Good is stronger, far too strong to be overcome by a handful of gue’ron’sha. Do not fear them.’

  ‘I do fear them,’ I admitted. ‘And I feel shame at their deaths.’

  Skilltalker rested his head against the seat back and closed his eyes again. ‘That is regrettable, but understandable. These are heroes from your culture. Complete assimilation into the Tau’va typically takes a viviparous, child-caring, pair-bonding species of your lifespan three generations. I had hoped that you were coming along more swiftly.’ He did not sound disappointed, but chuckled at the back of his throat. A pleasant sound, water on stones. ‘Pardon me. I do not laugh at you, but at myself.’ He opened his eyes again, and they twinkled with good humour. ‘I made a wager with Por’ui Ka’shato as to your complete becoming in the Tau’va. It seems I have lost.’

  I must have looked a little dismayed, as he moved to reassure me.

  ‘Never mind! It is a better thing, I hold, that the non-tau that choose to join us in the Tau’va do not entirely lose that which makes them what they are. As we of the five castes are different, and better for it, then so too is it good that each species within the Tau’va is different from the others. And although I was impressed by your embracing of the Tau’va, I am glad to have been wrong as to the extent. Why, friend J’ten, I like you the way you are! I trust you. You have proven your loyalty and utility to the Tau’va again and again.’ He smiled broadly, showing off his flawless, broad, grey teeth, and touched my arm with the back of his hand. I’m sure there were a whole load of subtle body language cues he was giving off that I missed. ‘I am glad that you are at my side. Truly.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. I wished I could see out of the Manta, but there are no windows or viewing displays in the passenger cabin. Was a night-black ship slipping after us? Were we being targeted by the weapons systems of the Adeptus Astartes? I hate flying. I’m not frightened by it, you understand. But I hate the feeling of powerlessness I have. A missile could come right at us and there’d be nothing I could do about it. If I were the pilot, at least I could take my own life into my own hands. But I couldn’t. I was entirely dependent on the efforts of others. I know this is a key part of the Tau’va, the driving philosophy of it, this trust in those around you, but there we are. You wanted honesty.

  We dozed a little, all of us except Krix. I never saw that kroot take a nap. Not once. Do they even sleep? I woke a little before we docked, feeling sticky and stiff. I longed to take a shower. Goliath’s head was lolling, a string of dribble coming out of his mouth. Othelliar was staring into the middle distance, his jaw working on his own teeth, eyes full of an anger I didn’t like.

  Then there was the ungentle push of deceleration, which went on until I nearly couldn’t bear it. A slight bump, and the kor’ui pilot announced our arrival at the Kor’vattra Dah’kolsuio.

&n
bsp; Chapter Eleven

  [The man dies, hot blood pours over the boy’s hand. He has taken him unawares, as his friend was taken unawares. Tears as warm as the man’s blood runs down the boy’s face, not for his friend’s shame and hurts, but for this act of murder. This is the first life he has taken, and the boy is ashamed by it. Vengeance is not the cure to the pain in his heart he thought it would be, but instead adds more bitter emotions to his suffering. The man’s eyes widen, he sinks into the knife in his gut. His hands paw feebly at the boy’s shoulders. The boy grits his teeth, twists the knife and withdraws it. The man slumps further onto the boy. ‘Why?’ is his last word. The boy does not answer, but pushes him from the edge of the walkway. He wipes at his face as the body falls fifty storeys to the dark streets. The blood from his hands leaves blood upon the boy’s lip, warm as that single kiss.He retreats into the shadows, and never truly emerges again.With this the subject defies us, albeit by now on an entirely subconscious level. Earth caste machines at 97%. Mind rip recommences.]

  I address my squad. ‘We have lost three good brothers to the xenos. Their response was impressive and their weaponry is deadly, even to those as well-gifted and armoured as we. This is a foe that deserves respect. Judge them not by their decadent philosophy, nor by their small stature, nor by their grandiose claims to superiority. They may be as children compared to the storied histories of mankind, but their toys are no less dangerous.’

  There are nods of agreement from my brethren. The Thunderhawk bucks in thermals coming fast off the parched jungles of Agrellan, the craft creaks and bangs. Such perturbations in the atmosphere do not trouble us. Death does not trouble us. Both are minor inconveniences to the fulfilment of our task.

  ‘Be not troubled by our initial failure, for our target has been driven from his hide, and even now runs unknowingly into the arms of greater dangers.’

  An alarm sounds in the pilot’s cabin, almost inaudible in the passenger deck. The ship swings to the side, we hear the hum of power packs giving out their energies as the laser cannons fire. The ship resumes its course. The alarms cease; whatever threat there was has been dealt with.

  We arrive upon Swift Vengeance. Raavan greets us via the vox as the Thunderhawk lands within the strike cruiser’s hangar.

  ‘Our prey is sighted. We fly in pursuit.’

  We disembark. The building howl of the reactor fills the ship as Swift Vengeance makes all speed to catch our enemy.

  Squad Silent Talon is readying itself in the arming bay, the brothers leaving their commands aboard the vessel in the hands of our serfs. Only Raavan and our brother Techmarines, of all we initiates, will remain on the ship.

  We strip our weapons and clean them, untroubled by the acceleration. Our Techmarines come out from the Thunderhawk and check over our wargear. Serfs from the forge chant the mysteries of Mars as they effect minor repairs. Major damage is assessed. Severed power lines spark as Roak’s chestplate is removed, the plastron beneath adjusted. A spare piece of armour is brought out from the stores, and his battleplate made whole again with much chanting of prayer. Other such exchanges are undergone by several of my brothers. A new greave here, a different gauntlet there. Several of these fresh provided are unpainted. Each brother is responsible for his wargear, his own will be repaired and returned to his care. For now, expediency is our master.

  Brother Rayvaak’s bolt pistol has a malfunctioning ammo feed, and so he takes a different weapon. Serfs bring crates of fresh ammunition. We speak the litanies of victory as we refill our magazines, sing the battle songs once sung by Corax himself as we string new grenades from our belts. The coolant systems in our power plants are connected to maintenance shrines and refilled. Auspexes are connected to our armour, the tech-priests run their tests. More adjustments to our equipment is made. Fibre bundles are recalibrated, poor signal transmissions addressed, telemetry aligned between the cogitators. A faulty helmet is removed from Brother Huk of Squad Silent Talon during this checking.

  We spend the remainder of the journey making our battlegear as clean as possible. It is improper to enter the fray with the sigils and badges of our order obscured. As we polish our battered plate, the Swift Vengeance steals closer to its target. The xenos craft has taken aboard our prey, and broken free from the fleet besieging Agrellan. No doubt fierce battle is being waged in the heavens over the hive worlds, as the tau strive to prevent Lord Severax’s evacuation. We do not request news on this engagement, nor is any offered. Our minds are on our mission and our mission alone.

  We are ready.

  ‘Xenos craft approaching,’ Sergeant Raavan informs us.

  We are up and towards the boarding torpedo tubes. The Swift Vengeance is equipped with four. We shall require only one. It is a rare time when our Chapter is present in sufficient numbers to require more.

  The circular door at the rear irises open. We go through, one at a time, and take our places either side of the torpedo’s central aisle, two rows of ten in single file.

  Frames rise from the floor. We place ourselves within them. Magnetic locks activate, holding our battleplate in place. We are standing, ready to deploy the moment the torpedo burns its way through the aliens’ hull.

  We are silent. Our way is that of introspection. Each of us dwells on our own concerns at this final moment. The faint push of the ship’s constant acceleration decreases, and then my body is being pulled in another direction as the braking jets are fired. There is a rumble and a shudder runs through the craft. We have been observed, and now the two ships are exchanging fire. This is also not our concern. We trust to Raavan and our serfs to see us safely aboard.

  ‘Torpedo launching,’ comes a voice. A terse advisement.

  More forces play upon me as the torpedo’s rockets fire. Their roar fills the cabin, my helmet’s aural senses dampen automatically to protect my hearing. The torpedo shakes mightily. I am pushed hard into the magnetic frame as the torpedo accelerates fast toward its target. Such pressure is hard for me to take, a lesser man would perhaps not survive it. A crushing pressure upon my chest, black spots in my vision. It is difficult to breathe. This will pass, I tell myself, and it duly does. The acceleration cuts out, and so does the pressure. There is a faint sense of push and pull as the torpedo’s attitude jets keep it locked on to the xenos ship. There are few of these, the craft must not be attempting much in the way of evasive manoeuvres. The shockwave of an explosion buffets the torpedo, but we are taking little fire. The melta weaponry on the prow of the torpedo activates with a deep hum. A fraction of a second later, the torpedo impacts upon the hull of the alien vessel. The mag-locks hold me in place, but I feel my internal organs shift with the force of it.

  As the torpedo burns its way into the hull, machinery grinds, tracks on the outside of our assault boat. The meltas burn, the tracks pull, and the torpedo burrows its way within the xenos ship.

  It all stops of a sudden. There is a hiss from the outside as the torpedo sprays sealant foam around itself. Atmospheric decompression is not desirable in this situation, lest we destroy the integrity of the ship, or slay our target unintentionally through suffocation.

  The front of the torpedo opens, four petals gaping wide. We step out into a softly curved corridor littered with debris and ripples of cooling metal. Steam and smoke billow around us. Alarms jangle. We are aboard. Weapons rattle against plasteel chests, boots clang on the deck. My brothers spread out. I order Kaaw to take four of Squad Ebon Wing and head towards the prow, where the bridge is situated. The rest of us, some twelve, I order sternwards.

  ‘Our quarry is near. We start the search to the rear.’

  The pulse of the betrayer of traitors’ cranial implant pulses steadily in my visor.

  ‘Yes, brother-sergeant,’ they say, and we are on our way to victory.

  Chapter Twelve

  We were taking refreshments in the gallery of the diplomacy lounge when the alarms went off. The
Raven Guard had done it again, coming in at us unawares somehow. There was barely time to register the blare of the proximity warning systems before the ship heeled hard to starboard in avoidance. The motion of it fought the gravity plating of the deck, and our drinks and food were sent spilling off the table on peculiar trajectories. The entire vessel shook with the shockwaves of near misses from another starship’s weapons. The ship twitched as it expelled mass rounds by the thousand in reply.

  Whatever the ship was trying to dodge hit us anyway. A tearing bang and the squealing of metal was followed by the rush of fusion cutters. An explosion announced the arrival of the Raven Guard on the Dah’kolsuio.

  The gallery looked out over a wider lounge. Seating areas, a table at the centre of each, were set in protruding, circular sections of the gallery. A long, straight landing ran alongside. The whole set-up was designed to impress potential new members of the Tau’va. Plants in pots, examples of tau art and architecture, models, interactive displays of technology, that kind of thing. It was all very appealing in that slightly bland, sinuous tau way, a good place to thrash out the deals of accession, or have a quick meal like us. It was, however, a lousy place for a firefight.

  We snatched up our gear quickly, put our helmets on and checked our guns. The prow-ward doors opened, and fire warriors came running down the gallery, their armour was the standard night blue pattern of space troopers. These shas’la had been training their whole lives for void combat and ship actions, but they were up against the best in the galaxy, and I didn’t think their skills or numbers would prove to be enough.