by Paul Kearney
Roboute Guilliman himself had designed this place, and the austere grandeur of it spoke of something in the primarch’s soul – a longing for order, perhaps even for peace.
The temple had been built not to glorify the Ultramarines, but to draw the mind into contemplation of the potential within mankind itself. To stand within it was to find faith renewed. The affecting sight of its builder, entombed in an ageless stasis field under the grand dome he had raised – not dead, not alive – only lent a terrible poignancy to the structure. Guilliman had built so much, endured so much, and ultimately had saved the Imperium in its darkest hour. His reward was betrayal, and death.
For Tigurius did not adhere to the superstitions of lesser men, the absurd claims that Guilliman’s mortal wound was slowly healing before their eyes and that one day he would return to save the Imperium a second time. No – the primarch was truly gone.
It was for those who had come after him to shoulder his burdens, fulfil his hopes, and guard what was left of his dreams.
Calgar approached, his feet making almost no sound on the shining marble floor despite his imposing size. The Chapter Master’s left eye, a bionic implant, gleamed red in the dimming light of the temple.
The Lord of Macragge was taller than Tigurius, even though he was not in armour. In appearance, his figure was akin to that of a well-preserved, athletic man in his early fifties, by Terran-standard years, his hair dull gold shot through with grey. Except for the massive scale of his skull, and the broad bulk of his immense form. And the light that shone deep in his remaining human eye.
All over his exposed skin were the faint contrails of old scars, gained over centuries, and so lean was his flesh that when he compressed his lips the outline of his teeth could be seen behind them. His gaze could not be met for long, even by one as close to him as Tigurius.
The Chief Librarian knew the myths that had grown up around the Chapter Master – that he was invincible, that he was Guilliman come again. Sometimes, when he met Calgar’s deep-set eye and divined the ferocious intelligence behind it, Tigurius could almost believe the legends himself.
‘What news?’ Calgar asked his brother, clasping his seamed fists together within the sleeves of the blue robe.
‘I have sent word to the Adeptus Mechanicus, as you suggested. We have yet to receive a reply,’ Tigurius told him.
Calgar tilted his head to one side, a gesture that was habitual to him. A small, humourless smile appeared on the wide, thin-lipped mouth. ‘They’ll come. They are on their way already, I would guess. The nearest forge world is Gantz, and the most prominent of their emissaries there is Magos Fane. I have had dealings with him before.’
The two Ultramarines walked together through the tall doors of the temple, which swung open for them, warned by hidden sensor mechanisms. The bright light of a morning on Macragge beamed down on them, and Calgar lifted his face to greet it, closing his eye for a moment and breathing in the cold air off the Hera’s Crown Mountains.
Tigurius followed his Chapter Master without speaking as Calgar led him up onto the immense Aegis Wall of the Castrum, the fortress within a fortress that housed the Temple of Correction, the Sword Hall, the Librarium and other massively constructed edifices which were the ceremonial heart of Ultramar.
Once on the walls, the pair could look down from the two-hundred-foot height of the fortifications to the teeming expanse of Magna Civitas below, sharp as a pict image in the cold bright air of early spring. The Avenue of Heroes, bordered by thirty-foot statues of Ultramarines notables, lanced down through the sea of buildings to the wide expanse of Martial Square, almost a mile to a side, thence to the Landing Fields beyond, and in the uttermost distance, the blue waters of the Gulf of Lycum.
But Calgar turned his face from this bustling panorama which was the heart of his realm. He looked north, towards the mountains, and the long gleam of Hera’s Falls tumbling down from the high country of snowfields and conifer forests, beyond it the white-tipped savage spike that was Andromache, rearing up against a hard blue sky and beginning to stain with the sunset of the west.
‘Have you ever been to the summit?’ he asked Tigurius, gesturing to the snowbound mountain. The Librarian shook his head.
‘I climbed it once, back in my youth. A test, I deemed it, one of many I set myself in those days. I damn near died in an avalanche. It is bare, lonely rock at the top, Tigurius, and the air is gossamer thin. But the view! It made it all worthwhile. It made me love this world of ours all the more to see it spread out before me in all its magnificence. Some mountains are worth the climb, no matter how alone we find ourselves at their summit.’
They walked along the battlements. The noise of the teeming city below carried up to them as a distant hum. The Castrum, built on a spur of the mountains, seemed for all its magnificence to be a place set apart, and few people walked its wide avenues and roads. The Season of Pilgrimage was not yet come, and it seemed as quiet as some cloistered place of worship, which in a way it was.
‘Brother-Captain Idaeus informs me that it will take close on two days to assemble a suitable force from the fleet,’ Calgar went on, walking slowly. ‘The Octavius is readying as we speak, and Seventh is being brought out of reserve. Ixion will be taking them up to the battle-barge in the next few hours. We are short of escort vessels though – they are being called in from elsewhere in the sector.’
‘It will be a formidable force,’ Tigurius said.
‘Word came this morning that Galenus has lost contact with the First Company brethren he inserted yesterday. He has landed an additional squad, and hopes to regain contact within hours,’ Calgar said thoughtfully.
‘Captain Galenus is a capable commander,’ Tigurius said.
‘Yes, though were I in his place, I might have done it differently. A reconnaissance in force perhaps, with the bulk of the company. Right now, his landing party is too many, and not enough.’
‘The Adeptus Mechanicus will want their own people to board the hulk, beyond question,’ Tigurius mused.
‘Indeed. Galenus’ strategic reasoning is sound. The hulk is a potential threat which cannot be allowed to drift further into Ultramar, and yet we cannot simply destroy it – there is no telling what might be aboard, what gems of knowledge it may contain. In this, I am of a mind with the Adeptus Mechanicus.’
‘There’s a first time for everything,’ Tigurius said with a thin smile. It was not an expression that crossed his austere face often.
Calgar stopped and laid his hands on the stone of the battlements. He seemed to be looking far out beyond the city below, beyond even the blue line of the sea that girded it.
‘Insanista in tenebris,’ he whispered. ‘It means something, Tigurius. It is no mere gibberish. I want you to utilise all the resources of the Librarius. Find out where it comes from, what it truly means. Something tells me it is important we know.’
‘I have a cadre of Codiciers working on it, my lord,’ the Chief Librarian said. ‘But our archives are not what they were, not since the destruction wreaked by Behemoth. We may have to look farther afield for elucidation. Perhaps to the Administratum itself.’
‘I don’t care if you have to send all the way to Terra – or Mars for that matter. In a short time I will be taking to the void to see this thing for myself, and I want all the intelligence we can muster.’
Tigurius stopped short. ‘You intend to oversee this operation personally?’
‘I do. Galenus is, as you say, a good man, but he has not been a captain long – I will not let him face the subtleties of the Adeptus Mechanicus without guidance – and it may well not end there. I have had an enquiry from Talasa Prime. The Inquisition will certainly become involved if it is proved that the hulk houses the spawn of the Ruinous Powers. We must tread carefully, my friend. The Ultramarines are but one piece on the gaming board of Imperial intrigue.’
‘A mighty piece, al
l the same. Let us hope we can resolve the situation to our satisfaction before the Inquisition starts to–’
‘Meddle?’ Calgar smiled. ‘I share your hope, but it is a faint one, Tigurius. Even here in Ultramar, we are subject to the fiat of the Administratum, and even the Lord of Macragge cannot ignore the will of the Lords of Terra.’
Later in the day, Calgar’s words proved prophetic. Within hours of each other, two ships translated out of warp in the void surrounding Macragge. Passing by the great orbital fortress of Korinthos, they took up high orbit above the planet, and that evening sent word that an audience was requested with the Ultramarines Chapter Master.
The first of the incoming ships was the Spatha, out of Talasa Prime. One of the cruisers known as the Black Ships of the Inquisition, its commander was one Lazarus Drake of the Ordo Hereticus, and he made planetfall that same night in a sable liveried Aquila lander.
The second ship, a light cruiser called the Mutatis Mutandis, belonged to the Adeptus Mechanicus, and a humble Arvus lighter brought its commander down to the planet. Magos Explorator Albius Fane arrived with an escort of red-robed skitarii, and like Drake, was given quarters by the Castellan in the South Wing of the Residency, that vast complex of buildings which housed the personal household and staff of the Lord of Macragge.
The two honoured guests were then kept waiting for several hours while Calgar oversaw the preparation of the battle-barge Octavius and the embarkation of Seventh Company, an event they could not help but witness from the balconies of their quarters in the South Wing.
The crystal-clear night sky of Macragge was alive with the roar of afterburners, the city lit up for miles as each heavy shuttle took off, bearing arms, ammunition, equipment and squads of Adeptus Astartes to the mighty Octavius in low orbit above. As a display of Ultramarines might it could scarcely have been bettered, and the stars of the system seemed to multiply in the night sky as the ships of Marneus Calgar’s fleet gathered above.
Inquisitor Lazarus Drake was a small, meanly proportioned man with a surprisingly handsome face – as though head and body had become mismatched at some point in his eventful life. He had a long, narrow skull with a crooked nose, a high widow’s peak of jet black hair run through with veins of silver, and dark blue, almost violet eyes, both of which flashed with the glint of hidden optics.
He wore power armour custom-forged by the Inquisition tech-priests, slate-grey and unadorned except for the rosette of his calling on one shoulder-guard. He carried no weapon, and his head was bare. A cloak of rich sable hung from his shoulders, partially concealing the bulk of his spinal power-pack, and a shimmer in the air before his eyes spoke of a conversion field generator in the gorget of his armour.
Magos Explorator Albius Fane was a wholly different creature. Tall as an Adeptus Astartes but slim as a mortar-tube, his thin form was partially concealed by a voluminous, rust-red robe and hood. His eyes were crimson lenses glinting from a face which was as angular and artificial as the helm of a Space Marine. He had no mouth, only an ornate grille, and from the back of his robe a servo-arm protruded like the head of a great snake, while bulges in his robes spoke of other cybernetic enhancements. He carried a staff with the toothed blade of a power axe at one end, and bore the cog and skull of the Adeptus Mechanicus embroidered on both shoulders.
These two creatures of the Imperium now stood in Marneus Calgar’s private apartments in the Residence. A fire was burning in a hearth large enough to spit-roast a grox, but aside from that the cavernous room was austere, sparsely furnished with a massive table and chairs. It had been furnished thus for many centuries.
The floor was simple flagged stone, the walls bare except for recessed glims up near the beamed ceiling. On the table a decanter full of ruby liquid and three brushed-steel goblets stood untouched.
What technology the space possessed was discreetly hidden in arched alcoves in the corners of the room. There was a vox system in one, and the flicker of a cogitator screen in another. A third held a small library of data-slates.
In the remaining corner a votive light flickered below a stylised representation of The Emperor Sorrowful, mourning the betrayal of his favoured Warmaster, Horus, Bright Star of Morning. Lazarus Drake examined the shrine with some interest, while Magos Fane simply stood immobile before the crackling fire, the flames’ light playing back across the burnished lenses which served him for eyes.
‘I would have thought to find a more triumphant depiction of the Emperor in the Chapter Master’s personal quarters,’ Drake said, breaking the silence.
‘Marneus Calgar knows the cost of victory, the price it demands,’ the magos said without turning around. ‘In that, he is one of the more… humane of his kind.’
‘I have heard that said,’ Drake mused. He came back to the table, his hand reaching for the decanter, but then thought better of it, frowning. ‘You think this facet of him is a strength, or a weakness?’ he asked Fane.
‘Why ask me?’ There was a coldness beyond the effect of the metallic mouthpiece in the magos’ question.
‘You have met him before, I am told. I have not.’
‘You are well informed, inquisitor.’
‘It is part and parcel of my trade, magos. Do not be offended.’
The magos seemed to shrug ever so slightly. ‘The Inquisition knows its business, I am sure. If you have files on me, then I am sure you have many more on the Lord of Macragge. What worth is my opinion?’
‘Flesh-and-blood–’ here Drake caught himself, and smiled. ‘If you will forgive the term. Flesh-and-blood sources are always more valuable to me than the transcriptions of lexmechanics.’
The magos looked at Drake, his eye-lenses catching the yellow leaps of the flames in the fireplace.
‘Very well, inquisitor. If Marneus Calgar has a weakness, then it is that he is perhaps too patient with the follies and incompetence of mankind. But I speak as a servant of the Omnissiah.’
‘Yes, the follies of mankind must be difficult for one such as you to bear,’ Drake said wryly.
‘Our life’s quest is to eliminate them, so as to approach the perfection we find in the machine-spirit. But Man’s weaknesses are a factor which must be integrated into every calculation, even when one is dealing with the Adeptus Astartes.’
‘I have had many dealings with the Adeptus Astartes,’ Drake said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Weakness is not a word I would ever associate with them.’
‘There are many kinds of weakness, inquisitor.’
Their conversation was brought to an abrupt close as Marneus Calgar himself entered the room without fanfare, clad in plain Mark VII power armour.
The Lord of Macragge’s battleplate bore no decoration or mark of rank, only the Ultima sigil of his Chapter embossed on the shoulderguards, and the Adeptus Astartes aquila, skull and wings guarding the breastplate.
Calgar nodded to his guests. ‘My apologies for keeping you waiting, gentlemen. I trust you have found your accommodations adequate.’
Drake bowed, while Magos Fane inclined his head. ‘The Chapter Master honours us. I know he has much to do,’ the magos said, his sibilant, metallic voice gliding out from the slits in his mouth grille without intonation.
‘I thought I would wait for you, my lord, before I tried the wine,’ Drake said, with a smile. He poured out two gobletfuls, paused with the mouth of the decanter poised over the third, and shrugged slightly before setting it back down. ‘Would you honour me by sharing a drink?’ he asked Calgar.
The Ultramarines Chapter Master took up one goblet, tiny in his massive gauntlet, and raised it. Slowly his gaze went from Magos Fane to Inquisitor Drake. With his back to the fire, his features were in shadow. All the pair saw of them was the red gleam of his bionic left eye.
‘The Emperor, may he live forever,’ Calgar said.
‘May he live forever,’ the other two rejoined, Magos Fane intoning a h
alf-heard addition to the toast. No member of the Adeptus Mechanicus could honour the Emperor’s name without also mentioning the Omnissiah, whom he was believed to embody.
‘A fine vintage,’ Drake said, regarding his cup. ‘From Iax, I believe?’
‘Indeed,’ Calgar said, watching him.
‘A marvellous planet, the jewel of the Eastern Fringe. Where would we be without it? Or without the Lord of Ultramar to protect it?’ He looked around the room. ‘So thoughtful of you, my lord, to meet us in a private space, away from prying eyes and wagging tongues. I applaud your discretion.’
‘The Lord of Ultramar is a man with much on his mind, Inquisitor Drake,’ Calgar said quietly. ‘He would be obliged to you, and to the estimable magos, if you could both be clear on your missions here on Macragge, and the intentions of the great institutions you are here to represent.’
And be swift about it, the dangerous glint in his eye said.
Drake inclined his head. Standing, the top of it came barely to the base of the aquila on Calgar’s chest. ‘If the magos will indulge me, I shall go first then.
‘I am sent here on the orders of the Administratum itself, my lord. You have told us that you intend to board and explore at least part of the hulk which has translated into Ultramar, and we applaud your initiative. But rumours of what Fifth Company has found have been rather disquieting. It seems to the Ordo Hereticus that the hulk we have now codenamed Fury may contain any manner of tainted artefacts from an earlier age, some of which may be best left alone, or indeed destroyed where they lie.
‘The Fury hulk cannot be allowed simply to drift through the Imperium, as I am sure you will agree. At some point it will have to be destroyed. I am here to aid you in that resort. I have a full complement of cyclonic torpedoes aboard my ship, the Spatha, and the vessel is at your disposal. I ask only that I be allowed to board the hulk alongside your brethren in order to ascertain what it signifies, and how great is the threat it embodies.’
