PART FIVE
With the Blade of Caliban’s reactor at dangerously high levels, it was still a twelve-day journey back to Piscina IV. As soon as the Space Marines were back on board, the ship got under way. Boreas headed directly for the chapel and sealed the door behind him. For ten days he remained there.
Sustained only by the support systems of his armour, the Interrogator-Chaplain knelt unmoving in silent vigil before the altar. If anyone had been there to see him, they might have taken for a statue. But for all his physical immobility, the Interrogator-Chaplain’s brain was in a feverish storm. He tried to quiet his tumultuous thoughts with prayers and chants, reciting every hymnal and catechism he knew for hours on end, but to no avail. Despair turned to anger, anger turned to fear, and fear turned back to despair in the whirlwind of his mind.
He searched desperately for reason and calm, but madness crept into his thoughts, battering his conscience, ripping at his pride, fuelling his guilt. Shame burned within him as he thought how rash and foolish he had been. Remorse tortured him until he mentally lashed out, cursing the Grand Masters for their secrecy, damning Hephaestus for his mistrust. Most of all, he was wracked by the futility of his situation. He was helpless, and his emotions, for so long kept in check by iron discipline and training, drifted and raged.
He prayed fervently for guidance, for some sign of what to do, but there were no answers, no revelations. And always the feeling of betrayal rose up in his thoughts. Betrayal by those he served, and betrayal by those he served alongside. Mocking laughter taunted him, and he began to hallucinate, seeing apparitions of a barren Piscina, the ground littered with millions of bones. Contorted, grinning faces swathed in shadow filled his vision, cackling at his ignorance.
Most painful of all was the thought that he had lost. The Fallen had led him by the nose all the way, teasing him onwards, luring him from Piscina. Worse, he felt they had corrupted him spiritually as well as fooling him. He had abandoned his sworn duty to protect Piscina and its inhabitants. They had set him against forces loyal to the Emperor. The sheer scale of what they had done confounded understanding. It had all been an illusion, an elaborate shadow play to pull him further and further from their true purpose.
It seemed so obvious to him now that the riots had been engineered by the Fallen to attract his attention. There had been no mutilated Navigator, it was all a pretext. How long had the agents of the Fallen been manipulating the citizens of Kadillus Harbour, planting the seeds of their lies, scheming in the heart of the realm Boreas had sworn to defend? They would have known he would eventually hear about the Saint Carthen’s presence. From then on, their complex plot was set in motion. The Fallen Angels had pitilessly sacrificed their followers to further their plan, knowing that the Dark Angels would be merciless in their hunt. They had left just enough information for him to follow the trail to a false base, to draw him far from where he needed to be.
The most damning part of the plot was its sheer audacity. In his moments of lucidity, Boreas pieced it together, and it was these deductions that caused him to despair of saving Piscina IV from the horrific fate the Fallen had planned. And if Piscina IV fell, then Piscina V would doubtless be the next target. When the Saint Carthen had arrived and set in motion the chain of events that had drawn Boreas away, the Fallen had been there, dropped on Piscina. The more he chased the ship, the greater the distance between him and his real quarry. It was a calculated and cruel irony, inspired to cause him the greatest torment. Like puppeteers, his enemies had manipulated him at every turn and had plotted for this moment. Not content with destroying the world under his protection, they had done it in such a way as to damn his soul in the process.
Boreas knelt on the floor of the chapel, head bowed before the altar, and begged the Emperor and his primarch for forgiveness. But he knew there would be none, because he could not forgive himself. It was that shame, the dark coil of sin that writhed inside him, that kept him locked in the shrine. How could he ever leave and face Hephaestus, who unwittingly had damned him? What could he say to Zaul, who had been the most fervent amongst them, and who thought Boreas a hero of the Chapter. And the others – Nestor, Damas and Thumiel – their accusations would be silent but no less crippling. Boreas could not face it. He had none of the answers they would need. They would look to him for strength and courage, but he had none to give.
On the tenth day, half-delirious, derided by daemons of his own creation, Boreas drew his pistol and held the muzzle against the weaker joint of his neck armour. The bolt would tear into his throat and blow out his spine, ending the pain forever. For half a day he sat, thumb through the trigger guard, imagining the blissful oblivion just a simple motion away.
His mind became still and calm. Everything dropped away from his thoughts, his emotions shrinking to a single, focussed point inside his head. The galaxy disappeared, the ship, his battle-brothers, all of them slid from conscious thought. All that remained was him and the pistol. Life and death.
At that moment, he looked up with his one good eye and saw the Chapter symbol of the Dark Angels on the wall in front of him. It was beautifully crafted, the sword at its centre shaped from pure gold and silver, the dark wings to either side delicately chiselled from black marble. Boreas stood, the bolt pistol dropping from his fingers. He stretched out his hand towards the embodiment of everything he had lived for, everything he had been created to uphold. He took a couple of faltering steps forward and then strode more purposefully around the altar and laid his hand against the sword. Removing his scarred and battered helmet and tossing it to one side, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against the hilt of the sword, feeling the pulse and hub of the ship vibrate through his torn face. Closing his eyes, he bent lower and delicately kissed the blade in thanks.
‘Praise the Lion,’ he whispered. ‘Praise the Lion for his strength, wisdom and fortitude. His blood runs in my veins. His spirit lives on in my soul. Praise the Emperor for his courage, his guidance and his purpose. By his hand, I was made. By his will, I live. There is no peace, no respite. There is only war.’
Boreas found the others gathered in the reclusium, seated in silent meditation, dressed in their robes. It was Zaul who looked up first, his expression of surprise quickly turning to joy.
‘Brother Boreas!’ he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. The others broke out of their trances and stood, their reactions a mixture of curiosity and relief. Only Hephaestus remained seated, staring at the ground.
‘Brother Hephaestus?’ Boreas said, walking over to stand in front of the Techmarine. He saw that his hands were cut and bruised, and there were stark weals across his chest and shoulders. There was a haunted look in his eye as he raised his gaze to the Interrogator-Chaplain. Boreas offered his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, the Techmarine grasped it firmly and pulled himself to his feet, a faint smile playing on his lips.
‘Nestor was correct,’ Boreas said, turning to address them all. ‘Now is not the time to judge, or for recriminations. Now, more than ever, we must be united. They want to divide us, to pit us against each other and ourselves. We shall not let them conquer us, we are stronger than they.’
Zaul hurried forward and clapped a hand onto Boreas’s left shoulder, still grinning.
‘We were vexed by your absence, Brother-Chaplain,’ Zaul said, his grin replaced by a look of consternation. ‘We were lost without your guidance, your words of wisdom.’
‘We debated much over what to do,’ explained Damas. ‘We were unsure of the best course of action.’
‘As was I,’ admitted Boreas, clasping Zaul’s shoulder in return. ‘I wandered a lonely path, but the Lion guided me back.’
‘What are your orders?’ asked Nestor. ‘I think it is paramount that we return to the citadel as soon as we arrive at Piscina IV.’
‘I agree,’ Boreas replied, stepping back, his fists balling at his side. ‘We must confirm what we have learnt. The Fallen have played a deadly game with us until now, and this may yet be another falsehood set to confound us.’
‘And if it is not?’ asked Thumiel. ‘What then?’
‘If we can, we prevent them from succeeding,’ Boreas answered quickly. ‘If we are too late, then we mourn the loss.’
‘And what of the Fallen?’ Damas inquired.
‘We shall seek justice and exact punishment, as we have done for ten thousand years,’ Boreas replied.
They stood there for a moment, this one thought joining them together. Boreas stepped up to Damas and plucked at his robe with his finger.
‘You are out of your armour, brother-sergeant,’ Boreas said with a slight smile. ‘As are you all. I do not remember announcing the crusade accomplished.’
‘As you will it, Brother Boreas,’ Zaul replied. ‘We shall arm ourselves for the continuing fight. But I suggest that while we do so, you eat heartily and refresh yourself. I smelt you before I saw you, and your face is as thin as an eldar’s. Your search for guidance must have taken you far.’
‘It was a long path,’ Boreas agreed with a nod. ‘A long and dangerous path, but one I shall not need to tread again.’
As the Thunderhawk streaked down through the upper atmosphere of Piscina IV, the comm was filled with a cacophony of transmissions. For the last two days the Blade of Caliban had attempted to make contact with the planet’s surface or the orbiting station, but there had been no reply. Boreas’s fears had increased with the continuing silence, fearing that it betrayed the extinction of life on the world, that the Fallen had activated the annihilus and wiped out everything he had sworn to protect. Now, as the Space Marines headed towards their fortress, every frequency, every transmission medium, was bursting with almost meaningless chatter, and disturbing as it was, Boreas felt relief that there was still life on the planet below.
All attempts to make contact with the surface still failed, and the Interrogator-Chaplain could not yet decide what course of action to take. As much as he tried, Hephaestus could do nothing to filter out the messages that overlaid each other, and only scattered fragments barked from the audio unit in garbled bursts.
‘…casualties at thirty-five per cent…’
‘…sporadic fire continuing, falling back…’
‘…desert us not in the hour of need, turn to the great benevolent…’
‘…west wing in ruins, fires spreading, tenders dry…’
‘…ay of the Emperor’s judgement is upon us, for the sinf…’
‘…evacuation stalled…’
‘…abandoned us. I can’t believe they abandoned us. I can’t believe…’
‘…o response to hails. It’s as if they…’
‘…Emperor protect us, there’s bodies everywhere. It’s like a slaughter house in…’
‘…why did they do this? It doesn’t make any…’
‘…casualties now at forty per cent, further advance possible…’
Boreas flicked off the comm in frustration and stared out over the blunt nose of the gunship. Thick white cloud spread out beneath them, but ahead a darker patch was spreading, polluting the sky. For a few seconds, as the Thunderhawk passed through the cloud layer, the Interrogator-Chaplain could see nothing but whiteness. Then, as the gunship broke out of the underside, he caught his first sight of Kadillus Harbour.
More than a dozen columns of smoke rose into the air from across the city, and even at this altitude, he could see massive fires raging around the docks and the starport. Turning his gaze to his left he saw more evidence of trouble, explosions blooming on the volcano’s slopes close to Barrak Mine at the north end of Koth Ridge.
‘Head straight for the outpost, we can land in the Kandal Park,’ he told Boreas, unable to tear his gaze from the scene of devastation below them.
As the Thunderhawk swooped lower over the city, Boreas could make out more evidence of heavy fighting. The ruined shells of buildings and smouldering ruins of hab-blocks sat alongside tracts of rubble, demolished factories and a mess of twisted girders and cranes.
‘What could have happened?’ Hephaestus asked. ‘It is as if the city is tearing itself apart.’
‘I think it is,’ Boreas replied, pointing at the streets below. They were filled with people, tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of them thronging the roads, setting fires, looting and fighting. They saw clusters of Imperial Guard, firing indiscriminately into the crowds. Even more disturbing, tanks rolled down the roadways, blasting at buildings and citizens with equal fury, their heavy bolters blazing, a swathe of crushed bodies left in their wake. He saw Guardsmen fighting Guardsmen, battling across rooftops, fighting street-to-street.
People on the ground began to notice the gunship overhead as it slowed and circled to land. Some threw their arms in the air, obviously pleading to the Space Marines. Bullets whined nearby as others started shooting, and lasbolts deflected ineffectually off the Thunderhawk’s heavy armour.
‘I can’t land!’ Hephaestus said. ‘There is no clear zone.’
Boreas looked ahead and saw that the open park was full of people. The carefully cultured trees and hedges, the only life inside the city that was not in the Imperial commander’s gardens, were trampled and burnt. The lawns and rock gardens were covered with people, and many bodies.
‘Just land!’ ordered Boreas, unhitching his harness and stepping into the crew compartment. Hephaestus glanced at the Chaplain’s retreating back, shook his head and then directed his attention back to the controls.
The Thunderhawk descended on pillars of blue fire. The crowds tried to scatter, but the press of the bodies meant that many were caught in the downwash of the jets, reduced to ashes instantly. The gunship settled heavily into the soft earth, crushing the charred corpses of those caught below, its metallic feet sinking a metre into the soil. The assault ramp swung down and Boreas stood at its head, bolt pistol in hand. People began to surge towards him and he fired into the air. Some stopped, others threw themselves to the ground, many turned and tried to flee, their screams filling the air.
A woman with a tangled mass of hair, her red woollen dress stained with soot, sprinted up the ramp, a carving knife in her hands. She threw herself at Boreas, the blade buckling on the armour of his breastplate. He shoved her aside, toppling her off the ramp onto the scorched earth.
‘Cease this madness!’ he bellowed, but the terrified and frenzied mob paid him no heed, stampeding forwards and backwards, trampling over those who fell, their cries of fear and pain drowned out by the shouting and shrieking.
‘We must break through, use minimal force,’ he said, stepping down the ramp. ‘We can devise a strategy once we have ascertained whether the keep is still intact.’ The others followed, looking left and right in disbelief as they descended. As the last of them stepped out, the ramp closed behind him with a loud grinding.
Boreas battered his way through the press of bodies, shoving men and women aside to get through. He grabbed an old man by the throat and hurled him away as he tried to prise Boreas’s bolt pistol from its scabbard. Others scrabbled at his knife, or battered at his chest and legs, and he drove them away with bone-crunching sweeps of his hand. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the others were making equally slow progress, the crowd surging in behind him as he ploughed forwards.
As he waded through the human morass, Boreas began to listen to their shouts. They were cursing the Dark Angels, calling them traitors and murderers. They begged the Emperor to bring his vengeance down on the Space Marines, accusing them of oath-breaking. A sick feeling grew inside Boreas as he guessed what had occurred.
The Fallen were here, or had been. The citizens of Piscina, the Imperial Guard, the security officers would have thought them loyal Space Marines. They knew little of the Horus Heresy, even less of the continuing fight against the Traitor Legions, and nothing of the treachery of the Lutherites. Boreas dared not think what atrocities they had committed, but whatever they were, it had turned the world against the Dark Angels.
‘We must get through to the outpost, whatever the cost,’ he told the squad, smashing his gauntleted fist into the chest of a thin, bearded man who swung at him with a metal bar.
Boreas drove forward with greater ferocity, crashing through the mob and scattering them left and right. He reached the high metal fence that surrounded the park, subconsciously noting the mangled bodies that lay along its length, those who had been crushed to death by the press of people. Without pausing, he tore two of the railings clear, and then two more, and again, until he had opened a hole wide enough to clamber through. The street beyond was quiet, the high buildings stretching up either side deserted.
Turning left, he broke into a run, pounding along the street in the direction of the keep. As his anger rose, his speed increased, until he was hurtling at full sprint along the road. Turning a corner, he ran into the wide, rockcrete killing ground surrounding the outpost. Scores of Guardsmen were there, fighting with citizens and each other. The blazing wrecks of two personnel carriers cast a bloody hue over the scene. Boreas slowed to a halt. Looking out over the mass of brawling people, he spied another troop transport, flying the banner of Colonel Brade. The flare of las-fire illuminated the grim scene as the carrier’s multi-laser opened fire, the energy bolts scything through Guardsmen and maddened citizens alike.
‘Clear a path. Fire to wound if possible, kill if necessary,’ the Chaplain ordered, pulling free his bolt pistol.
He fired ahead as he advanced, shooting low, the bolts fracturing thighbones, ripping through hips and shattering kneecaps, until a corridor had opened up in front of him leading towards Brade. The small turret on the APC turned in his direction, and for a moment it looked as if it was going to fire at him. Then the barrels tilted downwards before another blaze of shots tore through the hellish battle, clearing an open route for him. Boreas ran forward, the other Dark Angels close behind, and stopped next to the transport. He banged on the hull and a moment later the hatch opened and Colonel Brade stuck his head out.
‘Thank the Emperor you have returned, Lord Boreas,’ the colonel gasped, clambering out awkwardly. He stared for a moment at the Space Marines as if it was the first time he had seen them properly. It was then that Boreas realised it probably was, at least with their present appearance. Their armour was bone white, decorated with red, green and black heraldry, and festooned with purity seals that fluttered in the wind. Dents, bullet holes, las-scorches and pieces of embedded shrapnel still scarred their armour, despite Hephaestus’s best repairs in the time he had been allowed. Damas’s armour was covered head-to-toe in the neat script of the Opus Victorium, and the side of Boreas’s own skull helm was covered in a bare metal plate where it had been punctured.
‘Tell me everything,’ Boreas demanded, turning so that he could keep a careful watch on the fighting. The battle started to move away as the Guardsmen protecting the colonel forced their way to the north with fusillades of las-fire, driving the armed mob away from the keep. Bullets and las-shots still occasionally whined overhead and the air was filled with the clamour of shouting, firing and intermittent explosions.
‘I hardly know where to start–’ Brade said with a shake of his head, glancing cautiously around.
‘Tell me about the Space Marines,’ Boreas prompted, directing Thumiel and Damas to cover the other side of the vehicle with a flick of his hand. He heard the bark of their bolters now and then as they fired at rebels who had broken through the cordon of Imperial Guard.
‘How did you know–?’ Brade asked.
‘That is not important,’ Boreas waved away the colonel’s question. ‘You must tell me about the other Space Marines.’
‘No one is sure when they arrived, they certainly weren’t seen getting off any ship or shuttle that landed,’ the colonel began. ‘I simply heard from the commander’s enforcers that Space Marines had returned to the keep and I thought nothing more of it, assuming it was you and the others. Then the orks attacked again, in such numbers I haven’t seen since the invasion. They overran Vartoth in an afternoon, and we threw up a line to hold them from coming further south. They broke through early evening yesterday and now we’re desperately trying to hold on to Barrak.’
‘I saw the fighting,’ Boreas said. ‘Where are the Space Marines now?’
‘I don’t know,’ Brade replied with a shrug. He flinched as a shell detonated against the wall of a nearby building. ‘I tried to contact you at the keep, but there was no reply, so I sent a delegation to ask for an audience. That’s when they came out. I only have scattered reports, I’m not sure what happened next.’
‘Tell me what you know,’ Boreas urged him. ‘Every detail could be important.’
‘Well, the first group to emerge just ignored the messengers,’ Brade said, his brow creased in a frown of concentration. He looked about ready to collapse, his face haggard, his eyes heavy and dark. ‘There were three, maybe four of them. They were definitely Space Marines. Their armour was the same as yours, the Chapter symbol, the badges. My officers tried to speak to their leader, but they were shoved aside, and they dared not persevere for risk of offence.’
‘How did they know who their leader was?’ Boreas asked.
‘He was dressed differently,’ the colonel explained. ‘He wore long robes like a coat over his armour, and carried two bolt pistols in low slung holsters.’
‘A sword in a scabbard. Did he carry a long sword in an ornate scabbard?’ demanded Boreas, feeling an unfamiliar chill of foreboding.
‘Yes, yes, I think the survivor mentioned that,’ Brade answered, nodding slightly. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Only of him,’ Boreas replied. ‘It is not your concern, continue. You said survivor?’
‘Er, yes,’ Brade said, visibly shaken. ‘The first group headed south, towards the docks, and disappeared. I don’t know where they went. My men didn’t know what to do. They contacted me by comm to ask for orders, and that’s when the others came out. They opened fire immediately, I heard Lieutenant Thene screaming over the comm, and bolter fire. One of the officers, Lieutenant Straven, ran immediately. He was the only one who got away, the others were cut down where they stood.’
‘And then?’ Boreas prompted Brade, who had lapsed into deep thought.
‘Then they started the massacre,’ the colonel said with a grimace. ‘They advanced into the city, killing anyone in their path, destroying ground cars, tossing grenades into buildings. It was carnage. We didn’t know what to do, and by the time a platoon arrived, they were nowhere to be found. But it was too late by then. Panic began to spread, the word got out that the Dark Angels had turned on us. I didn’t believe it, but then everything descended into anarchy. There were riots everywhere, half my own men joined in, under the pretence of hunting the Space Marines down. After that, it just got worse and worse.’
‘And the situation now?’ Boreas asked.
‘You saw for yourself, I’m sure,’ Brade said bitterly. ‘The entire city is in revolt, but the Imperial commander is safe, we have tanks stationed at all the roads leading to the palaces. Northport is in ruins, no ship can leave or land, and the docks are little more than rubble.’
‘I must attend to urgent matters at the keep,’ Boreas said. Motioning the squad to follow, Boreas began to march towards the gatehouse of the keep. He had only taken a few paces when he turned back to look at Brade.
‘Thank you for trusting in us,’ Boreas said.
‘I had to keep my trust in you,’ the colonel replied, leaning back against the armoured carrier. ‘I had to believe that you had not betrayed us. The alternative is too terrible to contemplate.’
‘Yes it is, colonel,’ Boreas agreed quietly. ‘Hold the perimeter here for as long as you can, I shall contact you again shortly.’
The main gate into the citadel was sealed shut. Pressing the entry combination, the door slid aside and the Space Marines entered, weapons ready. As they stepped inside, the door hissed back into position behind them.
Three bodies lay in pools of blood in the entrance hall, the red-robed gatekeepers whose duty it had been to receive delegations from the Imperial commander. Examining them, Nestor pointed at the deep knife wounds across their chests and throats. The unarmed men had been butchered, probably as they had welcomed their unexpected visitors.
As they progressed, they found more evidence of cold-blooded murder. Attendants, scribes and logisticians lay at or near their work stations, also brutally slashed and stabbed. Working their way up the tower, they found bodies on the stairs and in the hallways. With trepidation, Boreas followed Damas into the aspirants’ chambers.
The veteran sergeant gave a howl of anguish and ran forward. The bodies of the youths were draped across their cots, sprawled on the floor and slumped against the walls. Damas checked each in turn, and when he got to the last he shook his head slowly.
‘Their necks have been snapped,’ he stated flatly, the corpses reflected in the red lenses of his helmet. He lifted up the hands of the boy at his feet, the youth called Varsin. His knuckles were bloodied and broken. ‘They tried to fight, as I taught them. It would have been futile.’
‘They died bravely,’ said Zaul. ‘They died fighting for the Emperor.’
‘No!’ Damas snarled. ‘There was no bravery here, just desperation! Pointless, senseless slaughter. This served no purpose. None of this killing did. They were defenceless, all of them.’
There was a point, but Boreas chose not to share it with his distraught brethren. It was the final insult, the final challenge to the might of the Dark Angels. It was a statement of intent, as clear to Boreas as if it were written in blood on the walls – the Dark Angels had no future.
‘We must check the vault,’ Nestor said suddenly.
‘The annihilus is obviously not active,’ Hephaestus pointed out. ‘If it were, there would be nothing left alive on the island.’
‘They may have tampered with it,’ the Apothecary insisted.
‘Very well,’ Boreas agreed. ‘Nestor and Hephaestus with me. Zaul, Thumiel, check the upper storeys and the roof. Damas, go to the vehicle bay and ready the Rhino for combat.’
As he walked down the stairs, Boreas felt drained and empty. The Fallen had done more than simply kill the servants of the Chapter. By attacking here, in the Dark Angels’ own outpost, they had driven a blade into the heart of the Chapter.
They passed signs of sporadic fighting as they travelled through the keep: bullet holes in the wall, a ragged corpse draped down the stairwell, trails of dried blood on the floor.
When they entered the vaults, stepping over the bodies of three serfs who had tried to defend the entrance, Nestor carried on past the operations chamber, deeper into the tunnels. Ahead, an armoured door hung open, twisted off its heavy hinges, the locking bolts ripped aside. Nestor dashed forward into the small chamber beyond. A few moments later he reappeared, and leant heavily against the wall.
‘They have taken it,’ moaned the Apothecary.
‘Taken what?’ demanded Boreas. He knew of the Apothecary’s storage crypt and assumed it contained rare or possibly volatile medical supplies.
‘The gene-seed, they have taken the sacred gene-seed,’ Nestor replied, his voice a hoarse whisper.
‘Gene-seed?’ Boreas was confused. Then the realisation struck him and his anger welled up. ‘More secrets! More lies and half-truths!’
‘It was for the security of the Chapter, Boreas,’ Nestor said, hanging his head. ‘It would be folly for all of our gene-seed to be carried in the Tower of Angels. What if the unthinkable happened? What if the Rock were lost? Destroyed in the warp, perhaps? After we survived the loss of Caliban the Lion wanted to ensure the Chapter would always endure. It was decided that some of the gene-seed would be sent to distant outposts, hidden away, its location known to only a select few.’
‘What do you know about Caliban?’ demanded Boreas. ‘What else have you kept from me?’
‘Boreas, Brother-Chaplain…’ Nestor’s voice was tainted with a harsh laugh, edged with insanity. ‘I am six hundred and seventeen years old, did you really think that after all this time I would not be a member of the Inner Circle? That’s why a veteran like myself is here, on this forsaken outpost. To protect the future, to guard the gene-seed.’
The words of Astelan sprang into Boreas’s mind: There was a darkness within Lion El’Jonson. A darkness you all carry within you. It surrounds you, yet you are blind to its presence. Intrigue, secrets, lies and mystery. They shrouded the Dark Angels Chapter, a veil of darkness they had woven around outsiders and themselves.
‘We must recover the gene-seed at all costs,’ Nestor insisted, having recovered from the shock, walking between Boreas and Hephaestus. The Techmarine was standing rigidly still, stunned by the turn of events. As Nestor pushed past, he seemed to snap out of it.
‘First we must check the annihilus is intact,’ the Techmarine said, looking at Boreas.
‘Where?’ the Interrogator-Chaplain asked.
‘The main control chamber, I can access it from there,’ Hephaestus replied, following Nestor down the dimly lit tunnel.
Entering the control chamber, Hephaestus crossed to the central platform and activated one of the central interfaces. Around him, screens flickered into life, bathing the room in an erratic green glow, and the needles of gauges monitoring the keep’s power systems wavered in their glasses. On one screen to Boreas’s left, the Chaplain saw a view of the courtyard outside, and watched as rebels surged forwards against the line of Imperial Guard, some mercilessly cut down by volleys of fire, others battering their way through with fists and rocks. Tearing his attention away, Boreas watched as Hephaestus’s fingers danced over a runepad.
‘Hurry! Every moment wasted takes the Fallen and the gene-seed further out of out reach,’ Nestor snapped from just outside the doorway.
Meaningless numerals, letters and symbols scrolled up the screen as Hephaestus worked. The screen then went blank for a few seconds before an empty white box appeared at its centre.
‘Authority cipher,’ explained the Techmarine as he entered a sequence of runes. The screen went blank again for a few more seconds before a message appeared.
+CIPHER ACCEPTED – ANNIHILUS VIRAL FAILSAFE ACTIVATED+
‘Something is wrong,’ the Techmarine warned, stabbing at keys without response.
‘What’s happening? Tell me what this means!’ demanded Boreas, staring at the words on the display.
Hephaestus ignored the Chaplain as he continued to desperately punch in security protocols and override commands. Stepping back, he smashed his fist into the screen, sending shards of glass spinning through the air.
‘Hephaestus, tell me what’s happening!’ Boreas yelled, dragging the Techmarine around to face him.
‘One last trick,’ muttered Hephaestus. He looked back at the shattered screen and then at Boreas. ‘They broke into the core machine spirit and gave it new commands. As soon as I accessed the annihilus, it was primed to activate.’
‘Can’t you stop it?’ asked Nestor, taking a pace into the room.
‘No, it’s impossible, there’s no delay,’ Hephaestus told them. ‘Activation is immediate. The annihilus was always intended to be a last resort. Why take the risk of it being deactivated during a countdown?’
‘You mean the virus is spreading even now?’ asked Boreas, looking around him as if he might see the deadly toxin flooding the air.
‘Yes,’ the Techmarine answered, slumping against the console. ‘We failed.’
‘What happens next?’ Nestor asked. ‘What type of virus is it?’
‘Omniphagic,’ replied Hephaestus heavily. ‘It will devour all living matter. It can be airborne or waterborne, and will pass by contact. Kadillus Harbour will be infected within two hours of release, the island within half a day. After that it depends on wind strength and the currents, but the virus will wipe out every living creature, destroy every organic cell on the planet, within five days. As it spreads it grows more virulent, in a cyclical effect that will strip the planet bare. Even bones will be destroyed. Were it not for our armour and helmets, we would already be dead. We have failed.’
‘Not wholly,’ Nestor said, causing Boreas and Hephaestus to look up sharply. Hope flared within the Interrogator-Chaplain. ‘We can still retrieve the gene-seed.’
‘Zaul, Damas, Thumiel, assemble in the entrance chamber!’ commanded Boreas, striding off the control dais. The other two fell in behind him. As he walked, he explained the situation to those who had not been present.
‘Why would they do such a thing?’ Zaul asked over the comm-net. ‘What is the point?’
‘I cannot say for sure, but I think it is a message,’ Boreas told them. ‘They want our brethren to know what happened here, but for what twisted reason I cannot fathom.’
‘Why risk us not activating it?’ Hephaestus wondered. ‘To tie the activation in with the override seems a foolish thing to do.’
‘The prisoner Boreas questioned in their base spoke of dissent,’ Nestor recalled. ‘Perhaps some of them did not agree, perhaps they were only after the gene-seed. The others might not have had the opportunity to properly set the annihilus and so had to resort to deception.’
‘Or they just wanted to ensure they were clear of the planet before the virus was released,’ suggested Damas. ‘It would seem likely for such a cowardly act.’
‘It matters not,’ growled Boreas. ‘When we take them, they shall tell us everything! I will personally see to that.’
Damas was the last to arrive in the entrance chamber, and fell in beside Boreas, who stood facing the sealed door.
‘We must get back to the Thunderhawk. Kill if necessary,’ the Chaplain told his squad. ‘The Fallen will not escape us; I will hunt them under every rock and across every kilometre of space. For what they have done today, I will inflict pain upon them never before envisaged. I will make them live for a year and a day in agony as justice for their crimes.’
He took a step towards the door, and then stopped suddenly.
‘Brother-chaplain?’ Nestor inquired. ‘Is there something wrong.’
‘Hephaestus, tell me, where is the virus stored?’ Boreas asked, turning to the Techmarine.
‘In the lowest vault,’ he answered. ‘Of what relevance is that?’
‘The first aim of the virus is to cleanse the keep of intruders, correct?’ Boreas continued his chain of thought.
‘Yes, the virus is released internally first, before spreading to the rest of the city,’ Hephaestus confirmed.
‘And how does it spread?’ Boreas asked.
‘Simple, if the keep has been breached or has been taken, there will be any number of ways for it to pass into the…’ Hephaestus’s voice trailed off as he followed Boreas’s gaze towards the armoured entry portal. ‘There has been no attack, no breach…’
‘The tower is completely sealed,’ Boreas said, looking at each of the others. ‘As protection from gas or viral attack from outside, the keep is airtight. Until we break that seal, the virus is confined to the interior.’
‘But as soon as we leave, the seal is broken,’ said Nestor. ‘I do not understand.’
‘We will not be leaving,’ Damas explained slowly.
‘But the Fallen, the gene-seed–’ Nestor protested bitterly. ‘Piscina is already doomed. Although the circumstances of its activation may have been unorthodox, the virus bomb’s purpose remains the same. Kadillus is in the grip of revolt, and the orks are attacking in overwhelming numbers. The planet is already lost. We shall simply be hastening its demise. The virus will cleanse the world as it was supposed to, denying it to the enemies of the Emperor.’
‘No,’ Boreas answered flatly.
‘No?’ roared Nestor. ‘You would abandon the hope of our Chapter’s future for a world already in flames, on the brink of destruction? You would sacrifice that for a dying world?’
‘A world we swore to protect,’ Boreas reminded him. ‘A sacred oath to lay down our lives and guard it by whatever means necessary.’
‘Piscina is lost!’ declared the Apothecary. ‘If the rebellion does not destroy this world, the orks will overrun it! There is nothing left to save, Boreas!’
‘We are not leaving,’ Boreas said stubbornly, recalling his arguments with Astelan. ‘We live to serve the Emperor and mankind, not the Dark Angels.’
‘This is heresy,’ Nestor barked. ‘Are you renouncing your oaths of allegiance?’
‘No, I am remembering them,’ Boreas snapped. ‘We swore to protect Piscina, and that is what we will do. It matters not if the price is our lives, or even the sacred gene-seed; this duty overrides all others.’
‘I cannot let you do this,’ Nestor said, taking a step towards the door. ‘My duty, my oath, was to protect that gene-seed.’
Boreas grabbed the plasma pistol from Hephaestus’s belt and thumbed the activation switch. It began to hum and vibrate in his grip as it charged up.
‘You will not open that door, Brother-Apothecary,’ warned Boreas, pointing the pistol at Nestor’s head.
‘What treachery is this?’ Nestor’s voice, even distorted through his suit, dripped with scorn. ‘You would kill your own brethren rather than continue the great quest of our Chapter? You, a Chaplain, guardian of our traditions and guide to our souls, would rather kill me than atone for a sin ten thousand years old? I think not.’
Nestor took three more steps and reached towards the portal runepad. Boreas pulled the trigger and a ball of superheated plasma smashed into the Apothecary, exploding on impact. His headless torso, the stump of his neck cauterised and smoking, pitched forward and slumped against the gate.
‘None of us are leaving,’ Boreas said, handing the pistol back to Hephaestus.
‘You do realise that if we do not leave, we will die here,’ the Techmarine told them. ‘The virus can stay active for up to seventy days once released. That is over twenty days longer than the environmental systems in our armour can sustain us.’
‘I will obey your command, Brother-Chaplain,’ Zaul said. ‘If it is to die here, then so be it.’
‘You are to achieve orbit of Piscina V, and guard against any intrusion.’ Boreas stood in the control room, at the comms station, instructing Sen Naziel. ‘Nothing is to land, nothing. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Lord Boreas,’ the ship’s officer replied.
‘I will shortly transmit a coded message,’ Boreas continued. ‘When the Tower of Angels arrives, it is to be passed on to Grand Master-Chaplain Sapphon. No blame will be attached to you or the crew for the events and our actions of these last weeks. I commend you for your dedication to the Chapter, and your perseverance in the pursuit of your duties.’
‘And when will you be joining us again?’ Naziel asked. Boreas paused, unsure what to say.
‘We will not be joining you,’ he said eventually. ‘These are my final commands. The Grand Masters will inform you of your future.’
‘I don’t understand, my lord.’ The confusion was evident in Neziel’s voice.
‘You do not have to understand, merely obey your orders, Sen,’ Boreas told him. ‘Honour the Chapter. Venerate the Emperor. Praise the Lion.’
‘Praise the Lion,’ Naziel echoed and Boreas switched off the link. Turning his attention to the data log, he activated the recorder.
‘This is Interrogator-Chaplain Boreas of the Emperor’s Dark Angels Chapter,’ he began. ‘This is my final communication from Piscina, as commander of the Dark Angels in the system. Our ancient foes have struck a blow against our Chapter. The reviled enemy has wounded us severely. We are entangled in a plot that goes beyond our comprehension. The events I am about to relate stretch beyond this world, beyond the furthest reaches of this star system. Great and dark powers are at work, I see their hand manipulating us, bending us to their twisted goals.’
He stopped, choosing his next words carefully.
‘For ten thousand years we have sought redemption. We have pursued that which shamed our brethren when our time of triumph was at hand. It was a grave, unforgivable sin, which must be atoned for. That is beyond doubt. But these last days, an even greater sin has come to light. It is the sin of ignorance. It is the sin of past errors repeated.
‘I ask myself what it means to be one of the Dark Angels. Is it to hunt the Fallen, chasing shadows through the dark places of the galaxy? Is it to pursue our quest at any expense, foregoing all other oaths and duties? Is it to lie, to hide and to plot so that others will never know of our shame? Is it to keep our own brethren unacquainted with the truth of our past, the legacy we all share in? Or is it to be a Space Marine? Is it to follow the path laid down by the Emperor and Lion El’Jonson at the founding of this great Imperium of Man? To protect mankind, to purge the alien, cleanse the unclean?
‘We must act as a shining brand in the night, to lead the way for others to follow. We are the warriors of the Emperor, guardians of mankind. Roboute Guilliman called us bright stars in the firmament of battle, untouched by self-aggrandisement. Yet we, the Dark Angels, commit the supreme sin. We put ourselves before our duty. We have buried our traditions, masked our real history in legend and mysticism to confound others. We are not bright stars, we are an empty blackness, a passing shadow that serves nothing but its own purpose.’
He stopped again, feeling weary, and leant against the panel. He knew they would not listen, that in fact they could not listen, for he spoke against everything that made the Dark Angels what they are.
‘Included in this log is a complete account of the disaster that has befallen Piscina and us. For this, I take sole responsibility. Our enemies know us too well. We have become an anathema to ourselves, as this plot of the Fallen demonstrates. Everything that has transpired has led us to this place and time, and there is nothing left but to do what we must. Ten thousand years ago, our soul was split. We tell ourselves that the two halves of us are the light and the dark. I have learnt a bitter lesson, that it is not true. It is a comforting lie, which keeps us safe from doubt, so that we do not ask the questions whose answers we fear. There is no light and dark, only the shades of twilight in between.
‘If once there was a chance for us to redeem ourselves, it passed away ten thousand years ago. For a hundred centuries it has driven us, and consumed us at the same time. Not while one Fallen stays alive can we know peace within ourselves. But what then? What does it mean to be Dark Angels without the Fallen? We have come to define ourselves by them. Take them away and we are left without purpose. We have strayed far from the path, and it is my fervent prayer that you, the Grand Masters of the Chapter, the wisest of us, can find the true course again. If not, then there will never be salvation, and all that we aspire to will come to nothing, all that we have achieved will be in vain. I beseech you not to allow this to happen. We are to make the ultimate sacrifice for the people of Piscina, and to safeguard our future. Do not make the deaths of my brethren be for nothing.’
Boreas switched off the log and walked away. As he reached the doorway, he stopped, another thought occurring to him, and walked back and reactivated the recorder.
‘I have one more message to pass on. Walk that dark road down through the rooms of the interrogators, past the catacombs into the deepest chambers. Go to that solitary cell at the heart of the Rock and tell him this: You were not wrong.’
They gathered in the chapel, their robes draped over their armour. Along one wall lay the bodies of the forty-two attendants and fourteen aspirants, each covered with a white shroud embroidered with the Chapter symbol. At the end, his shroud inverted, lay Nestor. The Dark Angels knelt in a single line in front of the altar, Zaul and Hephaestus to Boreas’s left, Thumiel and Damas to his right. They each clasped a melta-bomb to their chests and bowed their heads. Boreas held the detonator, his thumb over the trigger stud. They had been unanimous – better to end the ordeal quickly, lest desperation set in as they starved to death and asphyxiated, and they showed weakness. This way was clean and instant.
‘What is it that gives us purpose?’ Boreas chanted.
‘War,’ the others replied.
‘What is it that gives war purpose?’
‘To vanquish the foes of the Emperor.’
‘Who are the foes of the Emperor?’
‘The heretic, the alien and the mutant.’
‘What is it to be an enemy of the Emperor?’
‘It is to be damned.’
‘What is the instrument of the Emperor’s damnation?’
‘We, the Space Marines, the angels of death.’
‘What is it to be a Space Marine?’
‘It is to be pure, to be strong, to show no pity, nor mercy, nor remorse.’
‘What is it to be pure?’
‘To never know fear, to never waver in the fight.’
‘What is it to be strong?’
‘To fight on when others flee; to stand and die in the knowledge that death brings ultimate reward.’
‘What is the ultimate reward?’
‘To serve the Emperor.’
‘Who do we serve?’
‘We serve the Emperor and the Lion, and through them we serve mankind.’
‘What is it to be Dark Angels?’
‘It is to be the first, the honoured, the sons of the Lion.’
‘Praise the Lion,’ Boreas said, pressing the stud.