by Gav Thorpe
Across the vox-net Agapito heard the reports of other squads advancing to link up with Branne and his Raptors, attempting to force a coherent line through the mass of defenders so that a concerted effort could be made on the conduit chambers and engine rooms.
There had been no thought of retreat, and no intimation that they should abandon the ship. Intelligence was key to the war being waged by the Raven Guard; knowledge of where the enemy were weakest and where they were strong was essential to the strategy of Corax. The ship was too valuable to lose and Agapito fought like a berserker from the XII Legion to atone for his earlier distraction.
Eventually the Raven Guard ploughed through the press of defenders, the corridor thick with dismembered bodies behind them as they reached the passageway leading to the main reactor vault. Agapito detailed two squads to stand rearguard and led the rest, some seventy warriors, directly for the reactor control room.
An emergency blast door barred their path at the end of the corridor, but three well-placed melta bombs from the Talons blew a hole through it large enough for the armoured legionaries to pass into the heart of the engine decks.
Sergeant Chovani was the first through, just ahead of Agapito.
‘Hold fire!’ the sergeant barked, lifting his bolter out of the firing position.
Ahead of them was a Raptor squad – not fine-limbed warriors in their battleplate, but the twisted unfortunates that had survived the later gene-seed implantations by the primarch. Some were wrapped in robes, too bulky even to wear power armour. Others could still wear their suits, albeit with extensive modification.
Agapito could not help but compare the late-generation Raptors with the slave-mutants he had been slaying. Scaled skin, inhuman eyes, clawed hands, clumps of wiry hair and nodules of bone and cartilage disfigured the Raven Guard warriors. Their sergeant had a hunched look; he was still able to wear armour, but elongated ears and a ridge of bone across his brow could not be encompassed by a helm. All the skin that Agapito could see, whether furred or smooth, lizard-like or broken with warty growths, was almost white in colour. They all had jet black hair and the comparison to the bleached flesh and black eyes of Lord Corax was unavoidable.
For all their physical similarities with the ship slaves, the Raptors could not have been more different in poise and attitude. They were guarding a stairwell, attentive and alert, holding themselves up with as much bearing as their warped frames allowed. All of the physical abuses heaped upon them could not mask the pride and strength of their legionary training, but their appearance still unsettled Agapito, especially in comparison to the monstrosities created by the Word Bearers. Thinking on that did not entirely make the existence of the deformed Raptors easy to accept.
‘Commander Agapito,’ the sergeant said, bowing his head in a deferential greeting. His lips were thin and revealed dark gums and tongue as he spoke, but his voice was calm and quiet, with a youthful pitch. ‘Commander Branne is securing the reactor chamber as we speak.
‘You are?’ asked Agapito.
‘Sergeant Hef, commander. Navar Hef.’
‘Link up with my Talons, Navar,’ said Agapito, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder towards the remnants of the door. ‘I think the enemy are broken, but there may be enough of them left to try some kind of counter-attack.’
‘Techmarines are securing the plasma wards right now, commander,’ said Hef. ‘Commander Branne said to pass word for you to meet him in the main chamber.’
I’m sure he did, thought Agapito, but out loud said, ‘Very well, sergeant. Carry on.’
Agapito turned his attention to the trio of sergeants who had joined him, awaiting their orders.
‘Lock the whole area down and link up with any other Raptors,’ he told them. ‘Nothing passes the line.’
The commander was already turning away, thoughts moving back to Branne as the sergeants voiced affirmatives and returned to their squads. The route to the main reactor took Agapito up one deck, passing two more Raptor squads guarding the stairwells, and along a short corridor. The area was well within the perimeter and he sheathed his sword and holstered his pistol as he neared the reactor chamber.
Branne met him at the doorway, stepping into the passage as Agapito strode towards the chamber, no doubt informed of his fellow commander’s approach. Branne said nothing at first, but stepped past to address the squad of Raven Guard at the end of the corridor.
‘This area is secure, move down three decks,’ Branne ordered. There were a few glances at the two commanders – it was clear that they were not being moved on for strategic reasons – but the legionaries departed without comment. The ring of their boots on the metal steps grew fainter.
‘Brother, I am s–’
Branne grabbed the lip of his brother’s breastplate in a fist and thrust Agapito against the wall.
‘Sorry is not good enough!’ Though Agapito could see nothing of his brother’s expression inside his helm, Branne’s posture and voice conveyed his rage as purposefully as any snarl or frown. ‘Our orders were simple. What happened to you?’
‘I was killing Word Bearers, brother,’ Agapito replied, trying to keep calm against Branne’s rage. ‘That’s what we do now. We kill traitors.’
Agapito moved to step out of Branne’s grasp but his brother shoved him back against the wall once more, cracking the rough plaster with the impact.
‘One minute,’ rasped Branne. ‘One more minute and we would all be dead.’
‘Do you value your life so highly?’ asked Agapito, lashing out with his words, stung by the arrogance of Branne to appoint himself as judge. ‘Perhaps you should have fought harder.’
Branne raised a gauntleted fist, arm trembling, but he did not strike the blow.
‘Corax is on this ship, brother. Did you not think of him while you were pursuing your personal revenge against the Word Bearers?’
This time Agapito did not make any attempt to control his anger. He smashed Branne’s arm aside and pushed him away, almost sending him to the deck.
‘Personal revenge? Seventy thousand of our brothers died on Isstvan Five. Do you think it is only me that desires to avenge them? And what of the other Legions? The Salamanders and the Iron Hands? Ferrus Manus was slain, probably Lord Vulkan too. Lord Corax? I watched those bastards Lorgar and Curze try to kill him while you were on the other side of the galaxy, so do not tell me that I put the primarch in danger.’
Branne stepped away, shaking his head.
‘You disobeyed orders. A direct command from the primarch. Is that what has become of you?’ The anger in his voice had become sorrow. ‘You cannot change what happened on Isstvan. Our dead brothers would not thank you for jeopardising a mission for their memory.’
‘What would you know?’ snapped Agapito. He tapped the side of his helmet with a finger. ‘You don’t have the same memories as me. You were not there, brother.’
‘A fate that you never fail to mention when given the chance,’ Branne said with a sigh. He pointed to the grey sigil that could barely be seen against the black of Agapito’s left pauldron. ‘The campaign honour for Isstvan that your Talons wear is a mark of respect for the fallen, not a badge of shame. Many died there. You did not. Be thankful. You have nothing to atone for.’
‘I am not trying to atone,’ said Agapito. He could not find the words to express the mixture of feelings that swirled inside him when he thought about the Dropsite Massacre. He gave up and turned away from his brother. ‘I do not blame you for your absence, brother, but you will never understand.’
The ravaged face of the Navigator turned towards Corax as he laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder.
‘Constanix,’ she whispered. ‘That is the system you seek. Now, please, release me from this bondage.’
Delving into his encyclopaedic memory, Corax recalled that Constanix II was a forge world less than fifty light years from their cu
rrent position. Its allegiance in the civil war that had engulfed the Imperium was unknown, but the fact that the Word Bearers had been there, or were heading there at all, did not bode well.
‘What purpose do the traitors have there?’ he asked softly.
‘I do not know. Twice we have travelled to the system, since we escaped from Calth and dared the Ruinstorm.’
‘Ruinstorm?’ Corax had not heard the term before.
‘The tumult of the warp,’ wheezed the Navigator. ‘It is an artifice of Lorgar’s followers. They did this to me, infected me with… Turned my mind into a vessel for one of their inhuman allies to guide–’
‘Lord Corax, the ship is secured,’ announced Soukhounou. The commander had removed his helm, and a sheen of sweat across his dark skin glistened in the amber lights of the reactor displays. He ran a hand through short, curled black hair, his relief evident. His smile twisted the pale scars etched into his face; tribal tattoos that marked him out as a former praise-singer of the Sahelian League on Terra. ‘Plasma containment stabilised. Commanders Branne and Agapito are coming to the strategium to report.’
Corax nodded but did not reply, his attention returning to the broken Navigator.
‘This thing they placed inside you – is it still there?’
‘It fled.’ The Navigator shuddered and gasped, the cables and pipes piercing her flesh rattling and swaying as her whole body twitched at the thought. Still blinded by her mask, she nevertheless looked up at Corax, jaw clenched. ‘I know what you will ask of me.’
‘It is not necessary,’ said Corax. He moved his hand so that the tip of one of his claws was millimetres from her throat, just below the chin. ‘Our own Navigators can take us to Constanix.’
‘The powers entreated by the Word Bearers keep watch on the system. They will block you. They know the Kamiel, this ship, and I can take you through their wards.’ She drew in a long, ragged breath. ‘I will endure for a while longer to see the works of my tormentors ended. The malice their abuse of me has brought forth is thwarted by your efforts. The Emperor would expect nothing less.’
‘I will have my Apothecaries tend to you, as best they can.’
‘The wounds of my body are the least severe injuries I have suffered. Your Apothecaries can do nothing for the agonies heaped upon my soul. Only death will cleanse the taint.’ The Navigator straightened further, giving a glimpse of the poise and elegance she must have once possessed before the cruel attentions of the traitors had debased her. ‘I am Sagitha Alons Neortallin, and I will serve the lord of the Raven Guard as my last act.’
Corax withdrew his lightning claw and stood up. Stepping back, he bowed his head in acknowledgement of Sagitha’s sacrifice.
‘By such spirit and courage as yours will Horus be defeated. You will be honoured.’
The tramp of boots on the deck above caught Corax’s attention and he turned to see Branne and Agapito at the rail of the balcony. He gestured to Soukhounou to accompany him as he made his way up the steps. The Raven Guard who stood sentry by the strategium’s portal needed no instruction to depart, silently moving away to leave their commanders free to talk.
‘The Word Bearers have some link to the forge world of Constanix Two,’ Corax told the others. ‘For the moment we can only guess what fresh nightmares they concoct there.’
‘A dilemma,’ said Soukhounou. He looked at Branne and Agapito, whose silence betrayed fresh tension between them. ‘The fleet is ready to attack the traitors on Euesa, but it will not be a swift campaign. Whatever the Word Bearers plan for Constanix may come to fruition while we wage war on Fulgrim’s disciples.’
‘Commander Aloni and the Therions will be expecting us to reinforce their assault on Euesa – we cannot leave them unsupported,’ countered Branne. ‘All manner of trouble could await us at this forge world and substantially delay our arrival.’
‘The obvious victory is on Euesa,’ said Corax, ‘for if we can rid that world of the traitors’ influence the whole Vandreggan Reach will likely remain loyal to the Emperor. But I do not like the Word Bearers’ machinations. Constanix is strategically insignificant, a minor forge world in the scheme of the Imperium. Had the world been more prominent their purpose would be clearer, but the seizing of Constanix will do little to aid Horus’s war effort. I do not like mysteries.’
‘Any mission that sees more traitors dead is a worthwhile mission,’ said Agapito. ‘Lord Corax, we do not need all of our forces at Euesa. Let me lead some of my Talons to Constanix and the Word Bearers’ plans will be halted for certain.’
‘Our Legion is small enough,’ Branne argued, shaking his head. ‘Dividing our forces now would weaken us further.’
‘So it’s your plan to allow the Word Bearers free rein to wreak more destruction?’ snapped Agapito. He mastered his anger and turned to Corax, his tone almost pleading. ‘Lord, the traitors must be faced down at every turn, and the damage inflicted to the Emperor’s cause by the Word Bearers could be considerable if left unchecked. They spread hatred of Terra as surely as they once proclaimed their loyalty. Constanix will not be the last world they try to corrupt if we allow them to escape.’
‘I have no intention of ignoring the Word Bearers,’ replied the primarch.
‘But the attack on Euesa–’
Corax’s raised hand silenced Branne’s protest. ‘Soukhounou, what is your appraisal?’
‘Forgive me, Lord Corax, but I am sure you have already made a decision,’ Soukhounou said with a shrug. ‘I do not think my counsel will sway you to another course.’
‘You do not have an opinion?’
‘I believe it is still your intent that we should bring punishment to the rebels wherever they are encountered, lord. We should attack the foe both at Euesa and at Constanix. Or at the least, the Word Bearers’ activities should be investigated and assessed.’
‘Although Agapito may have a different motivation for wishing to pursue the Word Bearers, I approve of his strategy,’ said the primarch. He turned away from his commanders and looked across the strategium. They came up beside him, remaining silent for his orders. ‘The enemy at Euesa are well scouted and well known. Branne, Soukhounou, you are more than capable of leading the campaign with Aloni. I have every confidence that you will earn another victory for the Legion.’
‘You will not be coming with us?’ Branne was taken aback by the pronouncement.
‘My presence will be more useful with Agapito at Constanix. We shall take three hundred warriors only. Judging by the remnants of the Word Bearers that were left on this ship, we should not expect a large contingent of them to be waiting for us.’
‘And if Constanix has fallen to our enemies?’ said Soukhounou. ‘It may be a minor forge world but they will still have many thousands of Mechanicum soldiers and war machines.’
‘If opposition proves insurmountable, we shall do what we always do.’
‘Attack, withdraw and attack again,’ chorused the commanders after a moment’s pause.
‘Just so,’ Corax told them with a smile. He paused, retrieving what he knew of the forge world from the depths of his mind. ‘I shall take this vessel, recrewed from our own ships, to ensure our arrival goes unseen. Agapito, detail two hundred legionaries to accompany us. Soukhounou, I will need one hundred more of your auxiliary vehicle crews, armed as assault troops. Constanix is dominated by acidic oceans, with few sizeable land masses. There are eight major atmospheric cities kept aloft by anti-grav technologies, so we will need to think aerially. I need warriors trained with flight and jump packs, plus a full complement of Thunderhawks, Shadowhawks, Stormbirds, Fire Raptor gunships and whatever smaller assault craft the fleet can spare and will fit into the launch bays. And a team from the armoury. The Kamiel’s warp engines and other major systems need to be repaired quickly if our strike is to be timely. If we can defeat the Word Bearers with this force, all will be well. If not�
� Well, the Legion will have its next target.’
The commanders nodded and agreed. With a gesture, Corax despatched them to their duties but called out as they reached the main doors.
‘And Agapito, it is at least seven days’ journey to Constanix. You and I will have plenty of time to discuss your actions today.’
The Talons’ commander seemed to sag inside his armour.
‘Yes, Lord Corax,’ Agapito replied.
Two
The Shadowhawk slid silently down through the night, its black hull almost invisible against the thick clouds that blotted out the light of moons and stars. Thermal dampening vanes jutted from its cunningly faceted, oily black canopy, the drop-craft looking like a huge, broad-winged spiny beetle. Just a few dozen metres below, foam flecked the acidic seas of Constanix II, lit by the bioluminescence of indigenous bacteria. In the distance, several kilometres from the Shadowhawk’s glide path, the navigation lights of multi-hull trawlers glinted and strobed, their red and green flashes almost lost in the deluge of rain that pattered from the drop-ship’s hull. Bright wakes churned behind the ships as they ploughed back and forth, their reinforced scoop keels dredging thousands of tonnes of rich organic material for the Mechanicum’s processors and bio-laboratories.
Two kilometres ahead, floating half a kilometre above the ocean, the barge-city of Atlas drifted through the downpour, smoke and steam from its furnace-houses and foundries leaving a ruddy trail in its wake. A red glare from scores of manufactories and smelteries illuminated the heart of the seventeen-kilometre-wide edifice. Cranes and booms with amber lamps arrayed along their length sprawled from the wharfs that ringed Atlas, their orange glows little more than pinpricks in the darkness.
