The Death of Integrity Read online

  His throat was dry and hot as desert sand, a horrible clutching sensation crawled from his groin to his scalp, his every hair writhed at the root as if it would be free.

  ‘By the blood of the loyal servants of the Emperor are the stars kept pure.’ Mazrael quoted Guilliman’s Codex, by which they lived their lives. Guilliman did not mean by that passage what the Blood Drinkers took it to mean. The unbalanced mind ever seeks justification for its actions.

  Caedis staggered over to his work bench, knocking the pane of glass he had dropped from the table onto the floor where it shattered into a score of pieces. Clumsy hands scattered his neatly arrayed materials and tools. He hit upon what he was seeking, and lifted it.

  The soldering torch.

  He ignited the flame, let it run until the devil’s open mouth glowed. Gritting his teeth, he shut off the flame and pushed the red hot metal into his muscular forearm. He stifled a cry as pain ripped through him.

  Pain that could not stem the rivers of blood that flowed through his mind.

  Chapter 8

  Trapped

  Debris swirled. A particulate fog made up of flakes of corrosion, chunks of metal, spent bolt casings and genestealer remains that scrambled Voldo’s sensorium.

  ‘Sound off!’ he called.

  One by one, the Novamarines called in, giving verbal updates to supplement the sensorium’s data. Astomar’s leg was pinned, the others were unaffected by the quake. Of Alanius’s squad, Curzon was trapped, unconscious but alive, within the crushed tunnel leading from the suiting room. Tarael was isolated on the far side of the blockage. Voldo caught part of the conversation between Tarael and Alanius as he checked the status of his own men. The Blood Drinker brother stated he was unharmed.

  ‘Forgemaster, how fares the tech-priest?’

  ‘I am well, lord sergeant, and will answer for myself.’ The tech-priest pushed himself gingerly from the wall where he had landed, bionic legs searching for the hard contact of the floor.

  ‘I will see to the men, brother-sergeant,’ said Clastrin. ‘Their wargear needs be checked. I fear a long journey ahead of us.’ He went to Genthis first.

  ‘Aye,’ said Voldo. ‘Eskerio!’ he shouted. The hulk continued to emit worrying sounds. Creaking and rumbles sounded periodically, these accompanied by shudders running through the fabric of the agglomeration. The staccato racket of Gallio’s chainfist added to the noise of the hulk’s complaints as he cut Astomar’s leg free.

  Eskerio projected a map into Voldo’s helmet.

  ‘I have scanned the surroundings as best I can, brother-sergeant. The way back, as far as I can ascertain, is free bar this obstruction.’ He gestured to the blocked tunnel. ‘The Emperor closes one way, and presents us with another.’

  ‘Can we cut our way out?’

  Gallio’s chainfist whined to a halt. He pulled Astomar free from the wreckage and surveyed the closed way. ‘How deep is it, Brother Eskerio?’

  ‘Fifteen point five metres.’

  ‘Density?’

  ‘This corridor and the ones above and below it have compacted into one, brother.’

  ‘Then it can be done, but it will take time.’

  ‘We have no time, brothers,’ said Azmael. Voldo flicked his eyes to the map the Blood Drinker’s auspex projected. Amid the visual noise of free-floating debris, bright blips flashed red, converging on the tunnel end.

  ‘Contacts,’ said Voldo.

  ‘It is hard to be sure, but it is a possibility, cousin-sergeant,’ said Azmael. His breath was laboured. It was costing him to keep his concentration on his device. ‘They move too smoothly to be anything other than organisms.’

  ‘Brother Tarael! You have multiple contacts converging on your position,’ said Alanius. ‘Retreat immediately! You will have to make your own way back, brother. Find Cousin Militor, return to the fleet, and tell of what has occurred here.’

  Tarael’s reply was hard to make out. ‘Affirmative, brother-sergeant. May the wings of Sanguinius shield you.’

  ‘Emperor protect,’ said Voldo. ‘Go with speed, cousin.’

  Tarael’s icon moved away then, as quickly as Terminator armour would allow. Before long he had reached the edge of the auspex’s range, and the blood drop and chalice denoting him slid out of view.

  ‘He should get clear,’ said Eskerio, tracking the movements of the genestealers, ‘if there are no new blockages on his route.’

  ‘The question is, adepts, what should we do?’ said Nuministon. ‘It is our predicament that requires the more urgent attention.’

  Alanius strode over to the tech-priest, claws pointing. ‘If it were not for you, then our circumstances might be somewhat better, magos. I advise you to be careful in all that you say.’ His claws came to within centimetres of the magos’s face.

  ‘An interesting attitude,’ said Nuministon.

  ‘Brother-sergeant, please,’ said Voldo. ‘If we fall upon one another, we are surely lost.’

  Alanius growled, for a moment Voldo thought he would gut the tech-priest there and then, but his gauntlet fell, and he let out a ragged breath.

  ‘You are correct.’

  ‘All is not lost, oh warriors of the Adeptus Astartes,’ said Nuministon. ‘I have the data from the device. If you give me but a moment, I should be able to process it within my own intelligence cores and supply it to you. With the Omnissiah’s bounty to hand, then we might find an alternate route from this place.’

  ‘Very well. Brother Eskerio, Brother Azmael, make use of what he can give you. Forgemaster Clastrin, I require your wisdom, if you please.’

  Clastrin finished inspecting the armour of Astomar. He flicked an access panel closed with a manipulator on his servo-harness, and joined the sergeants.

  ‘Forgemaster, let we three talk in private,’ said Voldo. Clastrin nodded, and Alanius joined them in closed vox communication. ‘What is the status of our brethren?’

  ‘The harness of the Novamarines is all intact, brother-sergeant,’ said Clastrin. ‘We are low on ammunition. Brother Astomar has but one flask of promethium remaining.’

  ‘Five shots,’ said Alanius. ‘Unfortunate.’ He hefted his own claws. ‘These are weapons whose ammunition will never run dry.’

  ‘That is so,’ said Clastrin. ‘But for your Blood Drinkers, I have greater concerns. Brother Azmael is experiencing stiffness between the adjoining surfaces of his inner right pauldron and gardbrace. Not a serious malfunction, but it will restrict his right shoulder’s movement, and I cannot effect a repair here. To dismantle the assembly will take an hour or more, and the debris presents a problem; should any become lodged between the two plates, it will sicken his armour further. The repair should be undertaken in a clean and sanctified environment, and proper appeasement offered to his armour’s spirit lest the malfunction worsen.’

  ‘What of Brother Genthis?’ asked Alanius, glancing at his damaged Terminator armour.

  ‘That is an issue of greater consequence,’ said Clastrin. ‘The claws of the xenos bit deep. His sealant capsules have closed the rent fully, but fluctuations in his power plant output lead me to suspect his primary sternum power conduit to be damaged. On the face of it, it seems a small malfunction, but the spirit of his suit cannot feed properly, and with time it will bleed energy beyond tolerance.’

  ‘The armour will seize up?’ asked Voldo.

  ‘It will. Already his power plant labours hot to cover the shortfall this discharge creates, and his heatsinks struggle to compensate for the plant’s increased activity. In addition, the sealant has stopped all movement between his plastron and placard, while his left tuille has been torn free.’

  ‘Can he still fight?’ asked Alanius.

  Clastrin shook his head. ‘It would be imprudent, brother-sergeant. His combat effectiveness is greatly compromised. I will pray for his wargear’s swift healing, but there is little of material benefit I can do here. We must look to the spirit of his equipment until the armour can be brought to your forge or min
e and returned to full operational effectiveness.’

  ‘That leaves Brother Blood Drinker Curzon,’ said Voldo.

  ‘As far as I am able to tell, his armour is undamaged. Should the genestealers bypass him, you will be able to retrieve him later.’

  ‘That is a poor lot for a warrior,’ grumbled Alanius.

  ‘He will live to fight another day,’ said Clastrin in his twin voices. ‘That is something; everything.’

  ‘Can the same be said for Brother Genthis?’ said Voldo.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Clastrin. ‘He is still mobile. His power plant should function for several hours yet. There is every chance he will be extracted with us. He is aware of his limitations. His sensorium diagnostics have alerted him, and I took the liberty of explaining further that which was beyond his immediate comprehension. I have disabled certain of his sensorium’s feedback devices, lest the pain suffered by his harness overwhelm him.’

  ‘Fear not for Brother Genthis,’ said Alanius. ‘He is reckoned brave amongst the brave. He will prevail.’

  ‘Very well. All that remains then is for us to find our way free of this, and we may yet all return to the fleet,’ said Voldo.

  ‘Wait, brother,’ Clastrin stopped Voldo before he re-engaged his sensorium with that of the others. ‘The magos. He is hiding something.’

  ‘We were wrong to trust him,’ snarled Alanius. His battle frenzy had not yet fully receded.

  ‘Perhaps, perhaps not,’ said Clastrin. ‘But he did hold information from us regarding the true functioning of his device. The machine was calibrated to map the upper portions of the quadrants agreed by our leaders, but there is more to it than that. The machine is not only a passive receiver, but a seismic emitter in its own right.’

  ‘The foot?’ said Voldo.

  ‘The foot,’ said Clastrin. ‘He maintains the affair to be a misunderstanding, that the foot sent a reply signal to data gatherers on the surface as he explained. This is almost certainly true.’

  ‘I do not understand,’ said Alanius. ‘Surely that is a worthwhile endeavour. Why did they not tell us of it? We could have adapted our approach accordingly.’

  ‘Because I believe its pounding had another purpose,’ said Clastrin. ‘It allowed a sounding deep into the hulk. I saw the data displayed for an instant before Nuministon shut off the device.’

  ‘I can only think they do not wish to share the data appertaining to the heart of the hulk,’ said Voldo.

  ‘That suggests the Mechanicus have an inkling what lies at the core. But what? And why will they not share their opinion?’

  ‘I suspect an archeotech hoard, brother Voldo,’ said Clastrin. ‘Plosk did say he had been hunting this hulk for many years. Why this one? There must be some reason to his pursuit of it. When a valuable prize presents itself, the priests of Mars will do their utmost to keep its discovery to themselves. When they retrieve the archeotech, they will tell us as little of its nature as possible.’

  ‘You are well placed to know, Forgemaster,’ said Alanius.

  ‘Indeed. I am inducted into the lesser of their mysteries,’ said Clastrin plainly. ‘I doubt anything sinister on the part of my colleagues in steel and flesh, but the writ of the High Lord has made them arrogant. It is likely they see us as little more than means to their ends. They are not sharing all they know, and that will make our work here harder.’

  ‘At least we know now why Plosk was so insistent Nuministon accompany us,’ said Voldo. ‘We must return, and appraise Lord Caedis and Captain Galt of this. Cousin Alanius, I urge you, now is not the time to confront the tech-priest.’

  Alanius glanced into the machine room, where Nuministon, Eskerio and Azmael stood by the tech-priest’s device.

  ‘I agree. I will stay my tongue and my hand, but if I have a sense of real treachery, it will go ill for him.’

  Voldo broke the private conversation, and re-engaged his vox and sensorium with the rest of the party.

  ‘Brother Eskerio, tell us what you have learned from the magos.’

  A crisp, fresh map came up on Voldo’s internal helmet display. The map rotated, and zoomed out, providing a clear view of their surroundings. A red line snaked through three vessels to the surface, indicating an escape route.

  ‘With the data provided by Magos Nuministon,’ said Eskerio. ‘Brother Azmael and I have been able to refine our alternative route out of the hulk.’

  ‘This information is worth our minor sacrifices so far, do you not agree?’ said the magos. There was a hint of smugness to his grinding voice.

  ‘The loss of but one battle-brother is a grave one,’ retorted Alanius.

  ‘Your Curzon is not lost, and will be freed. And thanks to this information, the battle against the genestealers will be immeasurably easier,’ said the magos.

  Voldo looked to the Blood Drinkers sergeant, unsure as to how he would respond to this needling.

  ‘You are correct in that,’ Alanius said, and spoke no more.

  Voldo inspected the route. Blinking green areas suggested genestealer concentrations, purple vortices two of the many reactors still burning within the hulk.

  ‘The map is relatively certain, brother-sergeant,’ said Eskerio. ‘Although the disposition of the genestealers, sleeping and active, is little better than guesswork married to what the deep augurs of the Excommentum Incursus spied. This void here, for example–’ A cavern blinked, the crushed hold of a mighty vessel, highlighted in bright yellow, ‘–is prime territory for a nesting ground.’

  ‘We must go through it,’ said Voldo.

  ‘There is no way around. We must also pass close to this reactor.’ A purple whorl pulsed. ‘Radiation levels will be high, but our suits will weather it with little trouble.’

  ‘And cave-ins? This data was taken before the last quake. What are your opinions on the passability of the route?’ said Alanius.

  ‘Good,’ said Eskerio. ‘Brother Azmael and I have selected the most stable path. It should be free of obstruction, in the main. Emperor willing and fortune behind us.’

  Voldo span the map around. The route was sound, Eskerio had plotted his path through as many entire vessels as he could. With luck, the grav plating of the vessels would be active, and they would be on their way swiftly. ‘If it is not, then it is the will of the Emperor also,’ he said.

  There was a distant bang, followed by a scraping from the far side of the collapsed tunnel. Alanius turned around, his suit light glimmering from globules of blood. Under the hulk’s microgravity, the mess in the air was gradually clearing, drawn toward the centre of the agglomeration’s mass, which was confusingly at a slight angle to the lay of the ship’s floor.

  ‘Let us be on our way,’ Alanius said. ‘We can gain nothing by tarrying here.’

  Galt stared out of the bridge windows of Novum in Honourum at the moon-sized hulk orbiting Jorso, spines and rocks and broken ships’ prows at the edges catching the harsh light of the sun.

  ‘No news, lord captain,’ said a communications serf. ‘We are attempting to lock on to the party’s teleport homers, but we cannot find them. The star is loud in its disapproval of us.’

  ‘Keep trying,’ said Galt. ‘They have been too long.’

  ‘They have,’ said Mastrik. ‘Brother-captain, allow me to go down to the surface, penetrate the hulk and search for them.’

  ‘No,’ said Galt. ‘The hulk is vast, and the enemy many. We must conserve our veterans and Terminator armour for the main assault.’ He tapped at his chin. ‘But there is merit in what you say. Brother-Captain Mastrik, assemble two squads, prepare a Thunderhawk each. Do not have them land, but maintain safe distance outside the debris field. I want them close by the surface and ready to help our brothers the moment word is received.’

  ‘I will call on squads Righteous War and Vermillion, and lead them myself, brother-captain.’ Mastrik turned to go, beckoning to the three Third Company Space Marines who were present on the bridge to follow him.

  ‘Perhaps they
were trapped by that quake,’ said Persimmon. He checked his instruments. ‘It was a strong one.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Galt.

  ‘If anyone can find a way out, brother-captain, Voldo can.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Galt addressed the Blood Drinkers Captain Sorael and Veteran Brother Metrion, who were present on the bridge. ‘Cousins, I suggest you advise Lord Caedis of the mission status.’

  Sorael bowed. ‘He will agree with your judgement, lord captain Novamarine, although he will be grateful of our update. I will return to Lux Rubrum and speak with him in person.’

  The Blood Drinker captain drew Metrion to one side, where they conversed quietly.

  ‘Brother-Sergeant Voldo lives, brother-captain,’ said Epistolary Ranial to Galt. ‘I have not sensed his death.’

  Galt glanced at Ranial, and gave a grateful nod.

  Chapter 9

  The Way Out

  Voldo watched as Gallio tore back the last of the hull plate. Clastrin, behind him in the cramped corridor, tugged the sheet of metal away and cut it in two with his plasma torch. Clastrin stuffed the two pieces into a side room, and their way was open to the next vessel.

  The silence, now the chainfist had ceased, was sudden and total. It was a risk, employing Gallio’s cutting tool. Clastrin’s plasma torches were far quieter, but the chainfist was far faster, and time was of the essence. The group was in single file, the corridor too restrictive to permit them to stand side by side; it was a bad place to be caught in a fight.

  The auspex remained free of contacts.

  They had made good time from the machine room, heading for the side of the vessel. They had come across a section where all seemed intact, a great difference to the remainder of the ship, although all systems remained non-functional. Mapping hulks was so difficult because of the great variety of condition not only between the constituents of an agglomeration, but also within each individual vessel. In parts a ship might be whole, then the next section crushed flat or impaled upon the protrusions of another vessel.