Blades of Damocles

by Phil Kelly

  A low hubbub erupted in the Astra Militarum lines. The Space Marines remained silent, listening intently.

  ‘The next phase of this war will be the most important,’ said Lord Calgar. ‘Your orders are to locate this fifth caste, and destroy it wherever it is to be found.’ He paused, eyes scanning across the audience as if he could see them directly.

  ‘In the last few days, the tau have been attacking in concert, their military manoeuvres uncannily similar no matter where they are on the planet. It is as if their commanders are somehow mind-linked, like insects from the same colony. An apt comparison, I’m sure you will agree.’

  There was a quiet ripple of mirth from the Astra Militarum. Numitor smiled dutifully, but inside, he was not so sure the comparison held true. The xenos had some concept of a warrior code. He had heard the tau female in the hab-block speak of it, and even Calgar himself had referred to the events leading up to Atheus’ death as an honour duel.

  ‘This behaviour bears out this theory of a command caste. Should these be the overseers of the enemy’s civilisation, their destruction may hand us not just a military victory upon Dal’yth, but the key to defeating the entire Tau Empire.’

  The low susurrus amongst the Guardsmen grew to cries of outright celebration. Chaplain Uticos brought his crozius arcanum down onto the flank of his improvised podium, the gunshot crack that rang out silencing the audience completely.

  Numitor saw instantly that something was wrong. Lord Calgar was looking not at the gathered warriors, but off to one side, his expression deeply troubled. The apparition blurred and faded, going badly out of focus.

  ‘How close is this bio-fleet?’ came Calgar’s muffled voice, so quiet that Numitor had to strain to make it out. He would not have heard it at all but for the cybernetic cherubs being so close. ‘How long do we have?’

  There was a reply from an unseen advisor, but it was unintelligible.

  ‘Captain Numitor,’ said Marneus Calgar, springing into focus once more above those gathered in the Munitorum zone. ‘Your original command is over. Brother Magros shall serve as sergeant of the Calgarians in your stead. You shall lead those gathered here in the hunt and slaughter of the fifth tau caste, effective immediately. Use this opportunity swiftly, and well.’

  Numitor looked up at the Chapter Master, meeting his gaze for the first time. ‘I shall, my lord.’

  ‘Of that I have no doubt,’ said Calgar distantly. He paused for a moment, seeming diminished somehow, then straightened. ‘Warriors of Macragge, go this very moment to rejoin the fight. Smite the leaders of this alien world. Shatter their armies and destroy their will, and do not rest until every sign of xenos infestation lies desolate and cast into the dust. For Macragge, and the Emperor.’

  ‘For Macragge and the Emperor!’

  Despite the elation in Numitor’s soul, something had changed in the Chapter Master’s demeanour, try as he might to disguise it.

  That fact alone troubled him greatly.

  Lord Calgar brought his fist across his breastplate, blurred out of focus, and disappeared.

  ‘Cato,’ said Numitor as he caught up to Sicarius. ‘A moment.’

  The sergeant was trudging into the shadow of one of the bastions, evidently seeking a moment’s peace. Respite was a luxury the Ultramarines no longer had. Numitor had already briefed his command squad with an exit plan, ordering Omnid to make ready the transports and Enitor to brief the Astra Militarum officer corps. They would be out of Theta Tert within the hour.

  ‘Captain Numitor,’ said Sicarius with a tired smile. ‘Congratulations. I truly mean that.’

  ‘You do? I thought you’d be full of reasons why it should be you lugging this unfeasibly heavy axe around the place.’

  ‘I’m more of a blades man, truth be told.’

  ‘Of course.’

  The two walked in silence for a moment before Numitor spoke again.

  ‘You seem different, old friend.’

  ‘I just saw the corpse of Vortico Ionsian,’ said Sicarius. ‘I lost another one, Jorus. Kaetoros is in bad shape too. He and Glavius had some prize words to say to me, I can tell you.’

  ‘Glavius? He challenged you?’

  ‘That he did.’

  ‘Emperor’s teeth. These are strange times indeed.’

  ‘They have a point, though, Jorus. I do not deserve to be called a leader.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s not your strongest suit,’ said Numitor awkwardly. ‘I’ll tell you what you are, though.’

  Sicarius looked sidelong at Numitor. ‘Let me guess. Arrogant? Blind? Callous?’

  ‘No, idiot,’ said Numitor. ‘You are a champion. A born warrior that even the Ultramarines look up to. Trust me on this. People watch you slaughtering these xenos bastards by the dozen, and it gives them hope. Makes them believe the Imperium can not only survive, but excel. That’s how you lead, Cato. By inspiring others, and making them want to be the best they can.’

  ‘Thank you, brother. Those are kind words. To be honest, if that is the case, it is by accident. Glavius said I was like a young Fenrisian, hungry only for glory. The comparison was fair. I am supposed to be a sergeant of the Ultramarines Chapter, for Guilliman’s sake. I should be better than that.’

  ‘So think first, act second,’ said Numitor. ‘Use the Codex Astartes as your guide. I know that seems hypocritical coming from me, but against these tau and their traps, it’s imperative we cleave to its teachings. For all of our strength, we aren’t invulnerable after all.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Sicarius. ‘I’m beginning to realise that.’

  ‘Do not lose your confidence, though,’ warned Numitor. ‘It’s what makes you who you are.’

  The warriors kept their peace as they walked on around the perimeter, approaching a Baleghast sentry smoking a lho-stick in the lee of an Icarus quad-gun. He hurriedly ditched it, face draining of all colour as he ground the butt under his heel.

  ‘Captain,’ he said in a dry, strained voice.

  ‘Very discreet, private,’ said Numitor.

  The Astra Militarum trooper saluted weakly as the Ultramarines walked on.

  ‘The Lord Calgar spoke of a fifth caste,’ said Numitor. ‘Know anything about that?’

  ‘Some. One of the psykers told me about it, during the battle. Darrapor, the bald one. I didn’t put much stock in it, at first. She is… disturbed, I would say.’

  ‘That was you? You told the Librarius of these hidden tau leaders?’

  ‘I did. Though I took far too long about it.’

  ‘So what changed?’

  ‘That fact that if she is right, we may lose a lot less lives in the prosecution of this war. I would rather look a fool than see that happen.’

  ‘That is the logic of a leader,’ said Numitor. ‘Not a glory seeker.’

  Sicarius did not answer.

  ‘If that supposition is true…’ Numitor stopped, and turned to face his brother. ‘You realise if Calgar knew it was you that passed on that information, you likely would have had a far better shot at the captaincy?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Sicarius. ‘Perhaps not.’

  ‘Used well, that veritas could topple the Tau Empire.’

  ‘You deserve the halo, brother. We both know I am not ready for it.’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Numitor.

  ‘Besides,’ Sicarius smiled ruefully, ‘I have my eyes set on a far greater captaincy than that of a mere reserve company such as the Eighth.’

  ‘Ha! I would have thought you’d be eyeing up Lord Calgar’s throne instead.’

  The two walked along the perimeter in silence once more, the gravel of shattered buildings crunching underfoot as they passed another sentry.

  When they were out of earshot, Numitor spoke again, so quiet it was barely above a whisper.

  ‘Put your helm on, Cato, just for a moment
.’

  Sicarius looked quizzically at the captain.

  ‘Why? Do you suspect the sniper-machines that got Elixus, or…’

  ‘Just do it, Cato,’ said Numitor, ‘before I make it an order.’

  The sergeant made a distasteful face, unclamping his helm from his waist and sliding it on.

  Numitor opened a discreet vox-link, ensuring only Sicarius’ rune was active in his helm display.

  ‘I heard something when the Lord Calgar defocused, just on the edge of earshot.’

  ‘Something bad, I take it?’

  ‘I heard him say something about a bio-fleet.’

  ‘A what?’ Sicarius turned to face Numitor. ‘What in Guilliman’s name are you talking about, Numitor? An ork fleet?’

  ‘That’s not what I heard,’ said Numitor, his tone grave. ‘He said, “How close is this bio-fleet, how long do we have.”’

  ‘Throne,’ said Sicarius. ‘What do you suppose it means? Another species of alien?’

  Numitor shrugged. ‘It doesn’t sound good, whatever it is.’

  ‘Surely we’d know about it already if there was another xenos fleet inbound? And why did Malagrea not speak of it?’

  ‘I do not know. Lord Calgar clearly thinks we have work to do here first.’

  The two walked on in silence. Unbidden, their pace increased.

  ‘Time is of the essence then,’ said Sicarius. ‘We should make ready the war council.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Numitor, ‘though I can tell you now, my intention is to go back to the original plan, but with a lot more manpower. Our theory concerning the red-armoured tau commander is still sound. And those were Atheus’ last orders. We should respect them.’

  ‘Very well. And Jorus?’

  ‘Yes, sergeant?’

  ‘We should consider ordering some drop ships to stay on standby.’

  ‘I already have,’ said Numitor. ‘We are likely to need them.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  REDEMPTION/THE LINE IS DRAWN

  The Silent Aftermath slid through the skies, its repainted hull as red as the Dal’ythan sunset. Violet clouds scudded beneath the Orca as it carried Commander Farsight towards the rendezvous point where he was to meet his old comrade Sha’vastos.

  Given the rumours about the venerable commander’s mindset, it was not an encounter Farsight was looking forward to.

  The Aftermath had no honour guard of air caste craft attending it. After returning from Mount Kan’ji with O’Vesa’s mind-scanning device, the neural crown replete with the totality engram of Master Puretide’s brain, Farsight had been left to his original command once more. Clearly Aun’Va considered his dedication to the Greater Good proven.

  It was a great relief, to be redeemed as one with the Tau’va, the accusations of vash’ya put to one side in view of his success. Still, a strange sense of disquiet gnawed at Farsight’s conscience in the long hours of the night. Puretide’s warning still lingered, colouring his perceptions. The very idea that not all of the ethereal caste could be trusted was nonsense, tantamount to deliberate idiocy. Yet it had come from his mentor, the wisest of all the fire caste. It was a fu’llasso mind knot, and it would not leave his thoughts.

  On the night of his return to active duty, Farsight had ordered his Orca painted red in the manner of his armour, ostensibly for the same reason – to honour the blood spilt by the fallen of Arkunasha. He knew in his heart it had more to do with him asserting his own identity, reinstating his command on some symbolic level.

  If he was honest with himself, it was likely because he was not one of the Swords of Puretide.

  The majority of Farsight’s fellow shas’o had gladly volunteered for that elite clique, for the fire caste held the war-sage as a role model, a figure of legend. A simple act of surgery, they were saying, and the commanders’ brains would be embellished with an engram neurochip bearing Puretide’s own thoughts and philosophies. In a way, it was genius, a quick and easy way to access the finest of fire caste strategies in time to bring them to bear on the Dal’yth war, outwitting the Imperials before their intrusion took any more ground.

  Farsight had politely declined the surgery, knowing the matter would not be that simple. In many ways there was something that bothered him about the very concept. He realised the Tau’va came first, over and above any loyalty to caste or comrade. Yet O’Shaserra – along with O’Kais – had studied for many long and hard tau’cyr atop Mount Kan’ji to fully understand Puretide’s wisdom. To merely copy it from his neural matrix as if he were a machine and download the information into the brains of living beings, and using an untested prototype at that, felt disrespectful in the extreme. There was a difference between the intelligent application of principles and the direct imitation of past success. It had all the hallmarks of a swift route to disaster, though Farsight could not place why.

  In the last few rotaa, the commander’s instincts had been borne out. From what he had heard, those whose minds had assimilated the neurochip had found their personalities not so much complemented as subsumed by the iron-hard mind of Puretide. The inventor of the technology, O’Vesa, was gifted; some said he was the finest mind in all of the earth caste. But Farsight had known him long enough to realise his prototypes tended to be geared around power rather than caution. The scientist was obsessed with the act of innovation, and rarely paused to consider the moral implications of his rampant invention. In the past, there had been times when Farsight had thought O’Vesa did not even understand the concept of morality.

  On impulse, Farsight patched through to the scientist on his battlesuit’s caste-net suite, eye-flicking the square-and-circle symbol of the earth caste with the stylised Stone Dragon entwined around it.

  ‘Commander!’ said O’Vesa, his flat, broad face twisting into a bright smile. Farsight felt himself returning it. The scientist was always pleased to see him, genuinely so. Despite their differences the feeling was slowly becoming mutual.

  ‘I take it you have been informed, then?’

  ‘Informed?’ said Farsight. ‘About Sha’vastos’ recent incident, you mean?’

  ‘No!’ cried O’Vesa, almost beside himself with glee. ‘That is a mere setback. No, we are to go into battle together! Well, in a manner of speaking. My prototypes will be accompanying you. I have made some modifications since the gue’ron’sha breach of the testing facility. I fitted the latest iteration of the pulse driver cannon! And I hear your new sunforge attack pattern is paying great dividends against those ugly gue’la vehicle columns.’

  ‘A simple application of vertical envelopment theory, twinned with paired fusion blaster XV8s,’ said Farsight. ‘Hardly a tactic worthy of the Swords. Is the Warghost with you?’

  ‘Ob’lotai 3-0 is present, yes. And he is not the only old friend of yours I have on board.’

  ‘Where are you at the moment, O’Vesa?’

  ‘Very close! Almost on top of your little craft, in fact. I have stealth fields running that a mere Orca could never penetrate. The timing of your call has ruined the surprise.’

  Farsight frowned, eye-flicking to the distribution array, then the exterior screens.

  Looming through the cloudbanks was an earth caste builder ship so large its cargo bays could have accommodated a hundred Crisis suits with room to spare. The craft’s vast belly blocked out the darkening skies high above, the pressure of its descent buffeting the Aftermath so hard Farsight could feel the turbulence in his control cocoon.

  ‘Kor’ui Y’eldi,’ said Farsight to the Orca’s pilot, ‘give that great sky-whale some room.’

  ‘Of course,’ came the response, ‘though that seems a harsh way of referring to an honoured comrade.’

  Farsight gave a tired smile and shook his head. The willow-thin air caste usually said exactly what was on their mind, and Kor’ui Y’eldi was always quick to take a shot if he could. Such
unvarnished honesty was a valuable asset in combat airspace, when every microdec could be the difference between life and death. In a diplomatic situation, it could be a liability.

  ‘Just concentrate on our flight path, please,’ said Farsight. ‘O’Vesa is an old ally of mine. Besides, I prefer to think of him as robust in construction.’

  ‘I would say he is practically cuboid.’

  ‘Enough, Y’eldi.’

  The Aftermath duly flew lower to compensate, coming out of the clouds. The Ath’adra command facility was visible in the distance, a series of five tall hexagonal structures set at staggered heights like a zoomed-in view of a crystal formation.

  The caste-net chimed, and the split pentagon of the ethereal caste appeared on his display, the circle atop it flashing gold.

  ‘One moment, O’Vesa,’ said Farsight, blink-pushing the golden symbol.

  ‘Greetings in the name of the Tau’va,’ came the cultured tones of the ethereal Aun’Tefan. Her features were serene, appealing in their tranquility, though Farsight noted her dress was not ceremonial, but practical. By the look of it, she was planning on going somewhere as soon as the conversation was over; either that, or she was already on the move.

  ‘Greetings, honoured Aun,’ said Farsight, blipping the symbol of the Greater Good. ‘I hear I may be going into battle, rather than attending a strategic rendezvous.’

  ‘That is true,’ said Aun’Tefan. ‘There have been some developments in the shape of the war outside Gel’bryn. The Imperials are making a massed push south. Towards Ath’adra.’

  ‘I see,’ said Farsight. ‘Well, I am on my way. My battlesuit retaliation cadre is not far behind.’

  ‘Excellent. Commander, the gue’ron’sha are leading a strike at great speed. We have begun evacuation of all ethereal personnel, as well as high-ranking tau from the other castes, fire caste excepted. Every active commander in the area has been given an imperative to intercept. Admiral Teng is leading an air caste attack run as we speak.’

  ‘The Swords of Puretide will be in attendance, I presume?’