The prisoners had found the weapon crates hauled down by the Black Hand from the arbitrator armouries. It had taken less than an hour for the more powerful gangs to descend on the equipment like flocks of flesh carrion on dead meat. Now suitably armed with the aquila-stamped weaponry of their former masters, they were busy enforcing a new code of law on Zartak – might made right.
Cull watched the various running battles across the viewscreens of the Precinct Fortress. They were invariably close-ranged, bloody and brief. The side with the element of surprise always won. Only at a sub-surface rail turning point, where a savaged group of escapees from the lower blocks managed to hole up in a stationary loco carriage, did anything approaching a stalemate develop. Cull grew bored watching the standoff and sent one of Fexrath’s Claw brothers to murder the inept savlar who’d failed to wipe out their prey with their first strike. Such incompetence was of no use to him.
The slaughter between the freshly armed gangs was intense. Those who hadn’t yet managed to pilfer any weaponry stood no chance at all. Soon there would be no unarmed inmates left on Zartak, and the next phase of the harvest could begin.
Cull turned his attention to the progress in the sub-precincts. Reports from the three Claws dispersed among the planetoid’s lesser penal facilities indicated everything was still going according to schedule. The convicts of the secondary and tertiary mines were being herded aboard loco carriages in preparation for transportation to Sink Shaft One. After the inmates of the primary facility had been fully harvested, the second wave would follow the first. By the dawn of Zartak’s next long day the selection processes would be nearly complete.
The chiming of augur systems disturbed the Night Lord’s thoughts. The holochart near the middle of the command centre flickered into static-washed life, new signifier runes overlaying themselves across the map of Zartak and the surrounding space.
‘My prince,’ began one of the hereteks newly assigned to the command centre’s sensor systems, but a gesture silenced him. Cull knew.
They were here, and right on schedule.
+ + Gene scan complete + + +
+ + Access granted + + +
+ + Beginning mem-bank entry log + + +
+ + Date check, 3641875.M41 + + +
Day 78, warp time variance approximate.
There was definitely something untoward about the fate of the original colonists of Zartak. Ship cargo returns show at least three vessels – New Hope, Providence and Pilgrim’s Road – were all chartered to transport settlers there. The last records I can find detail their arrival and the founding of the site that would become the primary mine, Sink Shaft One. But after that everything has been erased, right up to when a new charter issued by the governor of the Ethika subsector authorised the Adeptus Arbites to work with the local hive worlds to turn the pre-existing mines into a penal labour colony. By then the original, free colonists who constructed the first works seem to have no longer existed.
Who deleted the files detailing the fate of those first colonists, and what became of them? I pray I can find the answers to these riddles before we reach Zartak.
Signed,
Interrogator Augim Nzogwu.
+ + Mem-bank entry log ends + + +
+ + Thought for the Day: A mind free of guilt is a mind devoid of memory + + +
Chapter VI
The Carcharodon Astra made ready for war.
Where other Chapters would have prepared themselves to the sound of oath cants or warlike boasting, the Carcharodons did so in silence. The fore armoury was filled, the entirety of the Third Battle Company roused from their slumber or returned from their vigils in the White Maw’s long, lonely corridors and substations. The murky air was filled with the grate of battleplate and the whirring of servos as the armoury’s thralls and artisans bedecked the seventy-nine void brothers in their war glory.
Sharr flexed his gauntlet, watching the intricately inscribed ceramite digits respond in perfect sync. He had memorised the chief artisan’s analysis of the millennia-old armour during the weeks of transit. He was aware of the minute lag in the servos of the right leg, that the targeter in the helmet’s left lens occasionally failed and reset itself, and that the bonding-studded left pauldron had been fitted with a lower grade of plasteel than the rest of the suit. Such was the nature of the Chapter’s ancient, reconstituted wargear.
Wearing it for the first time he was also aware of how the armour’s spirit differed from his old suit. The battleplate of the Reaper Prime was redolent with what Sharr could only describe as an underlying, ever-present hunger, not much removed from the savage appetites experienced by the Chapter’s initiates when their gene-changes first set in. Sharr was beginning to understand why Company Master Akia had pursued such direct, savage tactics in the final operations before his death. The need to kill emanated from the wargear. It was the Blindness made manifest, a by-product of the Chapter’s complex genetic heritage.
Sharr donned his crested great helm, allowing its auto-senses to link with his own. They seemed to do so only with reluctance, unwilling to accept their new master. Sharr shook off the unsettling thought. He wondered at how much the shark-and-scythe crest on the helmet’s left temple mirrored the fresh tattoo on his own flesh beneath.
Regardless of who had come before, he was now the Reaper Prime. He was now commander of Third Company.
‘Strike Leader Ari,’ he said, testing the helm’s vox vocaliser. The Scout commander turned from where he was ranking up his carapace-armoured initiates and bowed his head in salute.
‘Are your initiates prepared for their latest blooding?’ Sharr asked, casting his eye over the assembled Scouts. Their appearance was becoming increasingly uniform – they were all shaven-headed, while their skin pigmentation had grown noticeably paler and their irises darker. Some of the older ones had begun to sharpen their teeth in imitation of the full void brothers they aspired to be, while two had even earned the right to their first exile tattoos. All of them had seen at least one blooding before, and many were on the cusp of full initiation. The fact brought home how vital a fresh Tithing was. The Chapter needed a new generation of inductees.
‘They are ready, Company Master,’ Ari said, casting his black gaze over his charges. Many were still visibly shaking from void sickness. For a second Sharr was reminded of his own days as an initiate, after the Nomad Predation Fleet had plucked him from Zartak’s depths. His grim smile was hidden by his helm.
‘That is well, strike leader. You will report to the Librarium with them. The venerable Te Kahurangi has a special purpose for this Tithing.’ Ari bowed his head once more, and repeated the motto of the Tenth Company.
‘As you command, Company Master. First in, last out.’
Company Master. The title still rang hollow in Sharr’s mind. How much longer would it continue to do so? Would he ever shake off Akia’s blood-red shadow?
Across the armoury the squads were completing their preparations and departing for the launch bays. Other commanders would have taken the opportunity presented by the assembly to deliver some sort of oration, but that had never been the Chapter’s way. Every void brother had been issued with detailed sets of operational and strategic briefings, environmental overviews and opposition analysis. They all knew why they were here and what was expected of them. They would do their duty to the Chapter, the Void Father and the Shade Lord, regardless of what Sharr said to them.
That in itself was a blessing. He didn’t want to have to stand before them in Akia’s battleplate before it had been bloodied. Before he’d proven that he was worthy, to himself as much as to them. He keyed his vox.
‘First Squad, to me.’
Around him his retinue gathered. There was familiarity in their presence at least, a degree of comfort. Strike Veteran Dorthor, with his ancient chainaxe mag-locked to the side of his backpack. Apothecary Tama, who’d upheld a Vow of Sile
nce for almost a century. Red Tane, the Company Champion, who carried the Coral Shield and the Void Sword, both ancient Terran relics that had been with the Chapter since the very first Day of Exile. Brother Soha and his ancient volkite caliver, newly promoted from Second Squad to fill the gap left by Sharr’s own promotion. Signifier Niko, who was reverently lifting the company’s ragged banner from its place upon the armoury wall. All bore the red arrow-tooth marking in the centre of their helmet visors – they were all red-scarred, the badge of true veterans. They had been his battle-brothers for more years than he cared to count. He owed each of them his life many times over.
Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if they too still saw Akia when they looked at him now.
‘Report to bay five, brethren,’ he told them. ‘I must conduct a final briefing on the bridge. I will join you once we reach high anchor.’
‘Is it true, Company Master?’ Tane asked, hand resting on the hilt of the sheathed Void Sword. ‘Have the traitors reached the Tithe World before us?’
‘We shall know soon enough,’ Sharr said. ‘But whether they have or not makes no difference. The Red Tithe will go ahead. We will make sure of it.’ He dismissed them.
The halls and corridors of the White Maw shuddered as he passed through them towards the bridge. The ancient strike cruiser’s weapons batteries were lit, hammering the surrounding space with relentless ripples of macrocannon fire and lance strikes. The fleet was passing through the system’s asteroid belt, and the barrage was necessary to clear a path and break the frozen rocks before they could do any lasting damage. The strike cruiser’s shields were sufficient protection against the millions of splintered fragments that impacted against it, though occasionally the ship’s internal lighting would dip after a particularly vicious strike.
The squad leaders had assembled once again on the bridge for the final approach briefing. Shipmaster Teko was monitoring the effectiveness of the White Maw’s defensive barrage from the gunnery station as Sharr entered, the green illumination of the diagnostic viewscreens and oculus stands casting his gaunt, white features into sharp contrast.
‘Still no trace of the traitor’s fleet elements?’ Sharr asked as Teko acknowledged him with a bow.
‘None, Company Master. Though our augurs won’t be able to complete a full scan until we’re clear of this damned asteroid field. The only vessel on our displays is the penal ship, Imperial Truth.’
‘The traitor’s main fleet will be concealed. It is how they fight. They could not have crippled the system’s communications by any means other than subterfuge. The fleet must remain on its guard. Once we have made planetfall their most likely course of action will be to separate us.’
‘We will hold station, have no doubt,’ Teko said. ‘The traitors would require a grand fleet indeed to threaten us.’
Sharr knew the shipmaster was right. The vessels belonging to the Third Company, like all sections of the Carcharodons Nomad Predation Fleet, were a mismatch of old and heavily modified classes and capabilities. The White Maw itself was, at its most basic levels, a venerable Exile-era Tyrant-class capital ship. The original design had been both rebuilt and expanded down the centuries. New engine blocks, plasma recyc systems, triple-adamantium bulkheads – the White Maw was a patchwork monstrosity, its capabilities more akin to the battle-barges of more standardised Chapters. Her six escorts likewise displayed the broadest range of class variation imaginable, from the retrofitted Sword Frigate Grey Harvest to the Crusade-era Wrath Hammer Void Revenant. More than half of the fleet had been in service since the first Day of Exile, that dark time when the Wandering Ancestors had been banished from their home world and the ranks of their brethren, and ordered out beyond the galaxy’s edge. Whatever the traitors possessed, they wouldn’t have been able to conceal sufficient numbers or firepower to threaten the White Maw and her company.
‘What of communication with the surface?’ Sharr asked Teko. ‘Have you been able to lock down the distress signal?’
‘Not yet,’ Teko replied. ‘We’ll have a better chance of making contact once we reach high anchor. Local area logs list the signal as being emitted from a minor Adeptus Arbites facility tagged as Sub-Precinct Eight. We’ve not been able to ascertain whether or not the garrison is still holding out, or whether the signal is simply running on loop.’
‘Whether it is or not, we need a base of operations,’ Kahu interjected. ‘It’s in an optimal position to provide us with subterranean access to the Precinct Fortress and the primary mine network. Capturing it would be an excellent starting point.’
‘And that also makes it the perfect trap,’ Sharr said, turning his attention to the massive Terminator. ‘We know that these traitors delight in setting all manner of snares. They lure the unwary or the overconfident to their deaths. Or worse.’
‘Spring their trap and they will have nothing more to threaten us with,’ Kahu pressed. ‘We require a base to operate from if we are to complete the Tithe. Let the Red Brethren lead the assault.’
‘First blood should go to the Company Master,’ said Chaplain Nikora. ‘It’s tradition. Especially as this will be his first blooding as Master of the Third.’
Sharr was glad his helm hid his grimace. As much as he hated being reminded of his new rank, Nikora was right. It was both his duty and his privilege to spearhead the Carcharodons’ planetfall, and Kahu had just laid down an unspoken challenge. Thrust his hand into the jaws of the trap, or let Kahu do it for him.
He knew why the Terminator was doing this. Assessing the situation from orbit and formulating a less risky operational plan would have taken time, time which Kahu didn’t believe they had. The Chapter needed its Tithe quota. Every day the War in the Deeps was costing the Carcharodon Astra more and more. There had been doubts among the other Company Masters that it was right to make Sharr the new Reaper Prime during such desperate times. But there had been no opportunity to debate the promotion. Te Kahurangi’s visions had spurred them on to Zartak. He alone seemed to have fully supported Sharr’s new role, and even then the aged Chief Librarian’s praise was thin.
Kahu was testing Sharr’s dedication to his new role, perhaps on the orders of Tyberos himself. Would he put his life and the lives of his immediate brethren before the Chapter’s objectives? The answer was clear. Kahu was underestimating him.
‘I will purge the Imperial Truth in orbit and then lead First and Second Squads planetside in the initial wave,’ Sharr said, the gaze of his helm’s black lenses sweeping over his subordinates. ‘Chief Librarian Te Kahurangi will follow with the Scout detachment. Kahu and the Red Brethren will man the teleportation chamber and stand in immediate reserve. If contact is lost with me at any point the chain of command passes to Te Kahurangi. Is that clear?’
The assembled Carcharodons nodded as one. Sharr surveyed the rotating orb that represented Zartak on the bridge’s holochart.
‘Trap or not,’ he said slowly. ‘I will wager this particular band of traitors have never fought the Carcharodon Astra before. Nor will they live to fight us again.’
Skell’s nose was bleeding. He wiped it with one grimy hand, pausing to try to catch his breath. He was in a haulage shaft, though where he had no idea. The lumen lights rigged to the bare dirt walls flickered. He felt sick with exhaustion.
Keep going, the thought in his head urged. He stumbled on.
Memories rose up. Roax, surrounded by arbitrators, pointing at him. The man he’d considered his father, the one who’d taken him in when he’d fled the Ministorum orphanage and its mad abbot’s beatings, turning him over to help save his own skin. The memory of the betrayal made him slow, his tiredness redoubling.
Ignore it, said the thought. It’s toying with you.
Another memory reared up, fragmentary and instinctive. A hot bowl of nutrient broth for a stomach that ached with hunger. A worn blanket. A warm smile. A gentle kiss on his bruised brow. The face of the mo
ther he’d believed he’d forgotten forever.
He stumbled to a halt, sobbing. The thought kept speaking to him, insistent.
It’s trying to make you stop. It’s trying to catch you. You have to drive it out and keep going.
‘I’m alone,’ Skell said, fighting back the tears. ‘I can’t go on. There’s no point.’
You’re never alone, Mika Skell. The Void Father is with you, always.
‘I don’t understand.’
You will. Go.
Skell wiped the tears from his dirt-encrusted face, and forced himself onwards.
The White Maw was cleared for action. The strike cruiser shuddered with barely contained power, the air heavy with the static crackle of its void shields and the throb of charged lance batteries. Shipmaster Teko had taken to the bridge’s command throne, surrounded by a blur of holo-fields and data readouts. The viewing bay’s blast shutters had been lowered, the space beyond now represented on the viewscreens and oculus displays that dominated the centre of the dimly lit bridge.
Sharr watched the ship’s crew. It was rare for Carcharodons to even notice their enslaved serfs, much less actually note their activities. Certainly the strike leaders assembled behind Sharr were oblivious to the emaciated humans hurrying back and forth around them. Those who manned the White Maw’s bridge were the most privileged of the hundreds of thousands of thralls that attended to the Nomad Predation Fleet, their experience and expertise affording them better rations and living quarters. Even so, they were wasted and weak creatures, their grey-and-white Chapter robes hanging limp from starved bodies, their features gaunt. In pale imitation of their masters, they all bore shaved scalps, and some had sharpened their teeth to points. Sharr watched them as they worked vox-banks and augur panels, monitored engine output and prepared firing coordinates, all in deathly silence. Try as he might, the Company Master found he couldn’t differentiate between any of them, old or young, male or female. They were the Chapter’s chattel, their enslavement ordained by the Void Father’s will and permissible under the Edicts of Exile.
Carcharodons: Red Tithe Page 11
