Legends of the dark ange.., p.10
Legends Of The Dark Angels, page 10
‘I am content,’ Nestor replied. ‘I have served the Emperor and the Lion for six centuries, and perhaps if I am fortunate I may serve him yet for two more. But I have done my duty. I have bathed in the white-hot fires of battle and created new generations of Dark Angels. The things I once strived to prove to myself and my brothers I have now done, and all that remains is to pass on what I know and retain the pride and dignity of our Chapter. If fate and the Supreme Grand Master see fit for me to end my days on Piscina IV, I shall not be the one to argue against it.’
‘You are surely too experienced to be given such a mundane duty though,’ said Boreas, crossing his arms tightly. ‘With such experience as you have, do you not think your time would be better spent in the Tower of Angels teaching those who will follow after you? Acting as nursemaid to a Chaplain with a broken eye is hardly worthy of your talents.’
‘Are you trying to provoke me, Brother-Chaplain?’ Nestor said harshly. ‘I follow the will of the Emperor and I say again that I am content. Piscina is a recruiting system, not just some watch post or augury. It is because of my skill and experience that I can judge those who might come after. I am entrusted in more ways than you can know with the Chapter’s future.’
‘I did not seek to belittle what you do here, my words were perhaps ill-judged and for that I apologise,’ Boreas hastily replied, uncrossing his arms and taking a step towards Nestor. The Apothecary smiled and nodded in acceptance of Boreas’s apology. With a last glance, Boreas turned away and walked towards the door.
‘Brother-chaplain,’ Nestor called after him, and he stopped and turned. ‘Are you not forgetting something?’
‘I can recite the three hundred verses of the Caliban Chronicles, I do not forget things,’ Boreas pointed out.
‘Then you don’t want the elixir for soothing your face?’ Nestor said.
‘Bring it to me at this evening’s meal,’ Boreas replied with a smile.
Boreas continued down the stairwell to the next level in search of the other senior member of his squad. He paused at the landing and gazed out of the thick glass of the narrow window, collecting his thoughts. Thick smog obscured most of the view, so that the towers and factories in the distance were only vague silhouettes. A bird fluttered past close by, before disappearing into the brownish-grey clouds. As he watched it fade into the distance, he realised that the conversations with Hephaestus and Nestor had shown him that he needed to spend more time with the others, rather than dwell on his own misgivings. That they thought he somehow doubted them, that he was subtly testing them, proved to him that they had become unaccustomed to his company. Turning away from the window, he continued down the stairs to the first storey.
Here were the quarters for the aspirants, and Boreas knew he would find Veteran Sergeant Damas in the gymnasium with them, continuing the rigorous physical training they started as soon as they were brought to the keep. Although Boreas was in command of the outpost, the aspirants were Damas’s responsibility. Having attained the rank of veteran sergeant, he had been moved to the Tenth Company as part of the recruiting force. Like the others on Piscina, Damas had received honours for his conduct during the ork invasion. He, along with his Scout squad and the now legendary Sergeant Naaman, had infiltrated the ork lines and, after gathering vital intelligence on the enemy, destroyed one of the relays the aliens had been using to power their massive orbital teleporter. It had been a huge setback to the ork advance, and though Damas was seriously wounded whilst the infiltrators retreated, he had held off the ork counter-attack long enough for his squad to get away.
Damas was amongst the fourteen youths under his tutelage. Nearly half as tall again as his charges, even without his armour, he was a giant even by the standards of the Space Marines. When Boreas entered, the aspirants were seated in a circle around the veteran sergeant. Boreas listened in for a moment, standing in the shadow of the doorway.
‘Your first weapon is your body,’ Damas was telling his attentive audience. ‘Even before you are given bones and muscles like mine, I can teach you how to break a man’s neck with a single blow. I can show you how to crush his internal organs with your fists, disable him with your fingers and cripple him with your elbows and knees.’
He bent down and placed his plate-sized hand on the head of one of the youths.
‘With the strength given to me by the Apothecaries and my faith, I can pulp your brain in a second,’ he told the boy, who laughed nervously, eliciting more laughter from the others. ‘More than that, I can withstand any attack you might make on me.’
Damas instructed the youths to stand up, and pointed at one of them, telling him to hit him as hard as possible. Hesitantly, the boy approached.
‘I will not strike back,’ Damas assured the boy. ‘But if you hesitate to follow my orders again, I will have you thrashed.’
Chastened, the boy charged with a shrill yell and flung his fist at Damas’s abdomen. The blow would have merely winded an ordinary man, by Boreas’s reckoning, and it failed to even rock Damas on his heels. The boy gave a squeal and clutched his bruised knuckles. Boreas chuckled, along with the aspirants. The only vital part of a Space Marine not protected by his black carapace was his head. Hearts, lungs, stomach, chest, all were impervious to any unarmed blow from even the strongest assailant.
Hearing the Chaplain’s mirth, Damas looked over. Following their instructor’s gaze, the aspirants caught sight of Boreas and fell instantly into a solemn silence, their heads bowed. Boreas walked in, and clapped a hand to the back of the lad who had attacked Damas, nearly knocking him from his feet.
‘A brave attempt,’ Boreas said, helping the boy to steady himself. He recognised him as Beyus, one of the two hopefuls he had brought in just before the battle at Vartoth. He had evidently recovered from his crippling shock. In just the few days that had passed since his arrival, the boy was already changed. His head was shaved bald, and all the puppy fat was gone from his strong torso. The boy stood straighter, and his gaze was fiercer than before. Damas was doing a good job.
‘Run!’ barked Damas, clapping his hands twice, and with no further words the boys began to jog around the wall of the gymnasium, which stretched across the whole floor of the tower. Their pounding bare feet on the wooden boards masked the two Space Marines’ conversation.
‘I see things are proceeding well,’ Boreas started, looking at the running youths.
‘They are a good selection. The last two in particular show a lot of potential,’ agreed Damas with a nod. Then his look darkened slightly. ‘But only fourteen this season? The Tower of Angels will be here in less than half a year, and they will be expecting thirty recruits for second-stage testing.’
‘Would you rather we fell short of our quota, than passed on boys who will fail within minutes?’ asked Boreas. ‘If the quality is not there, it is not there.’
‘You know what I am talking about,’ Damas insisted. ‘I cannot understand your reluctance.’
‘You are referring to the eastern tribes?’ Boreas replied. ‘You think we should take our recruits from those savages?’
‘They are all savages,’ countered Damas with a shrug. ‘I see no distinction.’
‘And yet I do,’ the Chaplain replied. ‘I have told you before that they are too bloodthirsty, even for our purposes. If we still had a whole company stationed here I would exterminate them. Some of their practices are, well, bordering on the intolerable. They have stopped worshipping the Emperor, and have reverted to a barbarism I fear even we cannot strip them of with a decade of training.’
‘They remind me much of my own people of Slathe,’ Damas commented pointedly. ‘Perhaps your judgement of them is overly harsh.’
‘Perhaps your continual persistence with this matter indicates other reservations,’ suggested Boreas. ‘It has been several months now since we have spoken about anything else.’
‘I see the numbers of aspirants dwindling, and it causes me concern, that is all,’ Damas replied calmly. ‘I feel it is my duty to remind you of the options available to us. No disrespect of your position is intended, I understand that we each have our own duties and codes to which we must adhere.’
‘Perhaps it is their similarity to the tribes of Slathe that burdens you,’ Boreas said.
‘You think I perhaps yearn for my homeworld?’ asked Damas with a frown.
‘Yearn is too strong a word, I do not for a moment doubt your loyalty to the Dark Angels,’ Boreas replied. ‘It is a wise tradition that we are not posted to our homeworlds, for fear of what that might bring. Perhaps it was an error for you to be here, near a world so similar to the one you came from.’
‘I do not see it as an error,’ argued Damas. ‘My home world is now the Tower of Angels and has been for two centuries. Slathe is just one of many worlds I have sworn to protect.’
‘Then it is I who have erred,’ conceded Boreas with a gracious nod. ‘I do not wish you to think that I have any reservations about your performance. I am here as your guardian and advisor, I wish you to feel free to express any anxieties you may have.’
‘Then I am anxious that we have so few recruits, and that is all,’ Damas said quietly.
‘Very well, I shall note your recommendations in my journal, so that if we fall below our quota, no blame shall be attached to you,’ promised Boreas.
‘It is not blame that concerns me, Brother-Chaplain, it is the future strength of our Chapter,’ Damas corrected the Interrogator-Chaplain.
‘Then I shall make my entry reflect that,’ said Boreas. ‘Their numbers notwithstanding, you are happy with this batch of aspirants?’
‘All have improved their skills, and met my expectations,’ confirmed Damas, clapping his hands twice again. In a rush of feet, the aspirants gathered around the two Space Marines, attentive to their instructor.
‘I shall leave you to your pupils,’ said Boreas, and turned to leave. As he walked out of the door, he heard the veteran sergeant commanding his group to break into pairs for unarmed combat practice.
Boreas’s thoughts were disturbed. There was something amiss, he could feel it. On the face of it, everything was proceeding as normal, but he detected an undercurrent amongst his command. It was hard to pinpoint, but he could sense their slight reproach. Like him, they were frustrated, virtually marooned here in the Piscina system while their battle-brothers sought glorious battle hundreds, if not thousands, of light years away. Or perhaps it was only his own impotence that he was projecting on to them. The others chafed slightly perhaps at their posting, but maybe that was all. It was not entirely unexpected. Nestor, of all of them, seemed the most comfortable with their situation. But that in itself could be problematic. Had the old Apothecary resigned himself to his future? Had he lost his drive? Was he merely looking to his death now, perhaps jaded by his long service?
Before he checked on Battle-Brothers Thumiel and Zaul, the Chaplain decided he needed more time to think on this matter. He strode back up the stairwell to the very top of the tower, out onto the observation and gun platform on its roof. From here he could look out across Kadillus Harbour and up at the great volcano on the flanks of which it was built. The strengthening breeze gusted over his face and set his robe flapping, refreshing his mind. He frequently came up here when the confines of the chapel stifled his thoughts rather than letting them flow. He walked first to the south parapet, and looked down the slopes towards the sea.
Here was the industrial heart of Kadillus Harbour. Here were the massive docks where the enormous ocean-going harvesters came and went, and the high cranes and gantries that criss-crossed the bay to unload their cargoes of gas and minerals dredged from the sea floor. Factories spilt around the harbour like a stain, gouting smoke as they processed ore and smelted metals for transportation off-planet. Here were the hab-blocks, vast rockcrete structures crammed with the million-strong workforce of Kadillus Harbour. Night was closing in and soon the loud klaxons and sirens would signal the end of the day shift and the start of the night watch. When dark descended, the thousands of furnaces and smelting works would light the sky with red.
Boreas walked around the parapet and looked out eastwards. Here was the richer district, and close by the old ruins of the ancient basilica. Beyond the towering spires of the planetary nobles and the sprawling palaces of the Imperial commander, the Lady Sousan, lay Koth Ridge. It had been there that the Dark Angels and the Imperial Guard had made their stand against the orks. If that defence had failed, the two greenskin forces would have been able to unite and the planet would have surely fallen.
It was there, on that barren rocky stretch of ground, that thousands of Guardsmen and nearly one hundred Space Marines held off a seemingly endless alien horde. Boreas had not been there, for he had still been fighting in Kadillus itself. But he had heard the tales of victory and heroism with pride. The battle-brothers of the Dark Angels had fought hard and taken terrible losses, but their blood had secured victory and saved Piscina from being enslaved. Had Piscina IV fallen, then the orks would have met no resistance when they descended on Piscina V. The tribesmen would have been slaughtered or enslaved, and another world would have been lost to the Dark Angels forever.
Boreas couldn’t help but reflect bitterly on the events of the past five years. Once, an entire company had been stationed here under the command of Master Belial. Now, only he and a handful of the campaign’s veterans were left to defend the future of the Chapter. The Tower of Angels returned less and less frequently, and Boreas wondered how quickly those great deeds might be forgotten.
Continuing his circuit, Boreas looked to the north. The first thing he saw was the massive open apron of Northport, where starships landed and took off every week, bringing vital supplies and in return taking the mineral wealth of the planet away to distant systems. There was something amiss though. Concentrating, Boreas saw wisps of dark smoke snaking like tendrils from the streets that approached the starport. He could also make out the distant orange flicker of flames.
The Interrogator-Chaplain ran to the nearest gun turret and stepped inside. He flicked on the comm-unit and punched the stud for the command centre at the base of the tower. Zaul would be on duty at the moment.
‘This is Boreas. Have you received any unusual communications from the north of the city?’ asked Boreas.
‘Negative, there have been no abnormal communications today,’ Zaul replied after a moment. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Connect me through to the headquarters of Colonel Brade,’ commanded Boreas, activating the turret control systems. As the motors whirred into life, the comm crackled as Zaul fed it through the main aerial that towered from the centre of the keep. Manipulating the controls with one hand, he directed the emplaced gun to rotate towards the north, while he watched the long-range sensor screen. There on the screen, he could clearly see a number of fires blazing in the streets, the smoke filling the canyon-like roadways.
‘Lord Boreas?’ the comm spat into life.
‘Colonel Brade. I am currently observing some form of disturbance near to Northport,’ Boreas said. ‘Please explain the situation.’
‘There has been some rioting, my lord,’ Brade replied. ‘A few hundred individuals only, the Imperial commander’s security forces are attempting to contain them as we speak.’
‘Please inform whoever is in charge of the operation that I will be joining him shortly,’ Boreas said, looking at the growing blazes on the monitor.
‘I don’t think that will be necessary, my lord,’ Brade said, his voice terse. ‘I am sure the Imperial commander’s men are capable of handling the situation.’
‘I wish to observe these events personally, please inform the ground commander to expect my arrival.’ Boreas cut the link and powered down the turret. He strode quickly across the roof to the stairs and hurried down them, all the way to the first subterranean level. Jumping the last few steps, Boreas entered the fortress’s garage. Here, two slab-sided Rhino armoured carriers sat in the gloom, and three combat bikes. It was to the bikes that he went. With huge reinforced tyres, armour plating and built-in bolters, each was closer in size to a small roadcar than a motorcycle, designed for Space Marines to make rapid hit-and-run strikes inside enemy-held territory. Boreas found them useful for travelling the winding city streets of Kadillus on the few occasions when he actually left the outpost, usually to attend traditional ceremonies with the Imperial commander.
Sitting astride the machine, he thumbed the engine into life, its mechanical growl echoing around the garage. Boreas opened up a comm-link to the command chamber.
‘Monitor all local transmissions, I am heading to the Northport area to find out what is happening,’ he told Zaul.
‘I have your tracker on the oracle-screen,’ confirmed the battle-brother. The transponder built into the bike’s chassis would transmit its position every few seconds, allowing the other Space Marines to home in on its location rapidly should the rider encounter danger or fail to report on schedule.
‘Open the gate,’ ordered Boreas before gunning the engine and releasing the clutch. With a plume of blue smoke in his wake, he roared up the ramp and out into the twilight of the city.
Passing between the armoured bastions of the gatehouse, Boreas moved rapidly up through the bike’s gears until he was racing down the streets, his robes flapping in the wind. The occasional roadcars and heavy, slab-sided transporters on the road slowed to let him pass. It was at the height of the work-shift and the streets were almost deserted. Either side of him the grim buildings of Kadillus sped past, and he saw brief glimpses of the surprised faces of the few citizens on the streets. It was not often that they saw one of their mysterious, superhuman guardians, and some of the pedestrians began running along after him, shouting out blessings and praise.
