Fallen Angels

by Mike Lee

  By midnight they were half-way through their search pattern and were doubling back eastward, heading for the warehouse districts on the other side of the access road. They were well north of the billets set aside for the Astartes ground force, and could see the towering, fortress-like manufactories off to the north, spreading out in a rough circle from the foot of the slumbering volcano. Tall, narrow smokestacks and squat cooling towers rose into the sky like the bones of dead gods, blackened and pitted by age. Cold, white lights shone like stars from the slopes of the conical mountain, while off to the north-east, the towering monolithic structures of the Titan foundry shone with sparkling pinpoints of sapphire, crimson and emerald.

  ‘I’ve moved through dead cities that weren’t as eerie as this,’ Brother-Sergeant Kohl murmured beside Nemiel. ‘I thought forges were like mechanical beehives. Where is everyone?’

  Nemiel shrugged, his eyes searching the darkness off to the south for signs of danger just as Kohl kept his attention focused on the north. ‘Magos Archoi mentioned at one of the strategy meetings that he’d ordered all surviving tech-adepts and acolytes into a series of deep shelters near the heart of the complex. Only a few hundred volunteers are still above ground or in orbit, working with the battle group and helping supply our forces on the ground. Archoi said they’d suffered enough losses during the last raid, and he wasn’t going to permit any more if he could help it.’

  Kohl grunted dubiously. ‘It’s an awfully clean battlefield, don’t you think?’

  Nemiel glanced sidelong at the sergeant. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Brother-Sergeant Kohl shrugged, eyeing the walls of the dark buildings to his right. ‘Where are the shell holes? The scorch marks? Where are the burnt-out buildings? If the fighting was so heavy in this sector, why haven’t we seen any sign of it yet?’

  The observation nearly stopped Nemiel in his tracks. Something tugged at the back of his mind; something else strange and out of place, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

  ‘Maybe the battle sites are still up ahead,’ he replied, frowning to himself. ‘Archoi and his warriors came at us from the northeast. Let’s see what lies up ahead.’

  But for the next three hours Nemiel and Kohl saw only more of the same: building after building, arrayed in laser-perfect lines, their permacrete walls unblemished save for decades of stains and pitting etched by acid rain. Nemiel’s disquiet grew stronger. Something was very wrong.

  Barely two hours before dawn, Askelon found something. They had reached an enormous depot building, two storeys high and wide enough for a pair of super-heavy tanks to pass through its entry-way side-by-side. The Techmarine moved stealthily inside while the rest of the squad watched for Mechanicum patrols. He was back in less than five minutes. ‘You need to see this,’ he said to Nemiel.

  The Redemptor rose to his feet and signalled for the squad to follow him. Askelon led the warriors along a convoluted route that brought them past the cordon of sensors surrounding the perimeter of the structure. Soon, Nemiel found himself standing in a vast, cavernous structure, supported by soaring metal arches curving high overhead.

  ‘It’s empty,’ he said to Askelon. His voice echoed faintly in the deserted building.

  ‘No. Not quite,’ the Techmarine said, turning about and pointing to the inner surface of the depot’s towering metal doors. Nemiel turned about and saw that the metal slabs were splashed and streaked with dried gore.

  He stepped forwards, his enhanced vision easily picking out details even in the near-absence of light. ‘Lots of carbon scoring,’ he observed. ‘Looks like high-power lasgun fire.’

  Kohl nodded, stepping up beside Nemiel. A gauntleted finger moved through the air, roughly tracing the outline of the stains. ‘I’d guess ten to fifteen individuals, shot at close range,’ he reckoned. ‘Judging by the intensity of the lasgun fire, they must have been nearly blown apart. This wasn’t a battle. It was an execution.’

  ‘I thought much the same thing,’ Askelon said. He stepped up to the doors and laid a fingertip against one of the dried stains. ‘Not all of this is blood. Some of it is bionic lubricant or coolant.’

  Brother-Sergeant Kohl scowled. ‘Didn’t Magos Archoi say that Arch-Magos Vertullus was killed during the fighting?’ Nemiel felt his skin grow cold. ‘The magos never said who it was that killed Vertullus.’

  Kohl stared at Nemiel. ‘You think there’s been some kind of coup?’ The veteran sergeant sounded incredulous.

  ‘Archoi was in the area with a large force of Praetorians,’ Nemiel mused. ‘The attack would have given him an excellent opportunity. He could kill Vertullus and the other senior magi, dispose of the bodies, and no one the wiser.’ Suddenly Nemiel’s eyes widened. ‘Bodies. By the Emperor, that’s what was missing. The bodies!’

  Kohl shook his head in consternation. ‘What are you talking about now?’

  ‘Governor Kulik said there was an entire company of Dragoons covering the entrance to the southern gateway,’ Nemiel explained. ‘The rebels supposedly overran them. But there were no dead Imperial troops anywhere. What happened to the bodies?’

  The sergeant frowned. ‘I don’t know. I doubt they just got up and walked away.’

  ‘But perhaps they did,’ Nemiel said. ‘What if the Dragoon company guarding the gateway was betrayed by the very people they were there to defend?’

  Kohl’s face turned grim. ‘That would mean Magos Archoi is in league with Horus,’ he said. ‘We need to inform the primarch at once!’

  Nemiel held up a hand. ‘Not yet. Not without more proof than this,’ he said, indicating the blood-splashed wall. He paused, contemplating the tall doors, then glanced back at the empty, echoing space. ‘What was Vertullus doing here in the first place?’ he wondered. ‘Maybe the war machines we’re looking for were stored here, and he’d come to check on them?’

  ‘The building’s certainly big enough to hold six to eight large vehicles,’ Askelon confirmed. ‘There’s dust and debris in the corners that suggest this place hadn’t seen much activity in a very long time. The question is: where are the war machines now?’

  Nemiel’s mind raced as he tried to think through the mystery. ‘If Archoi is with the rebels, he was in the process of trying to hand over the war machines to them when we arrived,’ he said. ‘If the vehicles had sat in a depot for a century and a half, they would have been in need of some refurbishment. He would have taken them somewhere he and his minions could work on them without being disturbed – possibly even as early as several weeks before Horus’s raid.’

  Askelon shook his head. ‘The manufactories would have been working at full output at that point. They couldn’t possibly have used them.’ ‘Well, where else would they have the facilities they would need?’ Nemiel asked.

  The Techmarine spread his hands. ‘Other than the Titan foundry, I can’t think of any,’ he said. ‘And I guarantee you, the Legio adepts would take a dim view of someone else using their facilities.’

  Nemiel looked to Kohl. ‘Except that Legio Gladius isn’t here. Someone else is running the lights over at the foundry.’

  FOURTEEN

  WALKING THE SPIRAL

  Caliban

  In the 200th year of the Emperor’s Great Crusade

  ‘HOW CAN THIS be?’ Luther demanded, his voice crackling with tension in the confines of the Grand Master’s sanctum. He had abandoned the massive oaken chair behind the sanctum’s wide desk and had begun to pace across the room. ‘How is it possible that no one noticed this before?’

  Damaged servo-motors whined as Zahariel folded his arms. He and Astelan stood side by side before the Grand Master’s desk, fresh from the transport that had carried them from Sigma Five-One-Seven. The sanctum was crowded with portable logic engines, stacks of papers and map tables, and half-empty cups of caffeine steamed in little clusters on the stone floor. They had interrupted a high-level operations meeting to deliver their report; the antechamber outside the sanctum was crowded with regimental
officers and staff members who were doubtless wondering what all the secrecy was about.

  Only Lord Cypher had been allowed to remain in the room to hear the warriors’ report. He stood by one of the chamber’s windows, silent and half-hidden by shadow. Brother-Librarian Israfael was also present; the Master of Caliban had summoned him as soon as he’d heard the gist of Zahariel and Astelan’s report.

  ‘The clues were there all along,’ Zahariel replied. ‘What else could have created the great beasts? What else could have shaped a wilderness so relentlessly malevolent and deadly to human life?’

  ‘Caliban is a death world, brother,’ Israfael pointed out. ‘Like Catachan or Piscina V. That doesn’t mean it’s inherently tainted.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Zahariel admitted. ‘Perhaps the two traits are unrelated, but the fact remains that Caliban is tainted somehow. I saw it with my own eyes.’

  Luther paused in his restless pacing and fixed Astelan with a penetrating stare. ‘What about you, chapter master? Did you see evidence of this as well?’

  Astelan had stood at a rigid parade-rest, shoulders squared and hands clasped behind his back as he and Zahariel had delivered their report. He met Luther’s flinty gaze unflinchingly. ‘There was nothing natural about the creatures we fought, my lord,’ he said. ‘I confess that I did not see the traces of corruption that Brother Zahariel reports, but I’m no psyker. If he says that’s what he saw, then I believe him.’ He shrugged. ‘The Northwilds were always thought of as haunted, my lord, as you yourself must know.’

  The answer did little to please Luther. ‘Damnation,’ he hissed. The Master of Caliban turned to Israfael. ‘How could the Imperium have missed this?’

  The Librarian shrugged. ‘Because no one asked us to look,’ he said.

  ‘Have a care, brother,’ Luther growled. ‘I’m in no mood for jests.’

  ‘I’m not trying to be impertinent,’ Israfael answered. ‘There were no obvious signs of corruption when the fleet arrived here; if anything, we were surprised at how few psykers we found among the planet’s populace.’

  ‘That’s because witches and mutants were slain out of hand for hundreds of years,’ Astelan grunted.

  Israfael acknowledged this with a wave of his hand. ‘Another characteristic common to worlds that survived the Age of Strife and the fall of Old Night,’ he said. ‘Had any of these great beasts still survived by the time we found your world, we might have seen the need to investigate more closely, but as it was, there was nothing obvious to arouse our concern. This warp-taint, whatever it is, must be buried very deep indeed.’

  ‘I agree,’ Zahariel said. ‘And I believe that it only became readily accessible recently, when the insurrection began. We know that warp taint feeds on human strife and bloodshed. The arcology riots could have been the catalyst that set the events at Sigma Five-One-Seven into motion.’

  Luther’s eyes narrowed. ‘So you’re saying the rebels are behind this?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Zahariel replied. ‘There was no evidence of rebel activity at the site whatsoever. I think that the attacks and the riots created an environment that others have succumbed to.’

  ‘Like who?’ Luther demanded.

  Zahariel considered his reply carefully. ‘We accounted for the bodies of the Jaeger garrison, the reaction force, and the labourers that had been sent to work on the thermal plant. The Terran engineers assigned to the plant were nowhere to be found.’

  ‘They may have been elsewhere at the site,’ Israfael countered. ‘You reported that your squad didn’t search the labourer’s dormitories, for example. They might well have been murdered in their sleep.’

  ‘I’d considered that,’ Zahariel said, ‘but it was clear to Astelan and I that the site’s garrison was betrayed from within. All of the Calibanite labourers had been murdered, along with the Jaegers. That leaves only the Terrans.’

  Before Israfael could offer a counter-argument, Luther interjected. ‘All right, let’s assume for the moment that the Terrans were responsible. What was the point of the ritual?’

  ‘That’s difficult to say,’ Zahariel answered. ‘Clearly the reaver worms were an integral part of it. Why else would the Terrans go to so much trouble to provide hundreds of corpses for the worm queen?’ He thought the situation over for a moment. ‘The sorcerers were gone long before we arrived, so we have to assume the ritual was completed successfully, and they’d gotten what they’d come for. The ritual itself was complicated and obviously required a great deal of planning to execute. Given that the Terrans had only been at the site for approximately six days, I think it’s also clear that the whole operation was conceived elsewhere and put into action at the site.’ ‘Where had these Terrans come from?’ Luther asked.

  ‘Northwilds arcology,’ the Librarian answered. Suddenly he straightened, remembering something he’d dismissed in the early stages of the mission. ‘And that’s where they must have returned to as well. Just before we entered the perimeter I picked up a civilian shuttle on our surveyors off to the west, headed in that direction. They fled the site minutes before we arrived.’ The pieces started to fall into place. Zahariel nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think this ritual was just one element of a much larger scheme, brothers. They performed the ritual at Sigma Five-One-Seven, gathered the fruits of their sorcery and returned to the arcology for the next phase of the operation.’

  Luther started to pace again, his hands clenched tightly behind his back. ‘There are more than a thousand Terran engineers operating out of that arcology,’ he growled. ‘We’ll have to investigate every industrial site they’ve worked on in the last month, just to be sure there haven’t been any other rituals we don’t know about.’

  Israfael bristled. ‘You act like every Terran in the arcology has been corrupted!’

  ‘Show me a Calibanite that’s been corrupted and I’ll revise my assumptions,’ Luther answered coldly. ‘In the meantime we need to track down every one of those engineers as quickly and quietly as possible.’

  ‘That will be difficult, my lord,’ Astelan said. ‘Those engineers built Northwilds arcology. There are miles upon miles of tunnels and maintenance spaces they could be hiding in at this point – to say nothing of the rebel activity already tying down our troops in that sector.’ ‘The rebels be damned!’ Luther snapped. ‘They can burn the arcology to the ground, so long as we catch these Terran devils and no one is the wiser!’

  Israfael’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘Surely you don’t mean to say that we can keep this a secret. We have to report this to the primarch and the Adeptus Terra at once!’

  ‘If word of this reaches Terra, Caliban will die.’ Luther declared. ‘Worlds have burned for far less.’

  The Terran started to protest, but found he could not. ‘It’s true,’ he said heavily. ‘I cannot deny it.’

  ‘Then you understand why I cannot allow that to happen,’ Luther said. ‘Not here. Not on my watch. The people of Caliban are innocent and undeserving of such a fate, and I won’t allow such a thing to happen.’

  Israfael rose slowly to his feet and faced Luther. ‘What you’re contemplating is against Imperial law,’ he said gravely. ‘Indeed, it smacks of treason.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Luther snarled. ‘This isn’t your home. These aren’t people you’ve sworn a solemn oath to defend.’ ‘Of course I have!’ Israfael shot back, his voice rising. ‘Am I not an Astartes? The Imperium—’

  ‘The Imperium brought us to this!’ Luther roared. He rounded on Israfael, his face anguished and his hands clenched into fists. ‘There were no rebellions before you arrived, no obscene rituals or human sacrifices! There was order, and law, and virtuous men who stood between the innocent and the terrors of the forest. It was your people who did this, who dug too deeply and grasped for too much, and now me and mine will pay the price!’

  Israfael tensed, and the air around him literally crackled with furious power. Astelan turned slightly to face the senior Librarian, his hands drifting
slowly to his weapons. Zahariel recalled the chapter master’s oath at Sigma Five-One-Seven and understood how perilous the situation had become. He rushed forward, placing himself between Luther and Israfael.

  ‘We are all brothers here,’ he said firmly. ‘Neither Calibanite nor Terran, but Dark Angels, first and always. If we forget that, even for a moment, we are lost. Then who will protect our people, Master Luther?’

  Luther’s gaze fell on Zahariel. For a long moment he was silent, until his expression grew bleak and his fists slowly unclenched. The Master of Caliban turned away, resting his hands upon the heavy desk.

  ‘Zahariel is right, of course,’ he said at last. ‘I hope you will forgive my intemperate tone, Brother Israfael.’

  ‘Of course,’ Israfael said stiffly.

  Luther worked his way around the desk and settled slowly onto the throne-like chair. His expression was distant, his eyes haunted.

  ‘I must meditate on this,’ he said in a hollow voice. ‘Too many lives are at stake to act precipitously. For now, we must make sure this rot has spread no further. Zahariel, send the scouts into the Northwilds. Have them reconnoitre every industrial site in the sector and search for signs of further corruption. Check the Administratum’s records and find out which engineers were assigned to Sigma Five-One-Seven, then pass their identities on to the Jaeger regiments at the Northwilds arcology. They are to be captured and delivered to Aldurukh immediately.’ He sighed. ‘Brothers, I realize this is well outside the scope of our temperament and training, but this matter must be handled with the utmost secrecy. There is no one else we can trust with this.’

  Zahariel bowed his head respectfully. ‘I’ll see to it at once.’

  Luther turned to Astelan. ‘Chapter master, as of this moment I’m putting you in command of Caliban’s defence forces. Place our brothers on a war footing. I want strike teams ready to deploy in case any more ritual activity is detected, but no one is to act without my express authorization. Understood?’