by Various
‘We can work our way around the section.’
‘Negative. Hold position.’ For all the Custodians knew, the Imperial Fists could have wired the entire quarter to blow and drop out of the bottom of the orbital plate. ‘Sergeant Doloran, Custodian Vega – with me.’
Stentonox made a powered jump from the shattered ledge, across the howling open space and through the gunfire, down onto what was left of the lower deck and the sergeant-at-arms. He was swiftly followed by Vega, and the three of them edged their way along the jagged perimeter, swinging from several mauled struts before putting their boots down on solid decking. Above them the fire fight raged, bolter fire streaming back and forth across the open space, drumming into the ruined architecture.
Suddenly, the lights on the airlock in front of them began to flash, and the Custodians pulled back into the section wreckage. The bulkhead cleared its seals, and a combat squad of Imperial Fists filed through, the bright yellow of their plate almost in itself a challenge. They took up position on the shattered deck, ready to offer more suppression fire and seemingly oblivious to the intruders in their midst.
Erupting from the twisted metal and sparking machinery, Vega surprised the Space Marines; he deflected a couple of bolt-rounds with his shield before slamming the two nearest warriors back into the wall, sending the barrels of their weapons wide.
Another Fist turned to find the sergeant-at-arms already at his side. A gilded fist smashed the Space Marine’s faceplate, sending him back towards the lock. Tearing the ruined helm free, the Imperial Fist brought up his bolter, but Doloran already had his gauntlets on the weapon’s casing, leaning in with the full weight of his Terminator armour. The sergeant smashed back with an elbow, slamming his opponent’s skull off the compartment wall.
Of the two remaining squad members, the closest turned to find Stentonox standing behind him. The shield-captain’s face betrayed a cold fury. A wild bolt-round sang off the sculpted gold of his pauldron, but Stentonox kicked out and knocked the Space Marine from the edge of the shattered deck and into the yawning drop beyond it.
Charging him back into a warrior that had wrestled himself free from behind Vega’s shield, Stentonox grappled the last Space Marine, and rained a storm of heavy blows down upon them both. He heard servos creak and war-plate fracture beneath his relentless punches.
‘Ready?’ the shield-captain roared at Vega, who still had one struggling Space Marine and his bolter jammed up against the wall.
‘Yes, sir!’ The foot knight angled the shield and ran it along the wall like a dozer blade, ploughing all three Imperial Fists from their footing and over the edge into the howling sky. As they fell, Stenonox heard the futility of bolt-rounds fired back up at the under-plate.
The shield captain turned. Doloran was standing with the unconscious body of his opponent hanging limply by one arm. Stentonox nodded, and the sergeant-at-arms launched the Imperial Fist after his flailing brothers.
‘Shield-captain,’ chirped the vox. It was one of the grav-transports.
‘Report.’
‘We cannot reach the Custodians on the engine column, or hold station beneath it. The inverse gravitic interference is too strong.’
‘Damn,’ Stentonox murmured. It had been a long shot. Mid-air interception would be impossible without sending the transports into a similar freefall. As the shield-captain peered over the ragged edge, down at the Imperial Fists now also smashing through the merciless nest of vanes and aerials, his only comfort was that Katafalque’s men would share the same fate as his.
As a second squad of Imperial Fists streamed from the airlock, weapons raised and demanding their surrender, both Vega and the sergeant-at-arms moved to counter them. Something had been unleashed in the pair – even without their sweeping blades and bolters, they were ready for battle. They were ready to pound Space Marines into the deck with their bare hands.
‘No,’ Stentonox said. ‘Stand down.’
The order was quiet, but confident, and it was obeyed. As the Imperial Fists surrounded the Custodians, shouting commands and jabbing weapon muzzles at them, the vox crackled again.
‘What are your orders, shield-captain?’
‘Stand by,’ Stentonox voxed back, as he raised his gauntlets in submission, with Vega and Doloran following suit. ‘The game’s not over. I’ve just introduced some new pieces to the board.’
With little ceremony, diplomacy or respect, the three Custodians had their gauntlets bound and were bundled through the doors of a nearby freight elevator.
As it rose rapidly through the crowded floors of the orbital plate, Stentonox felt the pull of ascension in the pit of his stomach. As the seconds ebbed away, he thought of his Custodians clawing and tumbling their way down the outside of the colossal gravitic column; he knew that they would keep their heads, removing their armour plate and using their cloaks and cardinals to create drag and tangle amongst the architecture.
He also knew, however, there was no way back up to the under-plate, and that it was only a matter of time before they ran out of handholds. In tossing the Imperial Fists overboard, the shield-captain had consigned them to the same fate.
The doors shuddered open, and the Space Marines sent them out onto the operations deck of the orbital plate with a rough shove. With boltguns in their backs, Stentonox, Vega and Doloran were marched between rows of consoles and servitor-manned rune banks to the centre of the large chamber. Blast screens rumbled aside to reveal the thin skies beyond and let in the brilliance of the Terran sun, casting mercantile menials, bridge staff and officials from the Danakil mining conglomerates in silhouette.
From out of the glare strode an Imperial Fists officer, his eyes grim, his jaw taut and his white hair cut into a tonsure crown. He was flanked by a pair of legionary champions, who held Stentonox and his men in the unswerving aim of their ornate boltguns.
‘Katafalque–’ Stentonox began, as the shield-captain was forced to his knees by his captors.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Demetrius Katafalque demanded.
‘Katafalque, listen to me–’
‘No! Do you have any idea what you’ve done – in this, a time of war and betrayal?’
‘Don’t lecture me, legionary,’ Stentonox spat back. ‘You think just because you use the unforgiving earth of Terra as a weapon rather than your boltguns, that you have not murdered my warriors – the Emperor’s own Custodians? What dark diplomacy is that, Fist?’
Katafalque sneered. ‘You will pay for what you have done.’
‘I did what I had to,’ Stentonox seethed. ‘What you forced me to do, and I’d do it again. We will both pay for your stubborn refusal to see sense. You have no authority to be here.’
‘Rogal Dorn–’
‘Rogal Dorn’s word might be law anywhere else in the galaxy,’ Stentonox told him, ‘but here, in and above the Imperial Palace, we all answer to a higher authority.’
‘The primarch seeks to secure the seat of that authority,’ Katafalque stormed back.
‘And in doing so, he imperils it.’
‘That is your opinion, but we have official authorisation.’
‘No, you do not,’ the shield-captain told him. ‘Though you undoubtedly will. The Warmason will have his indentured labour and the Palace will be further fortified... but not today, Demetrius. Not today. I understand your desires – I share them. But terrible mistakes have been made in the name of expediency, and it is my duty to protect the Emperor from the consequences of such mistakes.’
‘I will see my primarch’s orders through,’ Katafalque assured the shield-captain.
‘Just listen to me,’ Stentonox said, coming as close to imploring as his pride would allow. ‘My men – your men, too – are desperately clawing their way down the gravitic column. When they slip beyond the drives’ reach, they will fall to their deaths. We have no time for th
is. Give the order. Engage the gravitic anchor. Bring the orbital plate to a halt and in so doing, save our men.’
Katafalque stared at the shield-captain, his face contorting with hatred and disgust.
‘Engage the anchor, Demetrius, and they will be drawn safely down to ground level.’
‘I will not,’ Katafalque said finally. ‘I will not be hostage to the games, perverse logic and trickery of the Legio Custodes, with your infamous disguises and deceptions. Some say it is wisdom to play at being the enemy and learn from simulated conflict, but all I see is a force at war with itself.’
‘And I need not lecture the Legiones Astartes about that!’ Stentonox bit back his outrage. ‘This is Lord Dorn’s adamance, his obstinacy in you.’
‘A failing, perhaps,’ Katafalque admitted. ‘My men will die for it, as your men will die for yours. Ask yourself this, shield-captain – how much further will you compound this failure? Arcus is going to the Palace. Those are my primarch’s orders.’
Stentonox sighed. ‘Demetrius, for the sake of the Emperor’s blood that runs through your veins and those of your men about to die, please... Engage the anchor.’
Demetrius Katafalque leaned in towards the kneeling shield-captain. ‘No, Custodian,’ he whispered. ‘I will not.’
Stentonox allowed his head to fall. There was nothing more that he could do.
There was sudden commotion upon the operations deck. A report from a servitor was communicated urgently to an operations menial, who in turn passed it to the deck officer.
‘My lord,’ the man called out across the operations chamber to Katafalque. ‘The gravitic anchor has been engaged.’
Shock, followed by anger, clouded Katafalque’s snarling face. There was no exclamation. No confusion. No rage. He simply glared at Stentonox, his eyes alight with hatred and distrust.
‘I want confirmation,’ he said.
Lowering the barrel of his beautifully crafted boltgun and putting an armoured digit to the side of his helm, one of his champions sent the query. ‘Our brothers confirm it,’ he reported. ‘The anchor has initiated gravitic reversal.’
‘How long?’ Katafalque asked, without taking his eyes from the shield-captain.
‘Two hours, my lord,’ the deck officer informed him by way of an apology. ‘Two hours for the column to complete its cycle and for us then to disengage it again.’
Katafalque nodded slowly to himself. Stentonox looked up at him. The two observed a moment of grim silence. ‘Our brother Fists, and the Custodians?’
‘Caught in the gravity well,’ the deck officer confirmed. ‘Along with some debris and loose fixtures from the conurbatia below.’
‘This will not help you,’ Katafalque muttered to Stentonox.
The Custodian was lost in thought, however. His men could not have been responsible for such an action, but he wasn’t about to tell the captain that.
Alarms sounded across the operations deck.
‘What is it now?’ Katafalque demanded. His other champion strode across the deck and cut through the small throng of menials about the sensorium console.
‘Gunships, inbound,’ the Imperial Fist reported. ‘Lunar designations. The Silent Sisterhood, captain. They’re making an atmospheric approach.’
Katafalque’s lips found their way back to a snarl. ‘Get me a vox-link.’
‘No need – we’re receiving a hololithic transmission, my lord,’ the deck officer announced.
‘On projectors,’ Katafalque commanded. ‘We shall hear of our sisters’ business in these great affairs.’
The spectral representation of a woman misted into a fixed signal before them. Stentonox saw immediately that it was Duesstra Edelstyne, Sister-Commandress of the Raptor Guard and Confidente-Tranquil to Lady Krole, who had first alerted the Master of the Watch to the threat of the orbital plate. The novice glossator stood at her ghostly mistress’s side.
‘Captain Katafalque,’ she said, translating. ‘Do you know to whom you speak?’
‘I do, my lady,’ Katafalque replied. ‘We have collaborated many times on the Palace fortifications. You have my utmost respect, sister-commandress, but do not think that will allow you to interfere in what are already crowded and unfortunate affairs.’
‘Listen to me, captain. I am going to prevent you from committing any further to this calamitous endeavour. Information has recently come to my attention regarding the indentured workforce on board Arcus. Records show that the Danakil mineral conglomerates assured you that each and every one of their workers had met the demands of security. Isometrics, gene-profiling and so forth.’
‘This is correct.’
‘I’m afraid to inform you, captain,’ the glossator continued to translate, ‘that the Palace has been put on high alert. It is currently at situation-Xanthus and will remain so while the orbital plate remains on station or approach. Situation-Xanthus requires a higher level of Palace clearance than conglomerate isometrics – Danakil’s profiling does not extend to psionic screening and associated genetic mutations. It is the Sisterhood’s suspicion that your labour population might harbour witchbreeds and unsantioned psyker-strains.’
Demetrius Katafalque turned his stabbing glare from the hololith to Stentonox. Edelstyne produced a scroll document and held it up.
‘Under section six-fourteen of the Vondraburg Proclamation, I am authorised to impound Arcus and its indentured workforce for processing and interrogation at the Scholastica Psykana facility atop Hive Illium.’
‘You’re serious?’ Katafalque said, looking from Stentonox to Edelstyne and then back again.
‘Always, captain,’ the glossator assured him. ‘These are serious matters. So serious, in fact, that the Somnus Citadel has sent word to Rogal Dorn. He is yet to reply, but he will. He will want to avoid the embarrassment of his Legion smuggling dangerous, unsanctioned psykers through the security measures – including his own security measures – and into the Imperial Palace. What do you think, Captain Katafalque?’
Moments passed. The captain said nothing, then finally nodded. ‘Yes. Lord Dorn would want to avoid such complications. It was fortunate that you took such an interest in our little misunderstanding.’
‘Many organisations pride themselves on being the right hand of the Emperor, captain. They cannot all be so. Sometimes, it’s difficult for one hand to know what the other is doing.’
‘Quite,’ Katafalque said through gritted teeth. ‘The Imperial Fists shall stand sentinel over the indentured population and see Arcus safely to your facility at Illium.’
‘We shall take dual-custodianship of the orbital plate, captain,’ Edelstyne had her glossator inform him. ‘Please clear your hangers for the Raptor Guard’s gunships and transports. Edelstyne out.’
Both the commandress and her novice dissipated into a static haze. The operations deck was silent.
‘Release them,’ Katafalque ordered. ‘Order the other squads to stand down.’
As the Imperial Fists released their binders, Stentonox and his Custodians got to their feet. ‘Likewise,’ Stentonox told his sergeant-at-arms. ‘Vega – make your way down to the engineering and maintenance decks. You will lead the effort to rescue our men from the column. Inform Captain-General Valdor that we will be returning with the transports.’ He fixed Katafalque with a raw glare. ‘The action has been prosecuted, and has reached a satisfactory conclusion for both contingents. Tell him... Tell him there are no significant casualties to report on either side.’
As the shield-captain turned to leave, Katafalque grabbed him by the arm. Stentonox tensed.
‘I want you to know,’ Katafalque told him, ‘that regardless of your officious truths or her convenient lies, it is you that has acted inappropriately here today. The Legio Custodes, the Silent Sisterhood – you put yourselves between the Emperor and his enemies. I guarantee that a day will come when you
’re going to wish that the wall between the Emperor and his enemies is taller and thicker than it is. When that day comes, you will understand how pointless, and indeed reckless, this has all been.’
Without looking at Katafalque, Stentonox pulled away and made for the elevator, leaving Arcus to the Imperial Fists.
It was late. Braziers of incense glowed about the vaulted corridors and halls of the Imperial Palace. Ordinarily, the Master of the Watch would debrief the sentinel-securitas, so that the captain of the next shift could be presented with details of importance and continuity. Since the Palace was still at situation-Xanthus, Enobar Stentonox found himself debriefing the Chief Custodian himself.
They walked the arcades of the Second Ward as they talked, the alarm-status also necessitating double the Ares Guard for the Captain-General and a foot knight sentry to escort the Master of the Watch on his duties, as protocol dictated. The Custodians approached the concentrica-barbican, signalling their passage from the outer to the inner regions of the Palace.
It had been a long day for both of them. Beyond the incident on the orbital plate, Stentonox had spent the rest of his watch attempting to catch up with the schedule. He had failed miserably. He would be passing a colossal list of unfinished business on to the next Master of the Watch, just as his predecessor had done to him.
Constantin Valdor had left the blockade lines before Arcus to embark upon a full Palace inspection, taking the opportunity to review the minutiae of the Emperor’s security under a genuine Xanthus-alert situation. This had led into an emergency session of the Caucum Aegis: a strategic assembly of Custodian veterans that advised the Captain-General on matters of security. The arrival of the orbital plate – and the diplomatic nightmare that had ensued – required greater review. It had been unexpected, and therefore manifested as ten times the perceived threat.
It was exactly the kind of danger that the Blood Games could not prepare them for. The future validity of the Games themselves had even come into question.
From the Caucum Aegis, the Chief Custodian had gone into a meeting with the Sigillite himself, which had left him dark and introspective.
