The Death of Integrity Read online

  ‘Who will you choose to lead the mission, lord?’ asked Clastrin in his twin voices.

  Galt did not say. There was only man who should, even if to attempt this mission might mean his death, one man who had fought against xenos the length and breadth of the segmentum, including five successful hulk purgings.

  Veteran-Sergeant Voldo.

  Chapter 5

  Mission the First

  Galt stood by the window of his sparsely furnished state room. He had removed his armour, and wore the robes of his order. He toyed idly with his pendant. The room’s window lay on the starboard side, opposite to the side facing the hulk and sun. He stared out through his own reflection at a starscape he had come to know very well from every angle over his long lifetime. He knew the ways it changed from place to place in the Ultima Segmentum. The stars always seemed so strong to him out in space, burning with eternal, unwavering light away from the occluding impurities of atmosphere, as if the cosmos were a thing of such cleanliness light could travel unimpeded to its every corner. Experience told him that this was not so, that the pure rays of the stars shone upon uncountable horrors, things that would snuff the life of all of mankind out given but half a chance. The universe was far from kind, no matter the beauty of the stellar light.

  How long ago was it, he thought, before he had been accepted into the halls of the dead, and shown a universe he could not have imagined? Time and many wars separated the adept from the boy he had been, a boy who had believed that the stars were the eyes of the Emperor’s judges, constantly measuring a man by the tally of deeds written upon his skin, choosing the most noble of them to present to the Sky-Emperor himself upon their death.

  He knew differently now, but part of him still believed. He and the others marked their skins for the Emperor even after they had learned the truth of the stars’ nature. They still expected to be judged by their markings by the Emperor. Just as much as he knew that the Emperor had been a man, a man whose legacy he carried within his altered body, still the Lord of Man was also a god to Galt. He could never distance himself entirely from that belief, and his visits to the Shadow Novum only hardened them. The bonds between the Novamarines and their brothers in Ultramar weakened as all things will weaken over time, as the Novamarines stepped steadily further down the road of veneration.

  He supposed it was no different for the Blood Drinkers; that they too wandered their own path, further and further away from the habits of their primogenitor Chapter. He had no experience of the Blood Angels, and so could not compare their ways.

  ‘Can not a thing contain two natures?’ he muttered to himself. He rubbed at his new tattoo. He hoped it would please the Emperor, on that day he finally saw him for the reckoning of his own deeds, and that he would be judged worthy to join the legions of dead heroes he gathered for the final days. He had a feeling that what occurred here, in orbit around Jorso, would have great bearing on that acceptance.

  He considered again using the fleet astropaths to ask Chapter Master Hydariko for his guidance, but decided against it. The captains of the Novamarines operated alone much of the time, and were expected to use their own discretion. That went doubly so for him, captain of the First Company, and heir-apparent to the Chapter mastership of all the Novamarines. Why he had been so elevated, he did not know. He deserved his captaincy; he was sure of his abilities, but to become Chapter Master? He had too many doubts, he was unsure of too much.

  The watch chime tolled for evening contemplation, but he would meditate later. Galt had other business. Punctually, a knock sounded upon the door.

  ‘Enter!’ called Galt.

  The door slid back and Major-domo Polanczek stepped in. He bowed deeply. ‘Lord First Captain, Lord Veteran-Sergeant Voldo is here to see you.’

  ‘Thank you. Show him in.’

  Polanczek bowed once more and departed. A moment later Voldo came into the room. He wore the sash over his robes Galt had seen in the Shadow Novum. A chill gripped his spine, and he had to force himself to remain composed.

  ‘Veteran Brother-Sergeant Voldo,’ Galt said. He stepped forward and grasped his old mentor’s forearm.

  ‘Mantillio, how are you?’

  ‘I thought all eyes were on me,’ said Galt. ‘Do you not know?’

  ‘Eyes are upon you as they should be upon the one who leads us, as lord captain. But I meant, how are you? How is the man, Mantillio Galt?’

  ‘Captain and Galt… They are one and the same man, brother.’

  Voldo scratched an old scar on his head, one that cut through an abstract image of an alien warrior dying under Voldo’s chainsword. ‘There is always room for yourself, even for the likes of us. If we cease to think for ourselves, we lose our usefulness as tools of the Emperor’s will.’

  Galt shook his head. ‘If you avoid the rank of captain, perhaps.’

  ‘Precisely why I did so,’ said Voldo with a grin.

  ‘Please, sit.’

  Voldo and Galt took seats at the room’s only table. The few pieces of furniture within were fine antiques, a selection from Ultramar and Honourum. Galt took a glass stopper from a thin-necked decanter on the table and poured a yellow wine from it into two small glasses.

  Voldo picked his up, and swirled it round. ‘Carain. A long time since I tasted this.’

  ‘I have only the one flask remaining,’ said Galt. ‘Nearly gone now.’

  ‘Has it been so long?’

  ‘Six years since we last trod the halls of Fortress Novum,’ said Galt. He held up his glass, they rang them together and drank. The sweet taste of heather and clean, moorland water washed over his taste buds. The alcohol in the drink was rendered ineffective by his gifts, but the drink served a finer purpose than intoxication. Galt permitted his mind to slip back home to Honourum, borne upon the drink’s flavour, the chemical signatures he detected brought the memories of the plants that made it to his mind, adding to the richness of his own recollections.

  They sat a moment, savouring the drink and the memory of home and the oath of protection it represented. Galt said nothing to Voldo about his visitation in the Shadow Novum.

  Voldo broke the silence.

  ‘Why did you wish to see me, lord captain?’

  ‘You of all people need never refer to me as such, brother,’ said Galt. ‘We are brothers first and foremost.’

  Voldo shrugged and turned the empty glass around in his hand. ‘We talk the business of the Chapter now. ‘Respect is the foundation of victory’.’

  ‘So said Guilliman in the Codex Astartes.’

  ‘Yes. Holy writ.’ He laughed softly. ‘Although I doubt Guilliman intended us to worship his words, I pay heed to them, and I give you your due respect as lord captain.’

  ‘If anyone deserves respect in this room, brother, it is not I but you.’

  ‘You are not a neophyte any more, you cannot speak so. You are my lord and I am glad for it. I saw potential greatness in you as a boy and I see greatness realised in you now as a captain. I follow your lead gladly, as any master will when his pupil’s talent is fulfilled for all to see.’

  Voldo was old, one of the oldest of all Novamarines, not a millimetre of his skin was uncovered by ink. He was a riot of colour with it, images abstract and realistic, icons, badges, and scripts. Of all men, his soul was the most armoured against the dark, protected by the images that covered his skin. The grey stubble of his hair and the light hair of his arms showed starkly against his ink. Honour badges and citations of every kind adorned him – earrings, service studs, pendants, and badges sewn upon his robes. Engraved silver rings circled six of ten fingers, mementoes of his many secondments to the Deathwatch, as was his sash, embroidered with six Inquisitorial campaign badges. Voldo was highly respected, a living hero, but had always refused promotion. He could have – should have – been captain many times over. Galt had decided some time ago to change this situation should he ever become Chapter Master. He was astounded Hydariko had allowed Voldo to remain a sergeant.

&
nbsp; He suppressed a shiver as cold as the wind of Honourum as he remembered Odon’s words. ‘Death is soon to come for the brother whose phantom so shows itself.’ He debated with himself whether he would be doing the right thing sending him into battle. But who was he to defy the will of the Emperor?

  ‘Tell me what you know of the sons of Sanguinius.’

  ‘Of these Blood Drinkers, lord? Little. They have had precious rare contact with our Chapter, as you have doubtlessly discovered in the Librarium.’

  Galt nodded. ‘They are elegant, and speak well.’

  ‘Pretty princes,’ said Voldo disparagingly, ‘if they are like others of their lineage; obsessed with form and art. I do not know them, but I know their kind. They neglect their true vocation: war, and the contemplation of war. Our way is better.’

  ‘Are you sure of this? They seem eager for the fight.’

  Voldo raised his eyebrows, ‘Oh, I did not say that they were not eager for battle, far from it. A thirst for combat and a deeper understanding of the art of war are not the same thing, lord captain.’

  ‘Tell me, why does their Chief Apothecary hold such an exalted rank? Caedis introduced him as one of his chief advisors. And his title – Sanguinary Master? I have never heard of such. Their markings and ways all speak of close adherence to the Codex Astartes, but this exaltation of an Apothecary is unusual.’

  ‘Aye, lord. That it is.’ Voldo set his glass down on the table. ‘I will tell you this. I have never fought with the Blood Drinkers, nor with the ten thousand-times honoured Blood Angels, but I have made war alongside others of Sanguinius’s sons. Here, ninety-six years ago, on my third secondment to the Deathwatch.’ He tapped an engraved ring on his left forefinger. ‘I was part of a kill-team led by Lord Inquisitor Holm on expedition to the world of No Glory. Damned Dovarr had overrun the place. They were alert to our presence and proved to be beyond our means, and so Holm brought out his seal and demanded aid.’ He shook his head. ‘Our kill-team fought alongside the Knights of Blood. And they too had their Apothecaries fight at the forefront, and their captains paid much attention to their counsel.’

  ‘Were they bold warriors?’

  ‘Yes lord, bold – bold beyond measure. You speak of eagerness, and well were they eager, but too eager. Granted, they were effective,’ said Voldo. ‘I saw them storm a Dovarr fortress, from above and by ground assault, but they were incautious, throwing themselves forward at the enemy when the Codex would have advised staying back, heedless of the risk and paying no mind to the subtleties of greater strategy. They prevailed, although I expected them to perish, and the cost to them in fallen brothers was not one we of the Novamarines nor the Primarch Guilliman himself would have found acceptable. I will tell you, lord,’ Voldo hunkered over the table, the fine glass tiny by his massive hand. ‘I have never seen such savagery before or since. When the enemy were all dead, I thought they would turn on us, such was their fury. Our kill-team stood, weapons raised, thinking the unthinkable was to occur, until Holm himself stepped in and ordered them back. For a moment I thought they would disobey and that I would have no choice but to kill a brother Space Marine, but their Apothecaries and Chaplains restored some order to them, and they departed No Glory without apology before the campaign concluded. Be careful, lord captain. They say the sons of Sanguinius are noble of appearance and manner, but that something dark hides inside them all.’

  Galt thought on Caedis’s behaviour. ‘Their lord, he seems conflicted. His desire to bombard the hulk was considered, yet it was plain to me also that he wanted to blood his weapon.’

  ‘That is my point, lord captain. I mean no slander, they say those of Sanguinius’s lineage are amongst the most loyal of the Emperor’s servants, and his most accomplished warriors, but still, be wary.’

  ‘Very well, I thank you for your guidance, Veteran Brother-Sergeant Voldo. You remain my teacher in all things.’

  ‘You are welcome to my advice, Lord Captain Galt, and have but to ask to receive it, although the burden of command is yours alone. Whether or not you follow my advice is a matter for your judgement and conscience.’

  ‘There is one more thing I wish to discuss with you.’

  ‘And that is, my lord?’

  Galt hesitated. He saw Voldo as he had seen him in his vision of the Shadow Novum, beyond the affairs of the living. He tried to keep his voice steady, not to let tremors of worry for his teacher unseat his authority. Self-doubt is ever the overthrow of reason, Guilliman had written.

  ‘A small matter of a mission, veteran-sergeant. To the hulk. It shall be your honour to be first aboard. You have fought within many space hulks, and you more than any officer here have experience of fighting alongside brothers of other Chapters. I can think of no one more suited to this task. Success is required; many eyes watch us. The honour of the Novamarines is at stake. You will have but a limited time to succeed, your action must be coordinated with those of the Adepts of Mars upon the surface, and with no means of communication between your men and the hulk’s interior, you will be forced to operate with haste to ensure the mark is hit.’

  Voldo smiled. ‘A grave responsibility, lord captain, but one I gladly accept. I will see us victorious, you may have no doubt of that.’

  They spent some time examining mapping data and plotting a route for Voldo’s force, debating the advantages and disadvantages conferred by varying squad weaponry, the role the Blood Drinkers would fulfil, and how best to protect Magos Nuministon should the worst occur. It was good talk, battle talk, and the detail of it occupied Galt’s mind and drove away his misgivings.

  And yet, when they were done and Voldo strode out of his chambers to gather his men, Galt still wondered if he had done the right thing.

  The star Jorso blazed at the Space Marines upon the hulk, its angry light unfettered by atmosphere or shielding. The radiation it emitted was enough alone to kill a man, and Voldo was glad of his Terminator armour, and the protection its sensorium offered his own eyes.

  Sparks sprayed into space, silent shining rain, as Veteran Brother Gallio carved at the hulk’s surface. Voldo felt the action of Gallio’s chainfist through feet mag-locked to the skin of the ancient ship they sought to access, some bulky Imperial merchantman of uncertain age. There was no noise in the vacuum. Clastrin, almost as bulky as the Terminators in his full servo-harness, knelt by the veteran brother, plasma torches burning on the end of two of his additional mechanical arms, cutting four metres away from Gallio. Slowly, the pair of them were sketching a hole in fire of sufficient size to allow themselves access to the inner hull, where they would cut a doorway large enough to accommodate the massively armoured brothers.

  Voldo watched their transport lift off and retreat to a safe distance, weaving a path through the clouds of debris sent up by the earlier bombardment. Static hissed through his helmet vox. The remainder of Squad Wisdom of Lucretius stood about Voldo and Gallio in a defensive pattern – Veteran Brothers Militor and Eskerio, and Veteran Brother Astomar with his heavy flamer under his right forearm. The Blood Drinkers Squad Hesperion stood close by, lightning claws gleaming. They wore Mark-IIIc suits, more recent than his own squad’s armours, although the youngest was doubtless a thousand years old. Tuilles hung from their belts, protecting their thighs, the adamantium reinforcement ribbing was slighter, while their sensorium augur units, mounted upon the top-left front of their suit cowls, were larger and more complex than those of Voldo’s brothers. He read their nameplates again: Genthis, Curzon, Tarael, Azmael and their leader, Alanius. Between the two squads were Nuministon and his two servitors, clad in thin, transparent vacuum suits. They carried a device somewhat like a large urn. A foot on a piston descending from a cylindrical component topped with access ports, a screen and a keypad; the seismic probe that would gather the vibrational data needed to form an accurate map of the hulk.

  Nuministon wore armour of reticulated plates fitted to his machine body. It was made of a metal that could not decide if it were gold in colour or c
old, metallic green and shimmered between the two. His armour incorporated powerful machine legs, and was topped by a pig-snouted helmet adorned with numerous emerald sensor eyes. The insectile look of it was bizarre, not something fit to clad a man. Voldo looked away from it, his eyes offended. He swept his gaze across the unnatural landscape of the hulk, helmet tactical overlays picking out points of strategic interest and peril.

  The Death of Integrity was the biggest space hulk Voldo had seen, big enough to ape a moon in feature and form. The surface stretched away tens of kilometres, ships’ prows raised in baroque mountain ranges, buckled hull skins waterless valleys edged with knives. It was a topography forged of ruin. The shadows cast by Jorso’s strong light were hard, night-blue, confusing the pseudo-landscape further, and with the nearness of the hulk’s horizon made the scale of the hulk difficult to judge. Still, some parts of the Death of Integrity were recognisable as the craft they had once been, and this gave Voldo some reference by which to gauge distance. Close by, the flank of an Imperial light freighter canted at a drunken angle, nose buried in the agglomeration, cargo pods torn, whatever they had contained long gone. Other components of the hulk were beyond comprehension, strange vessels made by alien hands, or rotting things that looked grown, not built. Many were so battered and crushed as to be unidentifiable, reduced to tangled superstructure or plaited rucks of metal. The exteriors of those that retained their shape were scarred with long exposure to space and the warp. Patches of paint and colour were a rarity. Massive rents split the surface of the hulk, leading down into a fuliginous dark so complete as to be tangible. Rock there was aplenty, stray asteroids pulled in by the hulk’s weak gravity and impacted into the surface. Dirty ice hid in nooks, and hoarfrost coated every surface not exposed to the sun, the legacy of ruptured water tanks, aquatic shipboard environments, and hydrogen-oxygen mass reaction drives.

  Not far distant was the evidence of the earlier bombardment; massive craters, droplets of frozen metal sprayed around them in elaborate patterns. Somewhere beyond that, three other groups would be working their way within the hulk, placing explosive devices just under the surface to generate tremors via sequenced explosions. It was these detonations that would be recorded by the seismic probe, and their timing that necessitated his own party’s haste.