Aaron Dembski-Bowden - The First Heretic

‘Full speed ahead,’ said Sylamor, and swallowed before another purge took hold.

Orfeo’s Lament trembled – ever the eager huntress, ever the keen explorer – and increased her pace. The storm swelled in the occulus before them as they cruised closer to its edge.

‘Have the flagship’s augurs managed to measure the afflicted area of space?’ she asked.

Thousands upon thousands of solar systems lie within the Great Eye.

She froze, cheeks paling. ‘I... I heard a voice.’

‘Ignore it,’ ordered Argel Tal.

You could sail your mortal craft for a hundred lifetimes within its depths, and see no more than a shadow of its full glory.

‘I can still hear it...’

Argel Tal growled, deep and low, his head tilted towards the creature. ‘Do not toy with their lives,’ he said. ‘You have been warned.’

None of them will survive this journey. You are a fool to believe they will.

‘Did... did it just say...’

‘It said nothing,’ Argel Tal interrupted her stammer. ‘Ignore the voice. Focus, Janus. Attend to your duties, and leave all else to us. I will not let the creature harm you, or anyone in the crew.’

She does not believe you.

‘Be quiet, false angel.’

She knows you lie. You hear her heartbeat, as I do. She is terrified, and she knows you are lying to her.

Across the bridge, two menials vomited over their consoles. Another fainted at his station, with blood running from his ears in a slow trickle.

‘Will this keep happening?’ Sylamor asked Argel Tal, careful not to look at the creature over the warrior’s shoulder, and hoping her voice wasn’t shaking.

The Word Bearer didn’t answer immediately. ‘I believe so,’ came the eventual response.

One of the helmsmen jerked in his seat, cracking his head against the back of the throne. Through clenched teeth, he managed a thin wail before falling into a seizure, kept in place only by his restraint harness.

‘Medicae team to the helm,’ ordered the captain.

Sylamor’s patience was close to its end when one of her adjutant servitors unplugged itself from its post and began to painstakingly crawl across the floor. The servitor in question had no legs below the thighs, having had them surgically removed in order to better remain at its post at all times. When it detached itself from its bronze cradle and started clawing its way over the decking, Captain Sylamor watched this unprecedented behaviour for several stunned moments. The augmetic servant trailed wires and cables from its spine and severed legs, viscous oil leaking from its nose.

‘Blood of the Emperor,’ Sylamor cursed under her breath. ‘Stand back, everyone. Stand back.’

She put the servitor down herself with a single pistol round to the back of the poor thing’s head, and ordered two deckhands to remove it at once.

Vox-officer Arvas turned to his captain as she passed on the way back to her throne. ‘Do you hear that?’ he asked her.

‘A contact? Another vessel?’

‘No.’ He held his earpiece, face darkened by concentration. ‘I can hear him, captain.’

Mounting irritation overrode her unease. ‘Hear who?’

Janus had known Arvas for over a decade, and on one night in particular four years ago, she’d known him – and four bottles of silver Yndonesic wine – regrettably well. Despite that lone indiscretion, he was one of her most adept and loyal crew members. ‘Tell me who you hear, lieutenant.’

He tried to retune his console, twisting a row of dials. ‘I can hear Vanic dying. He screams, but not for long. The rest is white noise. Listen,’ he offered her his earpiece. ‘You can hear Vanic dying. You hear him scream, but not for long.’

She hesitantly reached to take the earpiece. Standing next to Arvas, Vox-officer Vanic gave her an attempt at a smile. Discomfort was written across his fat features.

Arvas unholstered his sidearm and pumped four rounds into the other man’s stomach. Blood, stinging and hot, flecked Sylamor’s face as Vanic collapsed screaming to the deck.

‘Now you hear it,’ said Arvas.

The captain had no time to react – a blur of dark grey shoved her aside. Before she’d even blinked, Arvas was kicking and dangling above the ground, held aloft by Argel Tal’s fist around his throat. The ship shivered around them as if it shared the crew’s disquiet.

As he was strangled in the warrior’s grip, Arvas’s fingers scraped across Argel Tal’s faceplate with all the ferocity of a cornered beast hoping to scratch out its killer’s eyes. Sweat-smears painted across the eye lenses.

The medicae team reached Vanic’s side in time for him to die at their feet. Arvas had been right – Vanic hadn’t screamed for long.

The Word Bearer ignored the fingers scrabbling over the implacable ceramite, and turned to address his warriors. ‘Dagotal, take this wretch to the containment cells.’ He passed Arvas towards the other Word Bearers, sending him sprawling with a shove.

Another of the Astartes stepped forward, catching the struggling officer by the collar and lifting him from the ground. Arvas took over where Vanic’s screams left off.

‘And render him silent,’ Argel Tal added.

‘By your word, brother.’ Dagotal gripped the officer’s neck, squeezing his windpipe with gentle force. The human’s voice faded to a gasping squeak as the Word Bearer hauled him from the bridge.

Captain Sylamor glared up at the towering figure of Argel Tal.

‘That creature cannot remain on my bridge. It is... doing something to us, isn’t it?’

‘I do not know.’

‘Then ask it.’

‘We will take it to the observation deck, captain. Ensure your crew vacate the area, as well as the corridors between. Make full speed for the storm’s edge. I will contact you with any alterations to those orders if the need arises.’

‘Thank you,’ she said to him.

Argel Tal returned a curt nod, and moved back to his brethren.

‘You should have killed the murderer,’ Xaphen admonished.

‘He will stand trial for his sin. It could be argued that his actions were not his own.’ Argel Tal turned to watch Ingethel as the creature began its slithering withdrawal from the command deck. They followed, avoiding the slick trail it left in its wake.

‘We are walking into the unknown, and there is nothing but darkness before my eyes,’ Argel Tal said to his Chaplain.

‘And that worries you.’

‘Of course it worries me. If we are on the precipice of enlightenment, why have I never felt so blind?’

‘Everything is darkest,’ Xaphen mused, ‘before the dawn.’

‘That, my brother, is an axiom that sounds immensely profound until you realise it’s a lie.’

The observation decks on most Imperial ships were places of great serenity. Although Orfeo’s Lament was a modest vessel compared to De Profundis, let alone the grandeur of the Fidelitas Lex, Argel Tal still felt his breath catch as he entered.

Midway along the cruiser’s battlemented spine rose an armoured dome, its clear surface offering an unparalleled view of the surrounding void. In normal space, the view of a billion stars in the infinite night never failed to capture his imagination – and, he’d admit in his prouder moments, his ambition as well. These were humanity’s stars. No other species had the right to claim them, for their ages had come and gone. The future was one of purity, and it belonged to mankind.

Here, now, the stars were stained violet. Argel Tal watched distant suns drown in curling, thrashing mists of purple and red.