Gods of Mars

by Graham McNeill

  ‘Is she making any sense yet, sir?’ asked Rae, nodding towards the Speranza’s schematics.

  ‘No, sergeant, and I doubt she ever will.’

  ‘Every girl needs to keep some secrets below the waterline, eh?’

  Hawkins nodded and shut off the slate.

  ‘Every adept I’ve asked just nods and feeds me a line about each ship being different and how it’s not unknown for them to “adapt” their environment to suit the circumstances. I mean, it’s like they’re talking about this ship as though it’s alive.’

  ‘If that’s what they think, then who’s to say they’re wrong?’ said Rae. ‘After all, you’ve heard the way soldiers talk to their kit when there’s fire in the wind. Prayers to lasguns, kisses for blades.’

  ‘I suppose,’ admitted Hawkins, pushing an empty glass over to Rae and gesturing to the bottle at the centre of the table.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do, sir,’ said Rae, pouring a moderate measure.

  ‘So what’s on your mind, Rae?’

  ‘Just wondered if you’d fancy joining us for a game of Knights and Knaves, sir,’ said Rae. ‘It’s a new game of Master Nader’s. It’s not bad, you might even be able to win a hand or two.’

  ‘May as well,’ replied Hawkins, tucking the slate into his kit bag. ‘I’m getting nowhere with this.’

  Gathering up his things, Hawkins followed Rae over to his NCOs’ table and pulled over a chair. Like Rae before him, he reversed it before sitting down.

  ‘Sir,’ said Jahn Callins with a nod. ‘Good to have you in the ranks. This Ultramarian rogue is going to clean us all out soon.’

  Emil Nader tried to look hurt, but was too drunk to pull it off convincingly. Kayrn Sylkwood grinned at her fellow crewman’s attempt and looked Hawkins in the eye as he sat down.

  ‘He’s ahead now,’ she said, ‘but another drink and he’ll get cocky and bet against me. Then maybe I’ll let one of you win it back if I think you’re pretty enough to take to my bunk.’

  Even with the best will in the world, none of the men around the table could be called pretty. Commissar Vasken’s face was a craggy moonscape whose frown looked to have been cast in clay at birth. Guardsman Tukos had been scarred by a grenade blast on Baktar III, Jahn Callins was a leather-tough supply officer and Rae was a thick-necked sergeant common the galaxy over.

  Hawkins had, of course, heard what Galatea had done to Mistress Tychon and the Renard’s armsman. He’d only met them briefly at Colonel Anders’s dinner prior to the crossing of the Halo Scar, but he’d liked them instinctively. Magos Dahan had wanted to storm the bridge with a cohort of skitarii, but any notions of reprisal had been quashed by a decree from Magos Blaylock.

  Perhaps the company of fighting men eased Nader and Sylkwood’s pain or perhaps they simply wanted to get drunk and forget their grief for a time.

  Nader dealt out a hand as Sylkwood explained the rules again. Her Cadian accent had softened, but was still there and only became stronger the more she drank. They played a few hands to let Hawkins become acquainted with the rules, which were simple enough, but by the time they’d played a few more, he realised they had layers of unexpected complexity.

  By the fifth hand, he’d all but cashed out of betting chips.

  ‘You see what we’re up against, sir?’ said Rae with a grin.

  ‘Indeed I do,’ said Hawkins. ‘I think we’ve been hustled.’

  ‘We played a square game, captain,’ said Nader, his words beginning to run together. ‘Same rules apply.’

  ‘Maybe so, Master Nader, but I can’t help thinking that you’re taking advantage of us poor soldiers.’

  ‘Me, take advantage?’ grinned Nader. ‘Never!’

  ‘Sir,’ said Rae, nodding towards the entrance to the Spit in the Eye. Hawkins looked up, seeing the silver-haired man with the canidae tattoo who’d been watching them training the other day.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ said Hawkins, pushing up from his chair as the man saw him and began walking over. He headed to the bar, knowing Sergeant Rae was right behind him. Emil Nader and Kayrn Sylkwood might have been accepted, but that didn’t mean anyone else would be made welcome.

  The man reached the bar before them and leaned over to lift a bottle of Scarshine from beneath. He uncorked it with his teeth and grabbed a handful of glasses, apparently oblivious to the hostile looks he was attracting. The muscled corporal behind the bar reached down for his concealed shock maul, but Hawkins waved him off.

  ‘Can I offer you a drink, captain?’ said the man as Hawkins propped himself against the bar. The man poured a generous measure and held the bottle out over two empty glasses. ‘It’s not vintage amasec, but I hear it’s drinkable.’

  ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’ said Hawkins, placing a hand over the empty glasses. Closer now, he could see twin scars on his cheeks and the steel-rimmed socket plugs at the nape of the man’s neck.

  Titan crew. No doubt about it.

  ‘The drinks here are for Cadians only,’ said Hawkins, lifting the man’s glass and emptying it into the slops tray.

  ‘Now that’s just damn wasteful,’ said the man.

  ‘You didn’t answer me,’ said Hawkins. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘You don’t recognise me?’

  ‘Should I?’

  ‘Princeps Gunnar Vintras,’ said the man, visibly puffing out his chest. ‘Also known as the Skinwalker, the Haunter of the Shadows.’

  Hawkins chuckled and turned to Rae. ‘Come to think of it, sergeant, I have heard of him. Only I didn’t think he was still a princeps. Didn’t the Legio strip you of your command after you lost one of their engines?’

  Vintras put a hand to his neck. Hawkins saw the ridged line of a scar where it looked like someone had tried to cut his throat. The Skinwalker scowled and said, ‘I didn’t lose Amarok, it was just… scarred somewhat. Anyway, Turentek’s practically repaired all the damage now. And it’s not like I’m the first princeps ever to have a Titan damaged under him, so I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.’

  ‘Right, so now we know who you are, perhaps you can tell us why you’re here,’ said Hawkins.

  ‘I want to train with you,’ said Vintras.

  At first Hawkins thought he’d misheard.

  ‘You want to train with us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Look, Princeps Luth may have stripped me of my command for now, but do you realise just how rare it is for any human being to have the precise mental and physical make-up to command a Titan? No, I expect you don’t. Well, it’s rare, very rare. So rare in fact that no Legio would ever throw someone like that away over something as trivial as getting an engine a bit scratched. Trust me, the Legio will take me back soon enough, it’s only a matter of time. And when that time comes, I need to be in peak physical condition. Which isn’t going to happen if I just sit about drinking and feeling sorry for myself.’

  ‘You’re a cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you?’ said Hawkins.

  Vintras grinned back at him.

  ‘I’m a Warhound driver,’ he said. ‘What did you expect?’

  Hawkins leaned in close and said, ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re not exactly popular here. We don’t welcome outsiders into our bars, let alone our training programmes.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Vintras, turning to point at the Renard’s crew. ‘They’re not Cadian, but I don’t see you throwing them out.’

  ‘Actually, Mistress Sylkwood is Cadian,’ pointed out Rae. ‘And Master Nader, well, we like him.’

  ‘You’re saying you don’t like me?’ said Vintras with a pout that made Hawkins want to put his fist through his face. ‘You don’t even know me.’

  ‘Call it gut instinct,’ said Hawkins. ‘But if you want to train with us, fine, come train with us.’

  ‘Sir?’ said Rae. ‘Are you sure–’

  ‘Let’s see how Master Vintras fares after a couple of days,’ said Hawkins with a grin. ‘If he�
��s going to pass a Legio physical, he’s going to have to sweat blood. I’m putting you in charge of his detail, Sergeant Rae, so work him hard. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Rae with obvious relish. ‘Perfectly.’

  A huge goods elevator conveyed them to the surface, a shuttered iron cage located beneath a vaulted arch at the end of the transformer chamber. The metal-plated flooring of the car was dented, with frothed pools of greasy effluvia that stank like overused cooking fat pooled in the depressions. Pavelka tasted it and told Roboute it was the residue of bio-synthetic chemicals used to slow the rate of decay in the flesh of servitors.

  Roboute gagged and sat back on his haunches, keeping well clear of those puddles. Sergeant Tanna’s Black Templars stood in the centre of the elevator car, their weapons trained outwards. Roboute heard the clicks of their internal vox and wondered what tactical scenarios they might possibly have for this situation.

  Archmagos Kotov stood in the opposite corner to Roboute, his skitarii shielding his wounded body from sight. Roboute could only imagine the pain of crushed hope now curdled to despair.

  Ven Anders’s Cadians sat against an adjacent cage wall, all of them appearing to be taking their current situation in their stride. A couple smoked bac-sticks, most cleaned their weapons. The rest slept.

  The elevator car shuddered as its braided metal cabling switched to a higher-placed cable cylinder. Too deep for a single cable to lift, the elevator shifted shafts every few hundred metres with a thudding clatter of ratcheting gears. Roboute closed his eyes, convinced the ancient car was going to come loose and plummet back into the depths of Exnihlio.

  ‘How deep did you send us?’ asked Roboute, looking to where the eldar kept themselves as separate from the Imperials as possible.

  Bielanna looked up. She’d removed her helmet, and Roboute was shocked at the sunken shadows around her eyes.

  ‘Deep,’ was all she said.

  Roboute didn’t press the issue, clenching and unclenching his sweating fingers. He tried to control his breathing and looked over at the cracked display slate next to the elevator’s hydraulic controls. The scrolling binary meant nothing to him, changing too rapidly for him to work out the sequence.

  ‘Can’t they just use normal numbers?’ muttered Roboute, more to himself than anyone in particular. ‘Imperator, how much longer is this going to take?’

  ‘The controls indicated we began our ascent on a level some twenty-seven kilometres beneath the planet’s surface,’ said Pavelka. ‘At our current rate of ascent, it should take just under an hour to reach the surface.’

  Roboute exhaled slowly. An hour!

  ‘Reminds me of the training levels beneath Kasr Holn,’ said Ven Anders with a grin. ‘Now those were some deep, dark places. Tunnels you had to wriggle along like a worm, blind corners, kill boxes and some of the nastiest trigger-traps I’ve ever seen. Magos Dahan’s got nothing like it on the training deck.’

  ‘Sounds like you miss them,’ said Roboute.

  Anders shrugged. ‘They were hard times, but good times. We were learning how to fight the enemies of the Emperor, so, yes, I remember that time fondly. You don’t have good memories of your time in the Ultramarian auxilia?’

  ‘I suppose I do,’ said Roboute, grateful for a memory that wasn’t darkness and air running out. ‘But the training I did in Calth’s caverns wasn’t nearly as… enclosed as this.’

  ‘You’re not claustrophobic, are you?’

  ‘I don’t have many phobias, Ven, but being trapped alone in the darkness is one that’s haunted my nightmares ever since the Preceptor was crippled by that hellship.’

  ‘Understandable,’ said Anders.

  ‘And it feels like I’m living that nightmare right now.’

  Anders nodded, and left him alone after that.

  The rest of the journey passed in silence, or as close to silence as the creaking ascent of the lift allowed. Roboute knew they were near the end of their journey when Tanna’s warriors took up battle postures at the corners of the car. Bielanna’s warriors did likewise, moving in a way that naturally complemented the deployment of the Space Marines.

  Finally, the car came to a shuddering halt. The single lumen flickered and the shuttered door ratcheted open with a squeal of rusted hydraulic mechanisms. A petrochemical reek flooded the goods elevator, together with a billowing cloud of particulates.

  Roboute coughed and put a hand to his face.

  ‘This isn’t one of those toxic regions Telok mentioned, is it?’

  ‘The air content is mildly hazardous,’ agreed Pavelka as the Black Templars punched out through the door. The eldar went next, the Cadians following swiftly behind.

  ‘Mildly? Coming from a tech-priest, that’s not exactly reassuring,’ said Roboute, covering his mouth with his hand.

  Kotov and the skitarii followed as they moved into a wide, hangar-like area with thick, vaulted beams and bare iron columns supporting a corrugated sheet roof. Vast silos and ore hoppers took up the bulk of the floor space, connected by a complex network of suspended viaducts and hissing distribution pipes.

  Enormous, hazard-striped ore-haulers rumbled through the hub on grinding tracks, the yellow of their flanks grimy with oil and dust. Warning lights blinked and the omnipresent screeching crackle of binary passed back and forth between enormous machines that rose like templum organs on stepped plinths. Hundreds of goggled servitors with implanted rebreathers tramped through the chamber, hauling carts of raw materials through plumes of vent gases. Roboute coughed a wad of granular phlegm, blinking rapidly as his eyes watered in the caustic atmosphere.

  ‘Here,’ said Pavelka, handing him a glass-visored filter hood from a rack next to the elevator car.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Roboute, dragging it over his head. His breathing immediately evened out as the air-pack pumped stale, centuries-old air into his lungs.

  Tanna led them through the hangar, avoiding the labouring servitors and slow-moving ore-haulers. The eldar spread out, moving like ghosts in vapour clouds.

  Ven Anders jogged over to them.

  ‘How far did you say it was to the universal assembler tower?’ he asked, his voice muffled by his helm’s rebreather.

  ‘Seventy-three point six kilometres,’ answered Pavelka.

  ‘Then we’re going to need transport,’ said Anders. ‘I’m thinking we should commandeer one of those ore-haulers. It’s not a Chimera, but it’ll do. Can you drive one of those things?’

  Pavelka nodded and said, ‘Their drive protocols will be locked to this location, but it is doubtful they will have anything too complex to overcome.’

  ‘Then get to it,’ said Anders. ‘The sooner we’re moving the better chance we have of staying ahead of Telok.’

  Roboute and Pavelka set off with the Cadians as their escort, leaving Kotov and his skitarii to catch up. Pavelka climbed into the cab of an ore-hauler as the Black Templars dragged the hangar doors open. Led by Uldanaish Ghostwalker, the eldar slipped out in groups of three to reconnoitre the area ahead.

  Roboute followed them outside, shielding the lenses of his hood against the brightness of a storm-cracked sky. Looping highway junctions converged in a wide plaza before the hangar, complete with complex directional controls and turnplate assemblies.

  He looked for any sign that they were about to walk into an ambush, but with the exception of a few servitors gathered around a transformer array, he could see no one.

  ‘A materials distribution hub,’ said Kotov.

  ‘What?’ said Roboute, surprised by Kotov’s appearance at his side. The archmagos turned and pointed a mechadendrite at the radial patterns of painted lines on the floor that led to numerous other elevators at regular intervals within the hangar.

  ‘This hub will link to dozens of chambers like the one we just left,’ explained Kotov. ‘Ave Deus Mechanicus, the scale of what Telok has achieved here is staggering.’

  ‘I’d be more impressed if he wasn’t trying to kill us,’
said Roboute.

  ‘True,’ agreed Kotov. ‘And the more I see of this world, the more I realise what a dreadful mistake I made coming here.’

  Roboute nodded slowly, but said nothing, knowing any words he might say would sound flippant in the face of Kotov’s rare moment of candour. Instead, he stared out into the industrial hinterlands of Exnihlio.

  The sky burned a smelted orange, streaked with pollutants and chemical bleed from the planet-wide industry below. A saw-toothed assemblage of the same monolithic structures he’d seen while travelling aboard the crystal ship, smoke-belching cooling towers and domed power plants that crackled with excess energies, stretched into the distance as far as he could see.

  Roboute reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out the brass-rimmed form of his astrogation compass.

  ‘Catch a wind for me, old friend,’ he said for old time’s sake.

  He couldn’t say what had prompted him to take the compass from his stateroom aboard the Renard, but it was as good a touchstone as any on an unknown world. His only keepsake from the doomed Preceptor, the compass was an unreliable navigator, but its needle was unerringly pointing towards a vast tower wrought from cyclopean columns of segmented steel.

  ‘Is that the universal assembler?’ he asked Kotov.

  ‘Yes.’

  It dominated the skyline like a looming hive spire, a haze of smog wreathing its base and an enormous megaphone-like device aimed skywards at its summit.

  A maze of ochre blocks, steel-sided forges and Imperator alone knew what else lay between them and its soaring immensity. Reaching it alive might prove to be impossible, for Telok would surely predict their plan, but what other choice was there?

  ‘Not as far as I thought it was going to be,’ said Roboute, slipping the compass back into his pocket.

  Kotov’s withering reply was drowned out by the throaty roar of the ore-hauler’s engine and the whooping yells of the Cadians.

  ‘Looks like we have transport,’ said Roboute, grinning as he saw Ven Anders slap Pavelka’s shoulder.

  The Cadian colonel leaned from the cab as the rear loading ramp of the ore-hauler lowered.