Ord considered the situation, and concluded that the occupants of the ore-hauler no longer counted as civilians. The others in the back had noticed him now, and were panicking. They fired wildly, their shots barely scraping his paintwork. He paused, studying them, then turned and leapt from the top of the cab onto the front of the vehicle, crumpling the frame with his weight. In a smaller vehicle that might have sufficed to disable it. This one would require a more significant outlay of effort. He scanned the hood, letting his augurs read the shape of the engine beneath.
A moment later, he slammed his knife down, piercing the hood and driving the blade into the machinery beneath. A sharp twist sheared through pistons and hoses. Lubricant spurted, dappling his arm as he withdrew it. The ore-hauler groaned and juddered, belching black smoke from its vents. It ground to a halt almost in the shadow of the Pilgrim’s Gate.
He stood and turned. They were still shooting at him.
‘Do you require assistance, brother?’ Geert asked, over the vox.
‘No.’
‘You appear to be under attack.’ That was Caln.
‘A momentary inconvenience. The enforcers are already moving to take them into custody.’ Ord dropped to the street as the rest of the ore-hauler’s passengers boiled out of the cab. Like the ones in the back, they were dressed in a variety of styles and carrying the sort of weapons civilians were not allowed to possess. Criminals, he assumed. Perhaps trying to escape into High Town before it was sealed off.
‘Lay down your arms and you will be spared,’ he rumbled, setting his vox to maximum volume. Casually, he flipped his knife into the air and caught the hilt. ‘Resist, and I will be forced to chastise you.’
Autoguns roared. Several of the men made a break from the Pilgrim’s Gate. Ord darted into their path. His knife licked out, and a man’s head rolled free of a spurting neck-stump. He caught a second with a blow that broke ribs and punctured organs. The third fell back towards the ore-hauler, emptying his ineffectual weapon into Ord as the Space Marine closed in on him. He caught the barrel of the weapon and crushed it easily.
As he caught the man by the throat, an alert-chime sounded. His battleplate’s systems had been running an ident-check, matching the facial characteristics of the gunmen to Lieutenant Calder’s list of the planet’s known criminals. It appeared that his captive was a person of interest. ‘Your name is Guln Veel. My commander wishes to speak to you.’
His captive was badly scarred. One of his eyes was white from some long-ago injury, and his florid features were riven by furrows of torn tissue. He clasped helplessly at Ord’s fingers, trying to break his grip. ‘Let me go! Let me go!’
‘No.’ Ord turned, as a combat shotgun boomed. He saw the last of Veel’s companions fall, a smoking crater in his chest. Enforcers picked their way through the broken bulwarks, smoking weapons in hand, and one came towards him. A heavyset woman, her carapace armour bore insignia of rank.
‘You caught our fish, my lord,’ she said as she saluted. ‘Regulator Fein.’
Ord tossed Veel to the ground. ‘Take him with my compliments, regulator.’
‘You have our thanks, my lord,’ the enforcer said as she knelt. She rolled Veel over and planted a knee in his back, as she grabbed his hands in one of hers. A moment later, she had the restraints on. ‘Veel was the last name on your commander’s list. He must have heard what happened to the others. He’s got friends in High Town who might’ve hidden him.’
‘His intentions are irrelevant as he has been captured.’
Veel gave a protesting groan as Fein dragged him to his feet. ‘I don’t suppose you know why he wants them?’ she asked, hesitantly. Ord looked at her. She stepped back, dragging Veel with her. ‘Sorry, my lord.’
Ord felt a flicker of sympathy. Mortals lacked the guiding certainty of Adeptus Astartes training. It drove them to ask needless questions about matters that did not concern them. He inclined his head, and sheathed his knife.
‘Apology accepted, regulator.’
Calder studied the data-feed with satisfaction. The defensive preparations were proceeding apace, with little objection from the civilian populace. Eamon was making regular speeches, and his subordinates were spreading messages of calm through the populace.
Around him, the strategium echoed with the sounds of orders being relayed and requests for ammunition and assignment being processed. Calder revelled in these moments, though he would never have admitted it out loud. The quiet before the storm, when the full artistry of defence was on display.
He heard someone enter the chamber and turned. It was Tyre. ‘We have a problem,’ the swordmaster said without preamble. He tossed a data-slate onto one of the desks in the strategium and looked up at Calder. ‘I just got an emergency vox signal from the Primus asteroid facilities. There’s been a civil disturbance.’
Calder looked down at him. ‘I was assured there was no risk of such an occurrence.’
‘What can I tell you? Someone decided now was a good time to make a bid for worker’s rights.’ Tyre sounded more amused than anything else, though it was hard to read his buzzing tones. ‘The enforcers stationed there should be able to handle it, but if not, sterner measures may be called for.’
‘Meaning?’
Tyre shrugged. ‘New workers will be easy enough to procure once the planet is safe.’
‘You will kill them.’
‘We can’t have an armed uprising on our doorstep on the eve of an invasion. Those facilities are too important to Almace’s survival.’
‘I was not voicing an objection,’ Calder said. ‘I will point out, however, that the mining facilities are extensive, and the miners know them well. Any armed response will likely be met by an application of asymmetric tactics on their part. They will not stand and fight. They will engage in hit-and-run attacks, as well as sabotage. The struggle will be protracted, and attaining victory before the enemy arrive is likely unfeasible.’
Tyre frowned, but did not object. He knew that Calder was right, whether he wanted to admit it or not. ‘So what would you suggest?’
‘Leave them, for the moment.’ Calder looked back at the projection.
‘Leave them?’
‘You stated that the enforcers would attempt to handle them. Let them do so.’
‘And if they can’t?’
‘Then we will deal with them,’ Karros said. Tyre whirled, startled. The Raven Guard stood just behind him, head tilted, the data-slate Tyre had deposited in hand. He scanned through it as he joined Calder atop the observation platform. Tyre’s frown deepened, but he sketched a shallow bow and turned away.
‘You shouldn’t tease them so, brother,’ Calder murmured, when the swordmaster was out of earshot.
‘My apologies,’ Karros said. ‘I’ve had a report from the warriors I sent into Low Town. You made an impression on Guill. By all accounts, she’s rousting every criminal in the city. In fact, we should be hearing from her quite soon.’
Even as he spoke, an alert-chime sounded. The doors to the chamber opened and a group entered – enforcers, mostly, escorted by a phalanx of the cardinal-governor’s guard. Cyber-mastiffs prowled in their wake.
Trapped between the enforcers was a smaller group of civilians. As the group came to a halt, the enforcers forced the civilians to their knees at the base of the observation dais. Three men, two women, all kneeling on the hard marble floor, manacled and chained. The cyber-mastiffs prowled around the chamber, their artificial gazes locked on the prisoners. One of the enforcers – a heavyset woman, clad in ornate carapace armour, stepped forward. ‘Regulator Fein, my lord. I bring a gift from Magistrate Guill.’
Calder nodded and descended the dais. ‘Please convey my thanks, regulator. If you will wait for a moment, this will not take long.’ He turned, studying each of the civilians in turn. ‘You are the leaders of the five largest extra-legal organisations on
Almace. Smuggling, prostitution, gambling, banned substances, weapons sales, theft, murder, piracy.’ He ticked off each on his fingers. ‘Between you, you control most of the crime on this world, if not the system.’
Only one of them attempted to meet his gaze – a bald, broad-faced man in a silk jacket and battered fatigues. Kormas Belloq. His file scrolled across Calder’s display – charges of racketeering, extortion, murder and smuggling were the highlights. Belloq was an animal, but a cunning one.
‘We know who we are,’ he said harshly. ‘We don’t know who you are.’
Calder looked down at him. ‘Who I am is obvious. I am the Emperor’s wrath manifest. His fist upon your shoulder. When I speak, it is with His voice. My commands are His. That is all you are required to know.’
Belloq spat on the floor and tensed, as if waiting for a blow. Calder did not deliver it, and waved off the enforcers when they moved to do so. Calder looked at the other criminals. ‘It is good that you are not cowed. Cowards are of little use to me. I need soldiers.’
One of the others – a woman with tribal scarring on her cheeks and her hair cropped short – laughed sourly. ‘We’re not soldiers, though.’
Calder looked at her. Again, a file appeared. Stella Drumm – charges of assault, incitement to riot, extortion and arson were high on her list. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You are officers. You all lead armies, however undisciplined. You have access to manpower, supplies, weapons and skills that will be useful. I am commandeering that access.’
‘What do we get out of it?’ a short, scarred man growled. Guln Veel – racketeering, tithe-evasion, kidnapping and drug-trafficking. That left the other two – Pul Deeks and Cana Jurst. Both were narcotics dealers and murderers-for-hire. Deeks was a slim man, void-born. Jurst was a muscular woman with a shaved head and steel teeth. Neither met his gaze.
‘You get to survive,’ Calder said.
‘You’ll kill us if we refuse?’ Drumm asked.
‘Yes. Here and now. Those who agree will be allowed to divide up the operations of those who refuse.’
‘Doesn’t do us much good if we die in battle,’ Veel said.
‘Like you’re planning to be on the front line,’ Belloq said. Veel lunged for him and got an enforcer’s baton across his ribs for his efforts. Belloq laughed and looked at Calder. ‘What about after? If we survive – what then?’
‘You are no longer my concern at that point. What you do is up to you.’
The criminals looked at one another. Calder saw Drumm nod slightly, and Belloq grunted. ‘Fine. We’ll do it.’
Calder nodded. ‘You will liaise with Swordmaster Tyre. I will require accurate data as to the resources available to you. If you shirk your new responsibilities I will personally hunt you down and kill you, as well as every member of your organisation. Is this understood?’ He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Even Belloq blanched, but Calder noticed that he was looking at Karros. He turned away. ‘Dismissed.’
As the enforcers escorted Belloq and the others out, Calder joined Karros at the top of the dais. ‘Expertly done, brother.’ The Raven Guard sounded amused.
‘I work with the tools I am given.’
‘Is that what they are, then?’
Calder nodded, studying the projections above. ‘Every soul on this planet is a tool. They must be, if we are to defend this world. Every warm body is another brick in the wall.’
‘I know that saying. Dorn, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
Karros was silent, for a time. Then, ‘They say that you met Dorn.’
Calder glanced at him. ‘Yes.’
‘You spoke with him?’
‘Once.’
Karros’ expression was hard to read. ‘What was it like?’ he asked, softly. Almost hesitantly. ‘What was it like to speak to your primogenitor?’
Calder paused, wondering how best to answer. How to explain that a demigod had seemed tired, almost worn down to mere mortality? How to explain how Dorn’s walls had crumbled in those last, fraught months? He possessed no words that could do justice to such sadness. Finally, he said, ‘I shall remember it always. He was our father and our teacher. The soul of us, and the foundation upon which we are built.’
Karros sighed and nodded. ‘What would he – would they – think of us now, I wonder?’ He looked around the chamber, at the faded murals and signs of age and wear on the walls. Calder followed his gaze, taking in the cracks in the stones, the tarnished metal of the braziers, the faded draperies. There were echoes of glory here, but the best days of this palace – of this world – were long past.
‘He would be proud, I think. They would be proud. The galaxy is a pyre, but we endure the flames and press on. We are wounded, but not defeated. They would be proud of us, brother. As Guilliman is proud, though we are not his sons.’ Calder looked down at the Raven Guard. ‘As I am proud to fight alongside you and Suboden. Whether this ends in victory or death, I am glad to have this moment, and to serve beside such warriors as you both. Wherever they are, whatever their fate, our gene-fathers see us and they are proud.’
‘I want to believe you are right, brother. With all my hearts, I want to believe.’ Karros smiled sadly. ‘But I cannot help but feel you are wrong. That they would see us – see this – and know only disappointment. To know that all they bled for has come to this.’ He grunted and shook his head. ‘Such thoughts are wasteful though. They serve no purpose save morose rumination, and we have more important matters to discuss.’
‘You wish to go to the asteroid mines.’
Karros blinked. ‘Yes.’
Calder allowed himself a brief smile. ‘I know how your Chapter thinks, brother. You seek the oblique approach in every strategy. You think that they will attempt to take the mines?’
‘I think that they must. The asteroid belt is a ready-made fortress, from a certain perspective. The equipment there could easily be repurposed into de-facto orbital defences, and the void-trawlers turned into everything from troop transports to fireships to limited engagement fighters. Their hulls are designed to withstand debris that would cripple a frigate. Slow as blazes, but with a debris-lance or a plasma-cutter mounted on them, they’d make deadly opponents for enemy vessels moving through the asteroid field. If the enemy are smart – and we have seen little to suggest otherwise – they’ll move to claim control of the asteroid field, as well as the facilities there.’
‘And the revolutionaries that Tyre mentioned?’
‘We will deal with them,’ Karros said firmly. ‘One way or another, they will not be allowed to use this situation to their advantage.’
Calder nodded. ‘You know your business, brother, as well as Suboden knows his. If you believe that this is where you are the most useful, I will not argue.’
‘And that, brother, is why Guilliman put you in charge.’ Karros’ smile was sharp. ‘Build your walls, and I will see that the enemy cannot dig them out from under you.’ He paused. ‘But before I go…’ He tilted his head up, and gave a birdlike trill.
A slim shape appeared as if from nowhere. Karros gestured, and the Reiver stepped forward. A Primaris, like Calder, the Reiver wore lighter-weight ceramite armour, streamlined for greater mobility and silence. Calder wondered where he’d been hiding. ‘This is Solaro – one of my best.’
Calder nodded, somewhat taken aback by the other Primaris’ stealthy approach, and Solaro bowed. Calder looked at Karros. ‘And why is he here?’
‘I thought you might find him useful, regarding the matter we discussed earlier. Solaro is adept at being in the right place at the right time. He knows how not to be noticed. A skill I have always found to be helpful.’ Karros pointed at the Reiver, whose stoic expression betrayed nothing of what he might think about the discussion. ‘I make you a gift of this blade, brother. Use it as you see fit.’
Calder bowed his head. ‘I tha
nk you for the gift, brother. I will put him to good use.’
Karros thumped his chest in salute. ‘I am glad to hear it. Build strong walls, Calder. I will see that the enemy are bloody before they reach them.’
Chapter Thirteen
72:09:32
Odoacer System, coreward edge
The mutant whimpered as Amatnim plucked a goblet from the tray it held. More mutants – decrepit, worm-pale things born on the lowest decks of the Glory Eternal – circulated through the ship’s strategium, offering drinks and sweetmeats to the gathered Word Bearers. Amatnim watched them. They made him curious, these creatures. They always had.
Was this, then, what the gods wanted? Was this the end result awaiting humanity, should the gods triumph over their great foe – enforced servitude, strangers in their own flesh, cowed and barely human at all? He remembered similar drudges aboard similar vessels in the days before the Great Liberation. Perhaps there was no difference. Humanity would serve one god or another, would be ruled by one brotherhood of demigods or the other. Perhaps that was simply the way of it.
He banished the thought with a swallow of wine. It was an excellent vintage, plundered from some aeldari trading enclave. Light, crisp, with a hint of strange spice. He had come to prefer their wine to that made by humans – the bitterness of a failed race added something to the taste. He looked around the chamber. Lakmhu wasn’t drinking, of course. Dark Apostles were abstemious sorts, even those that devoted their prayers to the Dark Prince. But the others seemed to be enjoying themselves. That was good. A bit of cheer before the bad news.
He took another sip and cleared his throat. The gathered Word Bearers fell silent. ‘I am certain that you have all noticed that we are under attack,’ he said. He activated the strategium’s star map – an immense hololithic projection that filled the chamber. Motes of light representing star clusters and celestial phenomena surrounded the Word Bearers. Half-visible shapes squirmed just beneath the glare, like eels in murky water.
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