‘That is so,’ Urquidex said. ‘I will never cause it harm.’
‘But if you were to be followed, without your knowledge, to its location…’
‘That would be a singular and unforeseeable event.’
‘We have need of many such events, magos,’ Yendl told him. ‘We have had enough of being their victims.’
Nine
Phall – orbital
Koorland was in his quarters, working on his armour. There were limits to what he could do on his own to repair the damage. Bohemond had placed the armoury and forge of the Abhorrence at his disposal, and Koorland would make use of them in due course. But the last Imperial Fist would first exhaust his skill alone. He could not wage war in isolation, but his acts as an individual mattered. So he would make his efforts at restoration count.
His seals of purity were gone. There was nothing to mark his history of battle except the damage itself. He had no wish to expunge all the scars. Doing so, he felt, would be to erase the final tangible memory of his brothers. It would be an act of denial. He was resolved to return to the battlefield with the price paid by the Imperial Fists visible to the foe. He would be announcing to the orks his survival, and the measure of what he would exact from them. The gold of the Chapter would shine again, but with the marks of its resurrection and the demands of vengeance.
He would permit no blemish to the crimson aquila of the breastplate, however, or to the badge on the left shoulder. The black fist would have none of its power diminished.
Koorland was oiling the aquila, seeing the edge and fury return to it in lustre, when Thane appeared at the doorway. Koorland looked up from his work. He saw the look on the Fist Exemplar’s face. ‘What is it?’
‘An ork moon over Terra.’
Koorland had thought he had experienced the limit of defeat. He had believed that he had plumbed the depths of failure, and perhaps taken his first steps towards redemption. After the last meeting of the Successors’ council, he had even allowed himself to feel hope for the first time since Ardamantua.
He’d been wrong. Thane’s words were blows. The shame of failure clenched his left hand over the edge of the worktable and crushed the steel. An abyss rushed up to swallow him. He fought it back. ‘What forces are there to mount a defence?’ His voice was distant.
‘Very few. The bulk of the Imperial Navy is still some time away.’
‘And our brother Chapters?’
‘No better. The greenskins have the sons of Guilliman tied down fighting them across Ultramar. The Blood Angels have destroyed another star fortress, but they are on the other side of the Imperium. The Space Wolves, the Salamanders, the Raven Guard… We have reports of massive engagements across the galaxy.’
‘This is a plague.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Thane agreed. ‘Three companies of the Iron Hands are making for Terra, at least, though they have farther to go than we do.’
‘Has the invasion of Terra begun?’ Koorland asked.
‘Not at last word, but contact has become sporadic, and this news is days old.’
‘The latest information comes how long after the arrival of the planetoid?’
‘Two days.’
That long with no attack from the orks? He shook off the stun and began to don his armour. ‘Where is Marshal Bohemond?’ he asked.
‘On the bridge.’
‘He’s given orders that we make for Terra?’
‘No.’
‘What?’
Though Bohemond had accepted, for the moment, his right to lead the unified assault, Koorland found it out of character for the Marshal to defer to him to the extent of waiting for his command to begin the race to Terra. The only other explanation was unthinkable. He asked anyway. ‘He doesn’t plan to go?’
‘No,’ Thane said again.
Koorland strode to the doorway. Thane didn’t move. ‘Let me pass, brother,’ Koorland said.
‘Please listen to me first. I know what you’re planning. That was my first instinct too. That doesn’t mean it is the correct one.’
The last wall had fallen, and the enemy was storming the heart of the Imperium. The final Imperial Fist was alive to see the absolute failure of his Chapter’s most sacred duty. The ramparts that had withstood the Siege were dust. If he did not make all speed to Terra, he would be compounding shame.
‘How can there be any question?’ Koorland demanded.
‘There is every question, if we apply the precepts of our Primarch.’
Koorland stared at Thane. He waited, balancing between rage and shock.
‘What do we know of the tactical situation in the Sol System? Next to nothing. Force dispositions? Unknown. By the time we get there, we will be even more in the dark.’
‘The Navy destroyed its target.’
‘Which we might do, but the gathering of our strength, the gathering you brought into being, is incomplete. If you lead a partial force into a complex, obscure battlefield and are defeated, what then? When have the Imperial Fists ever acted rashly?’
‘No amount of preparation helped us on Ardamantua.’
‘Nor would it have helped any Chapter. What happened was a disaster, yet in surviving it, you can hold your head high. You are a symbol of resilience, not defeat. You came by your right to lead us not just through the Imperial Fists’ foundational status. You earned it by coming through that defeat. Don’t waste what you have won.’
‘What I’ve won?’ He couldn’t find the words to express his disbelief.
‘Think about what is coming together over Phall. Think of the size of the force that you will command. Think of how hard we will be able to strike the orks. If we do so properly. As Rogal Dorn has taught.’
Koorland unclenched his fists. ‘Go on.’
‘Even if we could reach Terra before the invasion began, which is unlikely, and even if we managed to destroy the ork base, winning a tactical victory, what of the larger strategic picture? How much good did the Imperial Navy’s triumph do? One fortress is destroyed. The orks have many more. How many? Unknown. And they are deploying them at will throughout the Imperium.’
Each question was a challenge and a balm. Koorland needed the answers, and he had to think calmly if he was to find them. ‘Thank you, brother,’ he said. ‘But if Terra falls…’
‘I don’t want to face that possibility any more than do you. But you are the answer. The Imperial Fists fell, but they live through you, and their defeat will be answered by a force unseen since the Heresy. If Terra falls, the Imperium will live on, because it must, and its vengeance will annihilate the orks forever.’
Koorland stared into the corridor beyond Thane’s shoulder. He didn’t see the walls of the Abhorrence. He envisaged the worst of realities. He pictured how he would have to respond to them. When he was ready, he focused his gaze on the Fist Exemplar again.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘We can’t attack the planetoids one at a time. Our assault has to take out the heart of the greenskin campaign.’ He almost added that doing so might be Terra’s salvation. He stopped himself. Hope was forbidden. There could only be reality. ‘We have to kill the Beast. And to do that, we have to find him.’
‘Agreed.’
The impossibility of the task silenced them.
No, Koorland thought. Not impossible. ‘We must ask different questions,’ he said.
Now Thane stood aside. Koorland took him down to the end of the corridor to the quarters of Magos Biologis Laurentis. Where Koorland hadn’t altered the spare surroundings of his cell, Laurentis had, at Bohemond’s sufferance, turned his space into a small laboratorium. Koorland could see no order in the mass of cables, cogitators and data-slates, but Laurentis was thriving in his environment and rarely emerged from it. When the two Space Marines arrived he was turning his head back and forth between two data-slates. He was making entri
es on them simultaneously, the four digits of his mechanical claws tapping at their surfaces with the rhythm of falling rain. From his speaker grilles came a steady commentary that was more dialogue than monologue.
‘Phylectic gradualism? Hardly. What are you thinking? Punctuated equilibrium, then? No better. Time span too brief, the result too massive. Oh, but you’re assuming that the rules apply to Veridi giganticus. Why wouldn’t they? They’re still part of the materium. And they haven’t changed into a new species, now have they? Haven’t they?’ He paused, considering his point, and noticed Koorland. His remaining eye twinkled. ‘Ah, captain – I’m sorry, Chapter Master.’ He corrected himself again. ‘Chapter Masters.’ The eye blinked. ‘How can I help?’
‘What progress have you been making on the orks?’ Koorland asked.
‘As subjects, they are fascinating and frustrating in equal measure. So much to speculate, but so few conclusions to make with any degree of certainty. We are being inundated with data, but all it does is create more questions. We are gathering more and more fragments of more and more picts, but never anything complete, if you follow.’
‘Do you have any new conclusions?’ said Thane.
‘I can assure you, Chapter Masters, that the orks will surprise us again.’
‘I think I might have guessed that.’
Koorland said, ‘You know about the moon in the Sol System.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Laurentis’ enthusiasm for his work, so strong that it was clear even through the artificial recreation of his voice, turned solemn.
‘Why haven’t they attacked yet?’
Laurentis’ eye brightened. The enthusiasm returned with a vengeance.
‘Exactly!’ he said. ‘That is exactly the question!’ He snatched up one of the data-slates and tapped at it as he spoke. ‘There are two primary categories of possibility. The first is that they cannot attack. There are numerous scenarios suggested by this hypothesis, most involving unprepared forces or a lack of energy, perhaps depleted in the journey.’ He looked at the files he had called up on the data-slate. He shook his head. The reconstructed magos had so little of his original body remaining that the very human gesture looked odd. ‘Most unsatisfactory. In every other instance of the intrusion into Imperial space by a star fortress, the assault has been immediate. The supposition that the Veridi giganticus could be unprepared to attack so vital a target defies reason.’
‘And the second category?’ Koorland asked.
‘That they have chosen not to attack.’
Koorland exchanged a look with Thane. ‘Orks refraining from battle?’ he said to Laurentis. ‘How is that more credible than an operational failure of some kind?’
‘Failure would be a massive anomaly in this campaign. Unorthodox behaviour, conversely, is very much the norm.’
‘The surprises you spoke of,’ said Thane.
‘Precisely.’
‘But why would they choose not to attack?’ Koorland wondered. ‘What possible advantage would delay grant them?’
‘There would appear to be none regarding immediate military concerns,’ Laurentis said, ‘but that is your specialism, not mine. However, if I may speculate…’ He hesitated.
‘Please do,’ said Koorland.
Laurentis picked up the other data-slate. ‘Examination of the effect of the moon’s arrival is suggestive. Data from Terra is regrettably partial and it would be very helpful if it were more recent.’ He looked up at the Space Marines in reproach, as if they were responsible for the inadequacy of his research material. ‘However, we have evidence of large-scale panic. The military response to the star fortress also suggests political disarray and confusion.’
‘I am not aware of any response at last word,’ Thane said.
‘No response is a response.’ Laurentis replaced the data-slate.
Koorland felt the cold wind of dread blow through his soul. He thought he could see where Laurentis’ reasoning was taking him. ‘And you have a hypothesis,’ he said.
‘The orks are triggering disruption without having to act. The longer they refrain from engaging in accepted ork behaviour, the more confusion they create.’
‘You’re saying that they’re engaging in psychological warfare.’
‘That is a theory I am considering, yes.’
In the silence that followed, Thane muttered, ‘Throne.’
‘How?’ Koorland managed. Laurentis was proposing an unimaginable advance in greenskin strategy.
Laurentis gestured at his laboratorium. ‘Answering that question is my current project. Fascinating work, Chapter Master. I have never had such an opportunity before. I am afraid that I can offer no answer that I find convincing.’
‘Still less anything that would be reassuring, I suspect.’
‘That is so.’
Koorland thanked him. He and Thane began to walk in the direction of the bridge.
‘Do you think he’s right?’ the Fist Exemplar asked.
‘Are you willing to act on the assumption that he’s wrong?’
‘No.’
‘Nor am I.’
They walked in silence until they reached the bridge. The primary oculus showed the gathering of the Chapters’ strength over Phall. The Crimson Fists battle-barge Duty in Blood and the Excoriators’ ship Resilience had arrived. Quesadra and Issachar had rejoined their Chapters to oversee the disposition of their incoming forces. The Fists Exemplar had a small show of power to make, but the strike cruisers Unwavering and Foundation’s Dawn were present. Several of the Black Templars crusade fleets had answered the call too, though the more distant ones were still awaited. The war machine that was forming around the Abhorrence could set entire systems ablaze.
Koorland barely glanced at the view.
Bohemond stood beside his command throne, speaking with Castellan Clermont. He gestured for Koorland and Thane to join him.
‘There is something you should know,’ Koorland said.
‘You also,’ said the Marshal. ‘One of our crusades cannot immediately withdraw from its current engagement. Our brothers there have come by intelligence, however, that indicates we are not the only ones to come under ork attack.’
‘The eldar?’ Koorland asked.
‘No. This crusade is operating at the fringes of the Maelstrom.’
‘Throne,’ Thane whispered again.
Ten
Terra – the Imperial Palace
‘The Father of Mankind has been your shield and your sword for millennia. Will you show your gratitude? Will you stand for Holy Terra? Will you answer the call of the God-Emperor?’ Ecclesiarch Mesring’s voice rang out from the wall-mounted vox-speakers. His words were heard throughout the Imperial Palace. They had followed Galatea Haas everywhere for days now. Even in the Arbitrators’ bunkhouse dormitoria, the recruitment call looped. She had barely slept since the crisis began. Now she was lucky if she managed to shut her eyes for more than an hour at a time.
When their shift ended, and they were back at the command post for the Cathedral of the Saviour Emperor precinct, Ottmar Kord asked her, ‘Are you coming?’
‘Where?’ She was sitting on her bunk and had just stored her equipment in her footlocker. The other two were still kitted out.
‘To the recruitment field. We are.’ He indicated Baskaline and himself.
‘Both of you?’
‘Most of the station, I think.’
She’d heard the talk. ‘You’re all really going through with it?’
Kord looked baffled. ‘Of course we are. Why did you think we wouldn’t?’
‘Because we are sworn to the Adeptus Arbites, not the Astra Militarum.’
‘You can’t mean that.’
Now it was her turn to be confused. ‘Why not?’
‘You don’t intend to answer the call?’
‘It is
n’t for us.’
‘Isn’t it? Then why do we hear it?’
‘It’s being played across Terra, Ottmar. There are no exceptions being made.’
‘Exactly.’
She shook her head. ‘We’re needed here.’ Why couldn’t he see that?
Kord looked disappointed. ‘I never thought you would be the one to lack faith.’
She stood up and stepped into his personal space. They were the same height. Her face was centimetres from his. ‘I won’t allow you to question my devotion to the Emperor.’
‘Then why…?’ Kord began.
‘My duty is here. So is yours. Will you leave Terra defenceless?’
‘Listen to yourself. Our duty is to defend the Imperial Law, not Terra.’
‘What I meant–’
Baskaline didn’t let her finish. ‘I think you spoke with your heart,’ he said.
She hesitated.
Kord said, ‘If Terra falls, there will be no law to uphold.’
Still she said nothing. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to convince Kord or have him convince her.
‘At least come with us and see,’ he urged. ‘Decide then.’
What harm in that? she wondered.
‘The Emperor sees into your soul,’ Mesring’s voice proclaimed from the dormitorium speaker. ‘He knows the truth of your devotion. But do you? Prove it to yourself. Know that you are worthy of joining the ranks of the saints. Lord or serf, we are summoned one and all. There is only duty. There is only one answer.’
‘All right,’ Haas told Kord.
‘Bring your armour and weapons,’ Kord said.
‘Why? Are we expecting trouble?’
‘No.’ His eyes shone. ‘Victory.’
The Clanium Library looked much as it had before the Battle of Port Sanctus. The maps, the chronometric displays and quasi-spatial projector still sat on the shelves. The paraphernalia of Lansung’s theatre hadn’t been removed. But the displays were inert. The library was derelict. A veneer of defeat, as tangible as dust, as cold as wax, had settled over the space. It even coated the man who leaned over the dark hololithic table. He held a bottle of amasec in one hand. Two more lay empty on the floor.
The Last Wall Page 8
