Scythes of the Emperor, page 12
It was confirmed – the hive fleet’s advance was converging upon the death world.
More xenos craft swam into view. More, and more still.
They spread and wove, defying the sensorium officers’ attempts to track them individually at range. Even the largest hive ships lacked any significant external markings that might be used to easily distinguish them from their kin, or indeed from those that had taken Sotha. A roster of numerical tags, based upon each vessel’s unique biometric signature, had been used by the Space Marines in targeting the enemy at the height of that cursed assault, but valuable seconds were always lost in communicating such details to the mortal gunnery officers.
Confusion reigned over the comm. Confusion mixed with a steadily rising panic.
The bastion’s signal officer hailed his masters, consulting his data-slate as he came.
‘I have Shipmaster Jerrum of the Lamentarion, and Alei-Wei of the Calixtus, my lords. Both say they are unable to provide triangulation support for the larger fleet vessels as requested.’
Thorcyra squared his jaw. ‘What is the problem? Their systems were upgraded specially.’
‘Their sensors are optimal. Their crews simply cannot distinguish one contact from the next without manually cross-checking the index roster every time.’
The Chapter Master sighed pointedly, his brow knotting. ‘They assured us. They sought our favour. Now they show their true lack of quality, when the moment is almost upon us.’ He looked to Culmonios. ‘Any thoughts? Should I have them sanctioned for this failing?’
‘They lack our eidetic memories, my lord,’ he replied. ‘They were not made for this as we were. They will never be our match. It is not necessarily a failing, though that understanding is of little use to us, here and now.’
The armoured warriors stood and watched as the roster refreshed, and refreshed again.
It was old Sergeant Brimelow who provided the solution that they sought.
‘Name them.’ He stared thoughtfully at the growing list of tags that dated all the way back to the Chapter’s first contact with the Kraken, as it scrolled over the bastion’s comm-net screens. ‘Give each ship an identity, a character that the human serfs can follow and comprehend more easily than a string of unconnected digits.’
It was simple, and elegant. Culmonios looked to Master Thorcyra, who nodded before giving the order to his attendants. ‘Name them. From the largest hive ship to the smallest drone-cur – let us know the enemy on our own terms, and name them for the monsters they are.’
Confirmation was returned. The list was refreshed, over and over.
Twenty. Fifty. Two hundred. Six hundred.
The roster grew further still, filled with all the grand and terrible names of Sotharan myth. Aemos. Archelon. Axolomes. Bariusz. Borno. Conawen. Cuimon. Daedalus. Dantioch. Dolke. Dygebe. Dymath…
Each was a nightmare given form, a cultural fear of the old gods and beasts that had lived upon the mountains, or beneath them, before the coming of the Imperium. Was it wise to christen the Great Devourer with such potent appellations? Few amongst the fleet seemed to care – rather than an invitation to calamity, they instead found a focus for their hatred. It was no longer merely the tyranids that they faced, but all the ancient devils of their home worlds.
That familiarity, and even the horror that went along with it, appeared to renew their strength. As such, Culmonios supposed, it could only be a blessing.
Acknowledgements came back from the flagship, and from the other battle-ready vessels at Miral II. The information was being communicated across the fleet. A new measure of the foe was being taken, and the archives updated. There were nine of the greater vessels, the hive ships, present in the splinter. It was less than half the number that had taken Sotha, though the Chapter’s strength had been much reduced since then.
A little under fourteen hours later, as night fell over the Giant’s Coffin, the first of the xenos abominations came within weapons range of the Honour’s Might.
By the updated roster, it was designated as #70443 Heloth. Its slab-hull was a vast clenched knuckle of organic diamond, studded all about with tubular protrusions – great bio-cannons that drooled frozen acid into the void in anticipation of its prey. It appeared young and brash, pushing ahead of its kin like a bull, eager to charge.
At Thorcyra’s command, Shipmaster Mardelech brought the battle-barge around. Its engines burning hot, it matched the tyranid behemoth in length if not in tonnage, and had the advantage of far greater manoeuvrability. Nevertheless, the flagship was forced to plough through the miasma of lesser bio-ships that surrounded Heloth, and they exacted a heavy toll.
Swooping blade-vessels fluttered like carrion bats along both flanks, cleaving through sensor vanes or gouging the already weakened armour of the batteries with each pass. Other, smaller craft like living torpedoes plunged towards the hull, though most often they burst against the battle-barge’s void shields in a riot of geometric colour. Organic detritus soon filled the ever-decreasing space between the two sparring vessels, causing the Scythes’ depleted wings of combat interceptor fighters to break off time and again in search of safer trajectories.
The fighters had only one purpose in this gambit – to clear the smaller enemy craft from the engagement zone, allowing the Honour’s Might as clear a field of fire as possible. As it was, it was like trying to sweep back a pond with a broomstick.
But when the battle-barge’s guns spoke, they spoke with all the thunder of the Emperor’s divine wrath.
The bombardment cannons, capable of laying waste to entire cities on the ground, cleaved through Heloth’s outer shell, spilling tranches of softer matter and rolling the hive ship slowly to starboard. It fired its bio-weapons futilely, landing as many hits upon its own kin as it did the Imperial craft. With its headlong charge towards Miral Prime thrown askew, it convulsed and clawed at the void with alarming agility for such a vast creature, but even that could not arrest its floundering turn before the Honour’s Might closed.
Ramming smaller brood-vessels aside with its keen, bladed prow, the flagship’s helmsmen steered a deadly arc within fifteen hundred metres of Heloth’s exposed port side. Proximity alarms howled on every deck. Debris clattered against the battle-barge’s liveried hull.
Then her gunnery stations opened up a full broadside, at near-point-blank range.
Thousands of tonnes of ordnance opened up the hive ship’s flank and spined belly. Foul, cartilaginous material blossomed into the void, only to be blown into ever smaller pieces by the sustained volley. The battle-barge drove on, its void shields licking against the broken shell and the heat of its engines pushing the stricken beast further away as they passed. Eruptions of bio-acid and other less wholesome fluids spoke of catastrophic internal damage, and the dying hulk began to quake as it spiralled into the embrace of Miral Prime’s upper atmosphere.
Mardelech’s voice came, clear and jubilant. ‘Target seven-zero-four-four-three Heloth is neutralised! Repeat, Heloth is neutralised!’
Cheers went up across the comm-net, from the distant fleet to the caverns beneath the Giant’s Coffin. First blood had gone to the Scythes of the Emperor. The Kraken would indeed reap the whirlwind for daring to defile noble Sotha.
The shipmaster’s lieutenants recalled their fighter wings, instead increasing the rate of fire from the flagship’s gun batteries to cleanse the engagement zone. Heaving to, the Honour’s Might turned to face the rest of the approaching splinter fleet – to all who were watching the battle unfold, it was clear that old Mardelech, full of bravado, was issuing a challenge to the xenos. In the graceful sweep of the battle-barge’s turn, and in the blusterous gun-salutes that he ordered, every facet of the battered old flagship’s manner demanded to know, in its display of martial strength, Who will be next?
Too late, Mardelech realised what his hubris had wrought. His tactical officers sounded the alarm, which was quickly taken up by the Scythes stationed at the Coffin.
Heloth was blazing a fiery trail across the skies of Miral Prime. The blackening carcass fractured as it fell, becoming a shower of falling stars over the terminator and into the planet’s night side. As it pierced the cloud cover, the flames softened into a diffuse glow. It was the false dawn of an impending cataclysm.
Permissions to engage from orbit, to blast it with further cannon fire and plasma torpedoes, were denied – Master Thorcyra would not risk turning one dangerous incoming object into many more. Instead, reconnaissance craft were scrambled from the surface, tasked with tracking the remains of the falling hive ship down to its inevitable impact point. Though this was only the first engagement of the void-battle to come, they would mark and contain the crash site as best they could.
And, like as not, the behemoth was far from truly dead.
The wake-shot brought Brother Keltru around in a splintering second. His eyes snapped open and he heaved a deep, reflexive breath into all three of his lungs before settling to a series of choking coughs.
Machaon’s human attendant stepped forwards with a beaker of water, which Keltru downed in one gulp. Amidst the bustle of the medicae ward, he propped himself up on the slab, rubbing absently at the reddened needle punctures on his wrists.
‘Ugh,’ he grumbled, staring down at the sterile-wrapped stumps of his legs. ‘I thought I might have only dreamed that. No such luck.’
The Apothecary pursed his lips, checking the dressings one last time. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, brother. I did what I could, but in the end we had to cut back even more of the left leg, to bring it in line with the right.’ He nodded to the adept clutching the empty beaker. She still shuffled nervously before their patient, and would not raise her eyes from the chamber floor. ‘It was Maderie’s idea, actually, and a good one at that. In the long term, it will equalise the muscle load and lessen the difference between your limbs when it comes to rehabilitation, once we can graft replacements.’
Keltru ran his tongue over his teeth. ‘You mean, you can’t yet?’
‘No, not presently. I don’t have the resources to hand for augmetic fitting.’
‘I’ll take simple bionics, then. I’m not proud. As long as I can stand, walk and fight…’ He trailed off, smiling grimly. ‘Although, if you can at least overclock the fibre bundles, I think a little extra speed would suit me. Given recent events.’
Machaon couldn’t find it in himself to join in with his brother’s poor humour.
‘You misunderstand me, Keltru. I don’t have any legs at all to give you. We don’t have any of the necessary materials down here on Miral to fabricate them, either.’
‘So, what? I’m to drag myself around the floor of the training cages until–’
The crippled warrior’s eyes moved to the space beyond the observation windows. Crimson beacon lights spun silently there in the gloom, strobing the hewn walls of the Coffin with the colour of blood.
‘Are we at combat alert?’
Machaon helped him up to an awkward sitting position at the edge of the slab. ‘Yes, brother. The xenos are attacking the system. One of their hive ships was shot down from orbit in the last few hours, so they may already have some advance organisms out there in the jungle. If any of them survived the crash, that is.’
Keltru gritted his teeth. ‘I wonder how long they’ll last against the local fauna…’ he muttered. Then he scratched at the back of his scalp, clearly agitated. He measured his words, speaking calmly but firmly. ‘Just to be clear, just so I know we’re of the same mind – you don’t actually expect me to sit here on these stumps while my brothers take up arms against the Kraken, do you?’
‘We most certainly do not,’ Machaon replied. ‘You’ve been patched up as best we can, to return you to some semblance of battle-readiness. All your surgeries were added to the priority list on the express orders of Chapter Master Thorcyra and Bastion Commander Culmonios.’
Poor Keltru blinked once. Twice. He swallowed, then blinked again.
‘I’m sure you’ll understand, Brother-Apothecary, there’s a lot in that statement for me to take in. Give me a moment. I’ll be with you again in a moment.’
‘Of course.’
A startled shriek came from the next chamber, followed by a glassy crash and some bitter cursing. Machaon moved quickly to the doorway, keeping Maderie behind him, to see one of the male medicae staff edging away from his dropped instrument tray, and the unwashed savage crouched behind the nearest gurney.
‘You again!’ the Apothecary shouted, grabbing the Mirali boy by his shoulder. ‘How do you even get in here? You’re like a damned tunnel rat.’
Maderie scampered away, holding her surgical wrap-mask tightly over her mouth and nose as Machaon hauled the struggling youth back to the foot of Keltru’s slab. The boy left dirty, bare footprints on the scrubbed tiles of the apothecarion.
‘You’ve got a visitor, brother,’ sighed Machaon. ‘This one wouldn’t leave you alone, right from the moment you first came through those doors. I’ve given up trying to keep him out.’
Recognition flickered across Keltru’s face. ‘Hwygir…’ he murmured. ‘You little coward. Felt bad for leaving us behind, then?’
Hwygir squirmed free of Machaon’s grip, straightening up and beaming toothily. ‘You are look very crazy, Giant-Keltru,’ he said. ‘You have no legs.’
‘Thank you for the reminder.’
Machaon cuffed the runt around the back of the head, eliciting a squawk that was more pantomime than pain, and shoved him towards Keltru. ‘The rest of the aspirants have been processed. Culmonios is keeping them away from the defensive lines until their first stage implantations are certified, although their tribal kin are being urged to patrol the outlying mesas for any sign of the xenos.’ He hushed his voice a little. ‘They’re marked as expendable, where these aspirants are not.’
Keltru rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, yes. They are the future of the Chapter, and so forth.’ He glared at Hwygir, who was curiously prodding at the sterile dressings with a single, grimy finger. ‘And this little trog could be my battle-brother one day, whether I like it or not…’
The Apothecary nodded, following the thought through.
‘Forgive the informality of the occasion,’ he said, ‘but I took the opportunity to harvest your secondary progenoid while you were under. We are building on the Chapter’s limited stocks to capitalise on the renewed recruitment – yours are well past maturity, according to the archive. I’m still not sure why, but Chief Apothecary Vedio appears to have postponed an unusual number of non-essential gene-seed extraction surgeries in the past decade. It seems prudent, now, to level the tally.’
‘You mean, because I might never leave this rock.’
‘Many of us won’t.’
Keltru grinned once more. ‘You’ll be fine. You can still run away on your own two feet, if you need to.’
This time, Machaon did laugh. Hwygir looked from the Apothecary to Keltru, as if seeking approval, and then he laughed too.
‘You’ve been assigned to the bastion command, with all haste, brother,’ said Machaon, reaching for his comm-link. ‘I’ve spoken to the armoury serfs, and they’re fitting out a tracked perambulator unit for you. I’d advise you to take the conveyor up there, and avoid the stairs for now.’
Easing himself forwards with Hwygir’s help, Keltru took Machaon’s forearm.
‘Fine. But you still owe me legs, once this is all over. My battle-brothers won’t be so kind if I can’t stand eye to eye with them again.’
Recollection flickered in Machaon’s mind. Battle-brothers.
‘There was something I wanted to ask you, actually,’ he said. ‘According to your honour roll, you served under Scout Sergeant Rezyk, in the Tenth Company?’
Keltru frowned. ‘Squad Rezyk, aye. My first posting.’
‘Well then, do you happen to know a Brother Hadrios?’
On the hololithic display, the remains of Heloth were a smear of red over the topographical grid. Culmonios moved around the table, leaning in to get a better view, trying to make an assessment as though he had eyes on the target area itself. He pushed past those members of Thorcyra’s honour guard who were gathered at the hololith’s edge.
The Chapter Master watched him from the command lectern.
‘You have an unconventional approach, brother,’ he said.
Culmonios looked up. ‘I wouldn’t know about that, my lord. I do as I’ve always done, as I was taught by Sergeant Jonic and others before him. I find it easier to imagine myself on the ground, rather than looking down on it all.’
‘So I see. You play to your own strengths, and you seem to care little for tradition or protocol.’
‘Apologies, lord.’
Thorcyra came around the lectern, gripping the rail with one hand. ‘I would not have you apologise, brother. It is to honest, experienced warriors such as yourself that I turn now, as we rebuild the Chapter.’ He cast his eyes over the grid. ‘I see greatness in your future, or else I would not entrust a portion of the defence of Miral Prime to your expertise. While Mardelech and his worthy crew move to continue the void-war, you and I shall contain and repel any invaders that might reach the surface.’
Before Culmonios could answer, the vox-link chimed.
‘This is Agaitas, reporting from Heloth crash site.’
Culmonios rose, and took the master-vox from a robed human adept. ‘Captain – this is the Coffin, acknowledging. What do you see?’
As the auspex readings from Second Company came back over the comm, refining and clarifying, the red hololithic smear began to extend into three dimensions, bulking upwards and fracturing into a handful of smaller returns. In response, the green swell of the jungle map receded dramatically.
‘Confirmed, Coffin. First bio-wreckage logged at just over seventy-six kilometres from the eastern mesa outposts. I have three squads moving around to the far side, but it’s going to be hard to get much closer…’
