Lords of blood, p.88
Lords of Blood, page 88
‘You speak from a position of ignorance,’ said Qvo gently. ‘So much knowledge has been lost. So much that what I am going to say now, you must take on trust, because I have this knowledge and you do not.’ Qvo paused a moment to watch an enormous cannon be guided into its place on the battle-barge’s spine by a hundred tiny ships. The vibration when it locked home shook the walkway. ‘Cawl respects the experience and wisdom of the older sort of Space Marine. He has therefore devised a way to elevate your kind to the status of the new.’
Dante frowned at Qvo.
‘Turn my kind into Primaris Marines.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I take it this procedure has been undertaken before.’
‘Many times now. Marneus Calgar of the Ultramarines was the first, along with members of his honour guard. I understand some have taken to calling it the Calgar Procedure. Misleading. If it must be named for a person, then surely it should be named for Archmagos Dominus Belisarius Cawl, Prime Conduit of–’
‘Was it successful?’ Dante interrupted. ‘I would have heard of Calgar’s death, I think, even with the current difficulties.’
‘Lord Calgar survived. Only two of his guard made it through the process.’
‘Then it is not a guaranteed success.’
‘No, my lord, though we have improved the procedure greatly since then, so much that I suspect in time it will become a matter of course. We are confident that our understanding of how to upgrade existing stock Space Marines into Primaris Marines is advanced enough that we can pass the knowledge on to the apothecarions of each Chapter. They have the relevant skills and training to make it a success. That is why I am here.’
‘What of before?’
‘Either I or one of Archmagos Cawl’s other servants travelled to the Chapter in question to perform the surgery. To be frank with you, I am glad that we are ready to pass this knowledge on. I am ready for a new challenge.’
‘Then you have done it before.’
‘Many times, but I do not wish for you to be complacent. There are certain idiosyncrasies in each of the gene-lines of the Space Marines. The rootstock of the line of the Primarch Sanguinius is more divergent than most. In fact, it is the most divergent of all the remaining loyal gene-lines except that of the Space Wolves, but they’re another matter altogether. There are more extreme variations, but those are mutations, not intended. Your gene-seed is the way it is because it was designed to be so.’ He smiled. ‘The procedure is especially difficult with your type. Of course you are as hardy of body and mind as the rest, but there are delicate matters that complicate the issue, and bring the margins for success uncomfortably low–’
‘You mean the curse of my line,’ said Dante abruptly. ‘There is a further matter I would raise. It has been suggested Cawl had attempted to repair the damage done to our gene-seed by the passing ages. Let me tell you he has singularly failed.’
‘I am aware of this,’ said Qvo softly.
‘Then why should I put any faith in what you say?’
‘The archmagos’ attempts to repair the damage to your gene-seed could not be successful,’ said Qvo.
‘Because we were made this way?’
‘Your propensity for savagery was engineered into your original Legion,’ said Qvo. ‘All the flaw does is exacerbate what is already there. Cawl suspects the affliction is spiritual rather than physical, but he did think he could ameliorate the condition. This is why the Rubicon Primaris is dangerous for you to cross.’
‘You refer to this Calgar Procedure?’
‘Archmagos Dominus Belisarius Cawl calls it the Rubicon Primaris.’
‘I am not familiar with the word “rubicon” either,’ said Dante. ‘You shame me for my ignorance again.’
‘I expect few but Cawl himself know this word. It is the name of a river, a reference to an event from the most ancient of times. The dawn of human history, he told me. The Emperor reconstructed much of Terra’s ancient past during the period of the Great Crusade. These histories were lost, as so much else was after the Great Heresy War, but Cawl remembers, somehow.’ Qvo smiled to himself. ‘Somewhere in those great memory banks of his, it is all there.’ Qvo shrugged. ‘If he had but the time to remember.’
‘You digress. The Rubicon.’
‘Yes, yes. I apologise. Cawl made me with the habit of meandering. It gives more of an illusion of personality, I suppose. There was, on ancient Terra, before even the first millennium had run its course, an empire. This was the great realm of the Rumani, which ruled all the lands about the middle sea, the blue heart of the ancient world. The Rumani had an emperor, as we have an emperor – Julus Kaiseri, the most powerful man in the world. There was a river, it is said, that Kaiseri had to cross to win the empire. Crossing the river was a gamble, because once crossed he would be committed to rebellion. He would either win or he would lose – what he could not do was go back. The name of that river was the Rubicon. It became a byword for irreversible decisions for many ages, though it is forgotten by all but Belisarius Cawl.’
‘And you.’
‘I remember it now but I will no longer remember it when it is of no use to me. I am a limited creature, Lord Dante. Not truly alive. I know this information at this moment because I must in order to convince you to do what is right. The memory storage required for this anecdote will be repurposed when it has served its purpose.’
‘Then you are not a man?’ Dante reappraised his guest.
Qvo smiled apologetically. ‘Strictly speaking, I am not. Part of me was a man once, a very long time ago. Cawl tried to save that man. He could not. I am a facsimile of that man. A servitor, of sorts. I can never be regarded as human. I am an echo of something lost, like this Imperium of ours.’ He chuckled. ‘All human endeavour becomes an echo of itself, in the end. Palaces to piles of ruin, impressions in the sand to be swept away by the next strong wind.’
‘You think. You speak. You have agency. You are no servitor.’
‘The term does not fit me truly,’ agreed Qvo. ‘I am more than a servitor, less than a man.’ He sighed contentedly. ‘Enough of one to appreciate the beauty of this view, and the artifice on display, not enough to really understand it. I have no soul.’
‘There are laws in the Cult Mechanicus against such things as you, are there not?’
Qvo laughed. It was a pleasant, musical sound of amusement, and Dante felt a chill at its perfection, knowing all of it – the mirth it stemmed from, the sound, the smile that accompanied it – to be wholly artificial.
‘Of course there are, but I fall just close enough to the rules to give Archmagos Dominus Belisarius Cawl room to manoeuvre around the lore, if the need ever arises. My Lord Cawl has never played by the rules, Lord Dante, and if that gives you misgivings, I ask that you abandon them. The archmagos has saved your Chapter, and he might yet save all humanity.’
‘If I decline this knowledge?’
‘Then I shall depart,’ said Qvo. ‘I would not hold it against you. The reason Cawl calls this procedure the Rubicon Primaris is because of the risk. As with our ancient emperor, there is no return from the other side once you start across. Success brings rejuvenation, elevation to a new level of ability, and the benefits of Cawl’s improvements to the Emperor’s design. Failure results in death, always.’
‘What is the success rate?’ said Dante.
‘Sixty per cent, give or take. For your Chapter, the number is lower.’
Qvo patted Dante’s arm with a metal hand.
‘I sympathise with you, as much as I am able.’ He scrutinised the lines of Dante’s face carefully. ‘The first Space Marines were superior beings to those of the current era. Genetic deterioration has corrupted the Emperor’s work. The warriors of the Legions were functionally immortal, you know. They did not age in the same way you have. You have my pity.’
‘I require no man’s pity,’ said Dante coldly.
Qvo withdrew his hand. ‘There is more than age that troubles you.’ His eyes strayed down to Dante’s chest, as if he could see the wounds he bore. Dante took a half step back.
‘I shall leave you to consider this information. It could bring many benefits to you.’
‘It must be discussed before the Chapter Council.’
‘Ah, the fabled conjoining of the Red, the Bone and the Blood. I understand only the Chapters sharing your heritage allow their Chaplains and Apothecaries so much influence.’
‘It is a system that works well for us,’ said Dante.
‘We all do what we think right,’ said Qvo. ‘We all make the best of what we are given, blessings and curses both. I will remain for a period of two weeks, after which I will depart. There are others to whom this technology must be delivered.’
‘You came to me first?’
Qvo bowed. ‘Not quite first, but you are Commander Dante. You are one of the greatest heroes alive in this terrible time.’ He smiled again. The expression made Dante’s skin crawl. ‘Now, if I may be permitted, I wish to examine Baal’s Fury more closely.’ He paused. ‘You will become powerful. Three is a large number of battle-barges for any one Chapter.’
‘Too many for the regent of Imperium Nihilus?’
‘Perhaps I misspoke,’ said Qvo.
‘You are correct,’ said Dante. ‘I do not have enough warriors to fill two to capacity. The Blade of Vengeance is undergoing refit after crashing on Baal during the invasion,’ said Dante. ‘Once it and Baal’s Fury are out of their docks, I will donate Bloodcaller to our brother Chapter in the Blood, the Angels Numinous.’
‘That is…’ said Qvo in surprise. He glanced up at the Chapter Master. ‘That is a gift beyond measure.’
‘More than you can calculate. Bloodcaller has been with our Chapter for thousands of years, but I will give it away if it is right to do so. The Angels Numinous lost most of their fleet acting in our defence. It is not the first time they have come to our aid. I owe them a great debt that has been too long in the settling.’
‘That is no small thing, commander, to grant another Chapter such a ship. The stories I heard about you were true.’ He gave Dante a long, careful look.
‘What stories were those, magos?’
‘I am simply Qvo.’ Qvo smiled, and bowed. ‘I am no magos, commander. By your leave? There are many of my people here who wish to see me, and my time is as limited as yours.’
Dante nodded. Qvo bowed again, then walked away, humming to himself.
Dante let him go.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
GHOST SHIP
Teus stood up from the body. It was broken into several pieces and scattered across the corridor. A tangle of intestines joined parts of the torso to the separated pelvis. The legs spread back at an extreme angle, disarticulated at the hips. One of the feet was a yard away from the ankle. So it went on. His stablight picked out all the little frosted mounds of meat stuck to the floor, the walls and the ceiling.
‘Another body,’ he voxed to Arael.
‘How many is that now?’
‘One hundred and six, at my last count. Not many, even for a ship of this size. It looks like a skeleton crew. Whoever these people were and wherever they came from, they left in a hurry.’
‘The forge will be able to tell us both of those things. As soon as we have notice to them they will send a Techmarine out here to commune with the ship’s central spirit convocation.’
‘I am curious to know.’
‘Do not expect them to share what they find, unless it is deemed necessary.’
‘That does not seem fair somehow,’ said Teus. ‘We found this ship.’
‘You do as you are ordered, brother. Service is its own reward.’
Arael was Teus’ brother-mentor, assigned to guide him through his first years as a battle-brother, although in some ways Arael was as much of a stranger to the Blood Angels as Teus was. Teus might have been newly elevated, fast-tracked through apotheosis and the Tenth Company to help refill the Chapter’s depleted ranks after the invasion, but he was Baalian. Arael was not. Arael was one of Cawl’s Mars-born, from Terra itself if Teus had correctly read the hints he dropped, born a galaxy away and eight thousand years ago. The thought of such vast distances in time and space awed Teus. He was surprised at the emotion. He had thought angels were beyond such mortal feelings. He still had much to learn.
‘Do you have any contact with the command deck?’ Teus swept his bolt carbine across the corridor. The stablight attached to the side of the gun cast a brilliant circle of white on the frosty walls.
‘None. Nothing but blood and scraps of flesh. Sound off your sensor readings, and boost power to your data array.’ Arael’s vox-signal was choppy. The walls of the ship presented serious obstacles to short-range communications.
‘Negative on life signs. Negative on power emissions. I am proceeding to the enginarium.’
‘Go carefully, brother. Watch your back. Keep half your attention on your auto-senses and make sure they are tuned to the optimum input feeds. Your battleplate sees a lot better than you do.’
Teus grunted at the warning. Arael was an overly cautious warrior.
Thin air moved sluggishly as he passed down the corridor. Heat spill from his reactor curled in smoking eddies from his venting ports. There was a major breach on the tenth level, but otherwise the ship was undamaged, and its atmosphere had been retained for the most part. The ship’s power must have been down for some time. Void cold had seeped into the bones of the craft. A lot of the air had frozen out onto the surfaces, making the interior unsafe to traverse without void-sealed armour. It was also beautiful. Frost sparkled under his stablight beam, as rich as a galaxy of stars.
The ship was small, a noble’s cutter, Arael said, as not many craft of that size were warp capable. He was probably right. All of it was luxuriously appointed. Even down in the bowels of the ship where only menials would go, the surfaces were decorated with scrollwork, and the lumens were finely cast, branching affairs that arched out of the walls in miniature facsimiles of tree boughs. There were glimpses of gold and red paint, while Teus’ sensorium reported a concentration of semi-precious metals on the fitments. By eye it was hard to tell. Everything had been turned the same eerie white-grey by the frost, making it look like the ship had been coated with ground silver and diamond dust. The combination of luxury and natural glory was beyond his experiences. There had been precious little beauty in his life on Baal Secundus. Even now, after months in the fortress-monastery, beauty daunted him more than violence.
Teus had yet to decide which of the arts the Blood Angels practised suited him the most. As his light snapped across the dark ways, illuminating possible points of ambush, he idly contemplated how best he could capture the play of light. He considered painting, sculpture, tapestry and silverwork. None seemed right. Perhaps it was not possible, and any attempt to recreate the display would look trite. He would ask the senior brothers when he returned.
None of this distracted him from his mission. His officers taught him to see beauty where he could, to preserve his hope so he could pass it on to others, and to distract himself from the road to the Thirst. None of it could be allowed to interfere with his first duty as a warrior.
His boots thumped onto the deck, their maglocks holding him fast with every step. The corridor opened up and the ceiling climbed, sprouting a fan of pipes that turned inwards to run parallel with each other. The way split in three, two smaller corridors curving towards the outer hull, out around the massive block of the reactor housing.
‘Enginarium ahead,’ he voxed.
‘Go carefully. I am returning to the shuttle to begin our report. Meet me there as soon as you have swept the area.’
A large gate sealed the way. Depressing the button had no effect, so Teus set his bolt carbine aside and took out a power driver from his belt to unscrew the door panel. When its innards were exposed he pulled out an input jack from his armour. Phobos plate was replete with useful functions. He was only into his eighth week of training in the Vanguard, but he was already beginning to appreciate the lighter armour configuration, even if he did feel a little more vulnerable in the open void.
He plugged in the jack. His reactor pack shuddered as it spooled up to provide the energy necessary to open the door. The enginarium gates were huge, and their motivators power-hungry. Teus felt the suit grow a little heavier on him as his battleplate diverted power to feed the door.
Dim lights came on in the wall interior. Tech-priest things, blinking for no one to see. Teus had no idea what they were for, but his armour sang him a fanfare of readiness, and a row of icons in his retinal display went from red to green.
‘Open,’ he said. He had no need to speak. He could have thought it. His armour would have done the rest. Old habits were hard to shake.
Frost cracked along the door’s dividing line. Ice snowed from the top. A light spun around at the side of the entrance, and the doors parted.
They rolled back into their housing with the solid noise of plasteel meeting plasteel.
‘I have entry.’ Teus picked up his gun.
‘Do you see anything?’
‘Not yet.’ The enginarium was a large space of several levels. He passed his light over the interior.
‘Remember, check your auto-senses. When there are just the two of us like this, we cannot rely on our squad brothers. We must be our own guardians.’
‘Yes, brother,’ said Teus.
‘Take this seriously, Teus. You are bold but you are also impetuous. Be wary.’
‘I meant what I said.’
‘I am at the ship now. Keep reporting.’
Teus went inside the enginarium.
He’d been on the reactor decks of other ships. They were usually ferociously hot, and alive with energies of such potency they could be tasted on the air. This one was dead. The reactor core was cold, all the consoles were inactive.
