Aaron Dembski-Bowden - The First Heretic

‘Your ships were “delayed” as well,’ Aquillon surmised. ‘You were prevented from reaching the battle at all.’ All three warriors nodded.

‘I was first to arrive,’ Nirallus said. ‘Less than ten minutes ago. The approach to the fleet was a nightmare, and the auspex chimed out with hundreds of dead ships in the upper atmosphere. It will rain steel on Isstvan V for decades to come.’

‘I saw the same,’ admitted Aquillon. ‘No sign of any vessels bearing the traitors’ colours, but the loyal Legions have suffered horrendous losses themselves. And the wreckage patterns did not suggest accurate numbers. It seems two Legions have been annihilated. Others who were supposed to be present were simply never here.’

‘I have not been able to reach Argel Tal,’ said Kalhin. ‘Or anyone else on the surface.’

Aquillon looked down at the two humans. ‘Explain their presence.’

Sythran stepped forward, and offered Aquillon a bulky plastek picter rod. The imagifier was of expensive make, that much was clear. Aquillon took it, but didn’t look at the viewscreen.

‘You are an imagist?’ he asked the human.

‘Ishaq Kadeen,’ the man replied. ‘Yes, I’m an imagist. You activate the–’

‘I know how it works, Ishaq Kadeen.’ Aquillon thumbed the activation setting along the haft, and the small screen blinked into life.

Aquillon processed what he was seeing. His education and training at the Emperor’s side allowed him a broad view of human capability, and the possibilities of technology in union with living beings. He had never seen anything quite like this before, but he knew immediately what it had to be.

The Occuli Imperator handed the picter to Ishaq, who took with a mutter of gratitude. ‘You found this on the sanctum deck, I assume?’ Aquillon enquired.

‘The monastic deck? Yes.’

‘Of course.’ And then, with infinite dignity, Aquillon reached to unsheathe his blade. ‘My brothers,’ he said. ‘We are betrayed.’

‘I do not much like our chances against an entire vessel’s crew, even with the Legion off-ship. What do you suggest?’ asked Kalhin.

‘First, we find the depths of this betrayal. I must see this madness for myself, and tear the truth from the lips of those that keep it. Before we can even consider cutting out the cancer at this rebellion’s heart, we must secure passage to Terra and relay every detail to the Emperor.’

‘Beloved by all,’ said Kalhin and Nirallus at once. Sythran tapped his knuckles to his chestplate, over his heart. Ishaq’s own ‘beloved by all’ came a couple of awkward seconds later, though none of the others were paying him any attention anymore.

‘This will be a great deal of work,’ Kalhin grunted.

‘Who do we interrogate?’ asked Nirallus. There was no doubt in his voice – he didn’t ask because he had no idea of an answer, he asked because there were too many possible names and the decision ultimately rested with Aquillon. ‘The fleetmaster? The general?’

‘There’s one soul on this ship that has listened to the Word Bearers whisper their secrets for half a century. We will find this precious soul not far from where you found the evidence of their treachery. Come with me.’

‘H-how will you get onto the monastic deck?’ Cartik was already falling behind, practically ignored by the Custodes.

‘We will kill everyone that stands in our way,’ Nirallus replied as if the answer were obvious. ‘Return to your room, old one. It will not be safe at our side.’

The Custodes moved forward, blades drawn. Aquillon let emotion curl his lip into an ugly snarl. ‘Cyrene,’ he hissed. ‘Their “Blessed lady”. ’

TWENTY-NINE

Cyrene

Never Human

A Completed Vow

She lifted her head at the sound of blades against her door, though of course, she saw nothing. Heat came at her in a breathy wave, emanating in her direction from the thudding steel portal. Power weapons, then. They were cutting through with power weapons.

Cyrene typed as fast as she could, her fingertips dancing over the familiar keypad, but her efforts ended mid-sentence. The door slammed to the floor, and the thrum of live power armour filled the room. Joints whirred. False fibre-bundle muscles purred.

‘Aquillon. I knew you would c–’

‘Be silent, traitorous whore. The Word Bearers are gone, and you will answer to the authority of the Emperor. Order your maids to flee, or they will suffer alongside you.’

Cyrene inclined her head in a slight nod. The two older women fled the room barely short of a run.

‘Brother...’ began Kalhin, turning to the secondary chamber and the open door leading into it. Another figure had appeared there, doubtless hiding in wait.

‘The Word Bearers,’ it said, ‘are not all gone.’

‘You have no place here, tech-adept,’ Aquillon gestured with the point of his sword.

‘Correct.’ Xi-Nu 73 applied an exact amount of pressure on the trigger of the signum control in his left hand, and a massive figure made of gears and armour plating moved into view behind him. It took up the entire door arch as it gave a mechanical growl of warning. Xi-Nu 73 steeled himself to finish speaking. ‘I have no place here. But he does.’

The robot’s arms, both mounted with heavy bolter cannons, were preloaded and cycled live – they’d been powered up for hours, ready for this worst of possible moments. Cyrene hurled herself off the bed, seeking all the distance she could put between herself and Aquillon.

‘For the Legion.’ The voice was like steel bars tumbling over rock.

The Custodes were already moving, their halberds spinning, when Incarnadine opened up at them with a horrendous storm of fire.

Argel Tal sprinted up the gunship’s ramp, his boots clanging all the way into the troop bay. He was the last aboard. The vox was a hive of conflicting voices as the Gal Vorbak snapped at him to hurry. Other Thunderhawks, proud in the Legion’s grey, were already lifting off.

‘Take off,’ he ordered the pilot over the vox, unashamed by the threat of panic in his voice. ‘Get us back to the ship.’

Rising Sun shivered as its claws left the parched soil.

Argel Tal switched vox-channels. ‘Jesmetine. General, are you there?’

Distortion.

‘Answer me, Arric.’

‘Lord.’ The general was breathless. ‘Lord, they are loose.’

‘We just received the warning. Tell me exactly what has happened.’

‘They landed. The Custodes landed. They stormed the monastic deck soon after. Something has enraged them. They must have discovered the truth, though I’ve no idea how. All Euchar forces there are out of contact or already confirmed dead. One of them, one of them, is holding the corridor leading to Cyrene’s chamber. Blood of the gods, Argel Tal... he has a barricade made from the bodies of my men. Every charge sees more cut down. We cannot overwhelm one of them, let alone four.’

The Word Bearer felt the gunship lurch beneath his feet. ‘We have started primus burn, and are en route. What of Xi-Nu 73?’ Across the vox, he could hear the snap-crack of lasguns barking their payloads. More Euchar engaging in futility.

‘No word,’ the elder general replied. ‘Not a damn word. Where the hell are you?’

‘We are on our way.’ Raum? he quested.

Weak. The link was sluggish and feeble. Slumber.

The gunship climbed, its engines exhaling smoke and flame as it left the killing fields far below.

Sythran fought as he always fought: in the perfection of silence and solitude. Everything was in motion to an exacting standard – each twist of the spear haft brought the blade up to block las-fire or down to cut flesh, while each weave and duck was performed with the necessary vigour to keep him unwounded, but never left him overbalanced or needing to reposition himself. His footwork was stoic and rigid only long enough to kill the nearest soldier, before blending back into the dance of movement.