C. Goto: Dawn of War

“What do we know of the planet?” asked Gabriel as he brushed his way past Isador, heading for the command deck.

“It is a civilized world and semi-urbanised. There are a series of cities and one spaceport. Most of the indigenous population are focussed in the cities.”

“And what is the population, Librarian?” asked Gabriel, keen to know the details of the battle to come before throwing himself into it.

“Nearly four billion,” replied Isador, wincing slightly at the thought of the probable casualties.

“Any idea why the orks would be interested in this place?” asked the captain, wondering whether there might be some strategic targets that he ought to know about.

“No, Gabriel. But then, the orks know nothing of reason. They appear solely concerned with war for its own sake. Our librarium on the Omnis Arcanum holds many records on ork battle tactics, but little on their psychology.” Isador had spent long years studying in the legendary librarium sanatorium, housed in the Blood Ravens’ Chapter Fortress, the Omnis Arcanum. It was justly famed as one of the most extensive archives in the Imperium, and the Librarians of the Blood Ravens were amongst the most knowledgeable servants of the Emperor anywhere in His realm.

“War for its own sake?” Gabriel stopped and turned to face Isador. He smiled. “We can do that.”

The approach to Tartarus was littered with space debris and junk. Great hunks of ruined space ships floated freely in the outer reaches of the system, as though they had just fallen off larger vessels and then been abandoned. They formed the ugly wake of the ork invasion fleet, polluting the Imperium with their crude technologies and their callous disregard for anything except war.

The massive bulk of the Litany of Fury eased its way through the detritus, destroying any of the wreckages large enough to cause any harm. The gun-servitors played casually with the debris field, as though they were on a training run, preparing themselves for the battle to come.

“Good of them to leave us a trail, Isador,” commented Gabriel dryly.

“Yes, subtlety is not their strongest asset, captain,” replied the Librarian. “Orks are certainly not at their best in space. On the ground, it is a very different story, as you well know.”

As they spoke, the planet of Tartarus slipped onto their view screen, emerging out from behind the exploded remains of an old Onslaught attack ship that the ork fleet must have jettisoned as useless. Its jagged hull simply collapsed under the brief strafe of fire from one of the prow batteries of the Litany of Fury, leaving the field of vision clear for the first time since they entered the system.

The blue-green planet was shrouded in debris-ruined relay stations spiralled around abandoned junks, intermixed with what must have been the ork fleet. For a few moments, the Space Marines could not distinguish between the space trash and the ork vessels-nothing looked like it could sustain a orbital battle. Occasional bursts of flame from engines picked out some of the smaller craft, perhaps more Onslaughts or a Savage gunship, but there was no sign of the huge bulk of a kill kroozer command ship. It was all very chaotic, but deathly quiet.

“What a mess,” muttered Gabriel under his breath, shaking his head with revulsion. The vulgar clumsiness of the orks never ceased to amaze him. They had no right to be a space faring race: their fleets were almost entirely salvaged from Imperial or even Chaos vessels that were immobilised or weakened in the glorious Imperial crusades. They were vultures. The orks would steal the remains of an honourable space ship, ignoring the pleadings and death-throes of its machine spirit, bolt on a bristling array of heavy guns and prow batteries then plunge the hapless craft into battle. When the vessel died, they would simply abandon it unceremoniously, leaving it to float through space like junk.

Tartarus itself was no longer the pristine blue and green for which it was famed. It was not a heavily populated world, and there was a lot of agriculture. The atmosphere was usually clear and crisp, providing a perfect view of the verdant surface from orbit. No longer. Even from space the fires that engulfed the cities could be seen burning with a dirty orange. Great sheets of flames stretched across the arable lands and the wide prairies that rolled between the settlements. Plumes of thick, black smoke billowed into the atmosphere, shutting in the heat and moisture and changing the planet’s temperate climate into a stiflingly humid monsoon.

A click of heels made Gabriel turn. A nervous curator stood before him, clutching a large, heavily bound book. The man was struggling slightly under its weight, as though he were not used to carrying anything heavier than a pen. Little beads of sweat trickled down his shaven head, leaving shiny traces over the cursive lexiographs etched into his skin. The writing marked him as a curator of the Blood Ravens librarium but, instead of the usual grey robes of an Administratum curator, this man was bedecked in a smock of deep red.

Gabriel nodded at the man, indicating that he should give the tome to Isador. The prospect seemed to fill the small man with dread and his eyes bulged slightly as he turned to approach the Librarian.

“Thank you,” said Isador smoothly, taking the book in one hand and dismissing the trembling curator, who turned quickly and shuffled away, breathing hard.

It was one of the quirks of the Blood Ravens that each of their battlebarges contained its own librarium, and hence each required a team of curators to facilitate its smooth operation. The curators would also record details of each and every event that took place on the vessel, although they would rely on the testimony of the company Librarian for details of missions that took place off ship. Hence, every barge contained the history of the company that operated it, in addition to copies of more general Imperial tomes. Whenever the battle barges rendezvoused with the Chapter fortress, copies of every file would be transferred into the central librarium sanatorium, where only the most senior Librarians and the Chapter Master himself would have access to every detail concerning every company.

Gabriel had often reflected that his brother-librarians were rather fanatical about documentation, as though knowledge and experience were not real unless they were committed to paper. He knew that the Blood Ravens were unique amongst all the Chapters of the Emperor’s Space Marines in being so studiously conscientious, and he was not sure why this was the case. He had asked Isador more than once, but had not received a satisfactory response, as though the Librarian was worried that he was not entirely trustworthy. He would mutter something about the appropriate designations of knowledge, and then would intone the Chapter’s maxim: knowledge is power-guard it well.

“This is the recorded history of Tartarus,” said Isador, carefully laying the heavy book onto an intricately carved podium next to the view-screen.

“Anything we need to know?” asked Gabriel, his attention already turned back to the jumbled ork fleet around the planet. He trusted that Isador would find anything that needed to be found. He had a gift for these things.

The two Marines stood in silence for a short while; Gabriel gazing out into space, considering the ork formation, Isador leafing through the pages of the book with intense concentration, his blue eyes burning with focus. It was Gabriel who spoke first.

“The bulk of the ork fleet has already descended on the planet’s surface. Those Onslaughts and Savages are running a patrol pattern, policing the inner orbit to protect the land forces from bombardments.” He had reached a conclusion and was simply sharing it with the command crew. He didn’t turn to face the deck, but spoke into the view-screen. “Take us in to a low orbit. Execute covering fire to keep those gunships off our backs. We will deploy in Thunderhawks and drop-pods onto the co-ordinates of the last message from the Tartarans.”