by Paul Kearney
‘It would seem we have a way in,’ Calgar said. ‘Well done, brother. I am glad to see you restored to us. We cannot afford to lose veterans like yourself, not when First Company is still so slow to rebuild.’
‘I live for the Chapter. I live to obey, and carry out the Emperor’s Will,’ Starn said formally. ‘I can lead my brothers back into the hulk by the same road I took out, Chapter Master. I would deem it an honour.’
‘You will, brother. You and your brothers of First will be the vanguard of our advance. Have you no idea what it was that escaped your bolter?’
An edge of baffled anger crept into the veteran’s voice.
‘It was small, as small as him–’ he nodded to Inquisitor Drake, who bowed slightly, taking no offence.
‘And it moved fast. It was not armoured – it slipped away from me like a Macragge snow-hare, and made no attempt to engage.’
‘A watcher, or scout of some sort, I would guess,’ Drake said.
‘Whatever is down there likely knows we are here,’ Calgar admitted. ‘Well, we were not going to remain a secret forever. When you are finished with repairs, Brother Starn, I want you to lead the insertion teams to the route you blazed out of the hulk. Fifth Company shall follow on behind you. I will keep Seventh on the surface for now.’
‘I work well with Fifth,’ Starn said. ‘They are my line-brothers of old.’
Calgar smiled. ‘I remember. You were one of the best sergeants to survive Behemoth. You have my trust and my faith as always, brother. I know you shall not lead us awry.’
They set off two hours later: over ninety Ultramarines in staggered file, picking their way through the maze-like landscape with the quartet of Terminators at their head, and crunching along in their ranks, the towering shape of the Dreadnought in whose adamantium sarcophagus the broken body of Captain Fortunus resided. His two other Ancient kindred remained with Captain Ixion and Seventh to help guard the perimeter of the base that had been established on the surface.
The Dreadnought’s fist clenched and unclenched and spun on its servo-powered right arm, while on its left the pilot light of a promethium flamer flickered and spat. Fortunus had accepted the greetings and salutes of the Space Marines he had once commanded without speaking, only raising one claw-fisted limb in acknowledgement.
He had adjusted well to his interment, the tech-priests had told Calgar. It was good for him to be wakened, this early in his new role. He would see familiar faces all around him that he had led and served with scant years before. Some Adeptus Astartes who were interred in Dreadnought armour were not woken until centuries later, when all about them had changed, and their adjustment was correspondingly more problematic.
Even one who had survived the novitiate found it a worse ordeal to have his life renewed as a machine, though for the members of the Adeptus Mechanicus, that was their fondest dream, and they regarded Dreadnoughts with particular awe, as a perfect evolutionary step towards becoming one with the machine-spirit.
For Calgar, who remembered the bright, determined Captain of Fifth he had known, the sight was bittersweet. Brother Fortunus survived to serve his Chapter; with the right luck, he might outlive them all. But there was a certain sadness in seeing an Ultramarine of such promise and talent buried in the innards of the monstrous machine, no matter that it was a holy relic of the Chapter, and a fearsome engine of war.
It made Calgar think on the fate of mighty Guilliman, once a peerless leader whose words and deeds had inspired whole worlds; now a frozen, ageless icon.
He wondered how his primarch would have felt, had he divined his ultimate fate. Would it have horrified him, to know what he would become?
When I go, Calgar thought, let it be at the height of battle, spilling the blood of my foes and surrounded by my brothers. Let the Emperor’s Peace find me swiftly there, on that unknown field, and then let that be an end of it.
He joined the long files of Ultramarines, flanked by his honour guards. Behind him came Inquisitor Drake and his retainers, a dozen seemingly normal human personnel who held Locke-pattern boltguns with the ease of long association. Calgar’s quick eye noted the faded regimental badges of the Astra Militarum that some still bore on their armoured vac-suits. One of them also sported the stencilled fist and scales of the Adeptus Arbites.
After the Ordos Hereticus personnel came Magos Fane and a trailing line of tech-priests, transmechanics, enginseers and finally close on a score of skitarii hypaspists in scarlet robes. These last had bronze masks for faces, with green eyelenses, and many had clearly undergone bionic augmentation – for one thing, they had, like all of their kind, sacrificed their biological legs for servo-powered limbs, a tradition that went back to the long ago marches across the rough hills of Mars.
They carried arc rifles and macrostubbers, and also hefted backpacks containing hundreds of pounds of extra equipment. Yet more was piled up on half a dozen gravitic sleds, which floated along in their midst like carts without wheels, fifteen feet long and impelled by the remotes the tech-priests bore.
The sleds carried, among other things, the spare ammunition for Fifth, heavy and light; and vox relays which they intended to set up every so often on their path into the hulk, like a trail of breadcrumbs in a mythic wood.
The column trudged through the shining dust, raising it up like smoke in the low gravity, and one by one they disappeared within the black depths of the tunnel into which Brother Starn led them.
Eight
The darkness was total at first, until the Ultramarines at the head of the column ignited their stablights, and Brother Fortunus lit up the two search beams which had been affixed to his superstructure. Then the long column of marching figures made better time.
It was of course possible for most of those in the expedition to see in the dark; the Adeptus Astartes had been genetically engineered to do so, and their power armour boosted such abilities to a high degree. But such was the interference produced by the metallic fog that their autosenses were impaired.
As a defensive aid, the fog could hardly have been bettered. It meant that they relied on artificial light to an extent that would not have been remotely necessary in any other environment. Light that illuminated their path, but that also gave them away.
Captain Galenus marched along behind Sergeant Gaden’s lead line squad, along with Chaplain Murtorius, Apothecary Philo and Librarian Ulfius.
The Chaplain was muttering the Litany of Warding as he walked, blessing them all against the insidious onset of the Ruinous Powers. His crozius glimmered lightning-pale with the energy field that enfolded it. A fearsome weapon, it seemed to Galenus like a beacon of faith, a statement of defiance against the great somnolent corpse that they were travelling ever deeper into with each footfall.
Brother Ulfius’ psychic hood was flaring bright blue around his helm and he did not speak, but even Galenus could sense the waves of psychic interrogation that the Librarian was sending out into the blackness ahead of the Terminators in the vanguard, seeking other minds down there in the dark, mapping out the route they were following and shielding those in front from a similar analysis.
Brother Philo had brought along a canovene bag full of additional medical supplies and equipment. In fact, all the Ultramarines of Fifth were burdened with extra clips of bolter ammunition, additional charge-packs for the heavy weapons, belts of frag grenades and spring mines. They could not count on resupply where they were going, and they intended to be ready to face anything.
They travelled some mile and a half, the way under them largely clear except for the dust, and some broken portions of wreckage which lay across their path like felled trees in a forest. At times the tunnel was wide enough to have admitted a Rhino; at others it narrowed so that it could take perhaps three Space Marines abreast. They heard behind them the scrape and crash as Brother Fortunus pushed a way through, widening the path for the grav-sleds, thrashing asid
e overhangs, kicking obstacles aside.
Every six hundred yards or so the column halted as the Adeptus Mechanicus, aided by the Techmarine, Brother Salvator, set up another vox relay so that they might keep in close contact with Seventh, and the Octavius battle-group in orbit. These relays were also rigged with motion sensors, and booby-trapped with shredder mines to deter any interference. They were well hidden, when it was possible, buried in rubble and covered with shrouds of the metal particulate which ran in dunes along the sides of the tunnel.
As they progressed, Calgar fired off regular vox-checks to Tigurius up with the fleet. He had thought to bring the Chief Librarian along, but on balance he preferred Tigurius’ abilities to be geared towards safeguarding the Octavius, the Rex and the other ships. Brother Ulfius of Fifth was a competent Epistolary of the Librarium with a good record. He deserved this chance to work under the eyes of his Chapter Master.
Let every mission be a test, every battle an opportunity for excellence to shine, the Codex said, and it was a tenet that Calgar had lived by all his long life.
Brother Starn came up on the vox from the vanguard. ‘Chapter Master, we have reached the end of the broad tunnel. Now we must be prepared to descend. We are on the lip of the abyss.’
‘Acknowledged,’ Calgar said. He keyed up the vox. ‘Magos Fane.’
‘Yes, my lord?’
‘Bring the grav-sleds forward. Unload them and prepare for personnel transport. I shall go down with the first wave.’
‘It shall be so,’ Fane’s sibilant metallic voice hissed in his ear.
Calgar went back down the column. The Ultramarines had taken up firing positions on halting, and they did not look up as he passed by, he noted approvingly, but monitored their arcs. The Chapter Master halted before the looming giant that was Brother Fortunus. The Dreadnought’s stacks were venting steam into the already foggy atmosphere of the tunnel. Calgar looked up to the sensor-port where a red gleam might be thought of as an eye.
‘Brother, you will remain here as the rest of the expedition descends. Your mission is to secure this entry point, and sweep the tunnel regularly. This is our escape route. Keep it clear.’
‘Acknowledged, my lord,’ the cold sepulchral voice of the Dreadnought said.
‘Throne be with you.’
‘And with you, Chapter Master.’
Calgar took the first sled down along with brother Starn’s Terminators, their collective weight making the gravo-magnetic engine of the vehicle whine and labour. They stopped at the lip of a large side tunnel, from the edge of which a cascade of gleaming metal cable fell like a frozen waterfall. It looked as though it had once been a single, bound mass of wiring, but the binding material had decayed over the centuries allowing hundreds of feet of cable to spring free.
‘I climbed up this way,’ Brother Starn said, ‘after my fall. I was lucky. If I had not become snarled in this, I think I would be falling yet.’ Grim humour tinged his words.
‘Secure the tunnel,’ Calgar said, and he thumbed the remote to send the grav-sled back up again.
While the rest of Fifth came down, squad by squad, Calgar and Brother Starn explored the tunnel they had entered. The veteran’s description had been accurate. Work had definitely been done here in the recent past to stabilise the structure, and it led steadily downwards, becoming wider and less ruinous by the yard. Calgar examined the construction, but it was without mark or clue as to its architects. It was good work, however; as solid as though it had been hammered out yesterday. He touched a welded seam in the tunnel wall. At some point in the recent past other plating had been brought here and set in place to fill in gaps and strengthen the supporting stanchions.
Brother Starn swept the darkness ahead with his stablights. ‘Damn this fog. Effective range is minimal. I am as much in the dark as some neophyte from the Agesilus.’
‘Keep listening, brother,’ Calgar told him. ‘Anything that comes up this way will be heard before it is seen.’
When the entire column was reassembled in the tunnel, they carried on descending. Calgar watched his atmospheric readouts. It was becoming warmer, the air was thickening and gravity was growing stronger. The tunnel seemed to be closing in on them, even though it was wider than the one above, and moisture began dripping from its roof onto the Ultramarines below, slicking their armour and washing the dust from it in shining streaks.
They followed the tunnel for another two hours. By altimeter, they were now almost five miles deep in the hulk and had travelled another six from the entry-point. The silence was deafening, a black thing that hung in the air around them.
And yet there were times when Calgar thought he caught something in the middle of it; far-off whispering, now and then the echo of an incantatory chant. A click of iron which echoed down the tunnel. It was as though all around them Fury was watchful and waiting.
Side passages began to yawn to left and right, pits of darkness which the stablights of the Ultramarines barely lit up. The column was called to a halt by Magos Fane when they passed a large entrance, with wreckage piled about it.
‘Chapter Master, can you join me please?’
Calgar strode back down the column. The magos stood in the midst of a cloud of his retainers, and the skitarii had taken up firing positions all around. Calgar’s eye swept over their deployment without conscious effort, noting the way they held their weapons, the arcs they had taken up; he judged their efforts adequate, if uninspired.
‘There are operational systems down that tunnel,’ the magos said, gesturing with a clawed metal hand. ‘We have picked up their binharic signal. I wish to lead a detachment to investigate. With your permission.’
Calgar frowned, but nodded. It was what they were here for, after all.
‘Make sure you stay in vox range, magos.’ And on Fifth’s network he said, ‘Captain Galenus, detach a squad to escort an Adeptus Mechanicus party down a side tunnel. They have thirty minutes.’ He looked at Fane. ‘We must not stay separated for long, is that understood, magos?’
‘Perfectly, my lord.’ There was a trace of impatience in Fane’s reply.
‘Very well.’ Calgar blinked on the First Company rune. ‘Brother Starn, advance ahead of the main body two hundred yards and secure the approach. We will pause here half an hour before resuming the advance.’
‘Acknowledged,’ Starn came back.
As the Mechanicus party and their escort of Adeptus Astartes filed off, Calgar stood in their midst and flexed his fingers in the Gauntlets of Ultramar. He was joined by Inquisitor Drake.
‘The magos is treasure-hunting, eh?’
‘He is fulfilling his mission.’
‘All very well, Chapter Master, but I trust you will keep him on a tight leash. The Adeptus Mechanicus are apt to be single-minded when on the trail of archaeotech. Their notion of time quite deserts them.’
Calgar ignored the inquisitor’s flippancy. ‘You are a psyker are you not, Drake?’
The inquisitor’s helm turned, covered in dust save where the ionic field kept the eyelenses clear. ‘I have some abilities.’
‘And what do they tell you?’
‘That we are in a place which is easier to get into than out of, Chapter Master.’
‘I have walked in such places all my life,’ Calgar said. He looked back up the tunnel to the ranks of his brethren. ‘But I know what you mean. Withdrawal will be problematic if we are hard-pressed.’
‘To answer your question,’ Drake went on in a harder tone, ‘I know only that we have been observed since first we set down on this hulk, and the further we travel within it, the more... wakeful it becomes. I suppose it has already occurred to you that we are being allowed to advance deeper towards its core.’
‘Sometimes the only way to destroy a trap is to spring it,’ Calgar said.
‘A saying of your primarch?’
‘From
his Codex. I know that we are in peril here, inquisitor, but after all, that is what we were made for, my kind and I.’
‘As I was made to destroy such perils, not preserve them,’ Drake countered. ‘Do you trust Magos Fane?’
Calgar turned his helm to regard the diminutive inquisitor. ‘About as much as I trust you.’
Drake laughed. ‘Good – good! That is as it should be. The authorities that support this Imperium are often at their strongest when they provide checks and balances on one another’s powers. That way no one agenda overrides the others.’
Calgar was about to reply when a new voice came over the vox on the command frequency, crackling with interference.
‘Chapter Master, this is Librarian Tigurius, are you reading me?’
‘You are workable, brother. Send.’
‘My lord, we have had word back from Talasa Prime, a coded message for the inquisitor. The vox specialists on the Spatha have been unable to get through to him through their own channels and are thus requesting it sent via our relay system. Shall I attempt to decrypt before forwarding it?’
Calgar considered. Trust, what a fragile thing it was – a leap in the dark.
‘Process the message as it stands, Tigurius,’ he ordered, and he watched the inquisitor closely as it went through. Mere numerical gibberish to his own ear, the decoder protocols in the inquisitor’s helm would turn it into intelligible words.
‘One more thing, Chapter Master. We have managed to track down the records of the Centurius Sol, the downed ship which Brother Starn explored on the hulk. It originated at the Imperial Navy base of Cypra Mundi, in the Segmentum Obscurus, and was reported lost in a warp storm some eight hundred years ago.’
The Segmentum Obscurus – clear on the other side of the Imperium. The hulk had travelled far in its wanderings.
‘Thank you, brother,’ Calgar said. He was still watching Inquisitor Drake, studying his reaction to the forwarded comms. Helm or no, a man’s stance gave away his thoughts.
