The Death of Integrity (5 page)

‘We were beginning to lose hope,’ Caedis was saying. Despite his protestations of thirst, he ate and drank sparingly of the dishes laid before him. ‘We have been tracking the
Death of Integrity
for nearly three decades, following a trail of infested worlds, always one step behind. Our astrometric data presented us with a pattern that our Master of the Forge was able to untangle somewhat, giving us projected destinations and worlds under threat.’ He sighed, and pushed at the meat on his plate with a silver fork. ‘But we were always too late, arriving after the hulk had departed, and thus our frustrations grew. We were fortunate three months ago, when we were able to confront the creatures in their lair. Epistolary Guinian tore the mind-scent from the thoughts of their young. Only then could we follow the hulk with certainty through the warp, and predict where it would next emerge. I am greatly relieved we have caught it. The worlds we have cleansed thus far are of minor importance, but this is the hulk’s third appearance in proximity to Vol Secundus. A genestealer infestation within the hives there would have been disastrous, and sown the seeds of a greater contagion that perhaps only a crusade could have contained.’

‘Why has it manifested here?’ asked Galt. ‘Master Clastrin knows of nothing special about this star. It possesses only a moderate mass despite its luminosity, not enough to bend the fabric of real space sufficiently to aid the warp translation of such a hulk.’

‘Who knows?’ replied Caedis. He spoke softly, but his words cut through the conversation filling the air. ‘It is however the seventh star of such a class the
Death of Integrity
has emerged by.’ He waved his hand. ‘This sector is full of them, the young and the radiant.’ Caedis blinked. Even his eyes looked dry. Galt imagined he could hear the eyelids rasping over them. ‘We are close to the stellar nurseries of Gennak Minoris, the stars here were born not so long ago,’ he smiled. ‘At least, not by the reckoning of stars.’

‘Gennak Minoris is the outermost boundary of our patrol routes,’ said Galt. ‘You were lucky that we caught your astropathic plea.’

‘You go no further?’

Galt picked up a morsel of food from his plate and examined it before putting it into his mouth. He concentrated on the flavour, ignoring the wash of information the Emperor’s gifts fed him. ‘We swore eight thousand years ago to the Lord of Macragge to defend the Segmentum Ultima, body and soul, living or dead. Our business takes us far and wide, but does not often take us beyond segmentum bounds.’

‘And yet, were it not for your heraldry, I could be sitting with the warrior-kings of Ultramar themselves. So distant is that realm, but you maintain their culture as if it were your own.’

‘It is our own,’ said Galt with some force.

‘You are exiles then?’ said Caedis casually. His eyes followed a serf as he poured wine for the adepts. Galt frowned slightly at the look in the Chapter Master’s eyes. There was something predatory about it.

‘We are not. We are guardians of the Imperium, and loyal sons of Ultramar. We do our duty gladly.’

‘So it would seem.’ Caedis paused, considering whether or not to say whatever was on his mind. ‘Excepting your tattoos,’ he said.

Galt’s hand strayed to his cheek. ‘A custom of Honourum, and one of the few of our home world we retain after induction as novitiate Scouts. This way we honour those who birthed us, as we honour the heritage of Ultramar in all else we do.’

‘All are the customs of pure men. Who is to judge one higher than the other?’

‘Honourum’s tribes are primitive in the extreme,’ said Galt. ‘Theirs is a harsh existence. Honourum is a bare world.’

‘Primitivism embraces purity of heart and of mind. You hold the sophisticated ways of Ultramar above those of your parents?’

‘They are self-evidently superior,’ said Galt.

‘Is that so? I doubt I would have received so personal a welcome from Lord Macragge.’

‘Our world is hard, the laws and customs of hospitality are inviolable. The tribes must cooperate, or all would perish,’ said Galt.

‘Ah, so some primitive customs are worth preserving? Another difference between you and your brothers. Interesting,’ said Caedis. He looked around the room. There was an easy elegance to all he did. ‘I see you are not all tattooed.’

‘All initiates are, even those few who were not born on Honourum,’ Galt said. ‘Those servants you see who are not marked do not hail from our home world. Honourum has few people, Lord Chapter Master, we draw serfs and criminals for cyborgisation as tithes from systems all over the segmentum. Those of our servants who hail from elsewhere do not always follow the flesh marking.’

Caedis nodded as if he had known all along and he was testing Galt. It was a self-satisfied nod, a master’s gesture to a pupil, and Galt found it irksome. His guest’s questions were intrusive and irrelevant. ‘And what of your strength?’

Galt was relieved at this change in topic. Battle and matters of war were safer ground. ‘In the fleet: the
Novum in Honourum
, two strike cruisers, and four escorts. We have approaching three companies here, near the entirety of the First and Third, much of our Fifth also. But the Fifth suffered in our last battle, and bore the brunt of our foe’s retaliation. Many brothers are in the infirmary. Their vessel is badly harmed.’

‘I saw your strike cruiser,’ said Caedis. ‘The damage is extensive.’

‘Eldar raiders, corsair scum. They fought hard in space and on the ground, but they will trouble the Orin Gap no more. Some elements of the Fourth, Tenth and Ninth accompany us. It is an unusual gathering of strength for our Chapter,’ said Galt. ‘Were it not for the damage to
Corvo’s Hammer
, the fleet would have broken up already, lord. Our tasks are many, we are spread thin.’

‘You spoke of luck before, but I sense the guidance of the Emperor in this,’ said Caedis thoughtfully. ‘We do not have the numbers to either assault or bombard the hulk alone, I called in our Second and Fifth Companies, but the Second were forced to divert. A greater threat was brought to my attention, greater even than the one posed by the
Death of Integrity
’s stowaways. I am therefore left with little more than one and three-quarter companies aboard
Lux Rubrum
and our four escorts. I have many of my veterans, thankfully, although the skills of my First Company captain are sorely missed.’

‘He is not with you?’

‘As you, manifold are our tasks also. He has his own mission. But what was taken with one hand has been paid for handsomely with the other.’ He gave his food one last desultory taste, and then pushed it away.

‘And now?’

‘It is our nature to assault the foe at close quarters, blade to blade,’ said Caedis.

‘A direct assault, lord?’ said Galt. ‘Surely, bombardment would be the better strategy? We have readings of dangerous radiation levels in many places within the hulk, only Terminator plate would be proof against that. My Epistolary tells me that there are large numbers of xenos aboard. Let us break it apart with torpedo and cannon, and cast its remains into the sun.’

Caedis gave a laugh. ‘And what would your Master of the Forge say? There could be a wealth of archeotech aboard.’

‘Clastrin?’ Galt said. ‘He will doubtless object, but taking the hulk by force is too large a risk for our forces, even combined.’

‘My Forgemaster also will be displeased.’

‘Forgemaster Clastrin bows first to Ultramar and Honourum, and then to Mars,’ said Galt. ‘I will set out to him that he has little choice; the possibility of forgotten treasures comes with the certainty of losing a strike cruiser, and that he will not countenance.’

‘Although I hunger for the fight, I cannot but agree. Bombardment is the wiser option, and as much as the battle-joy calls to me, wisdom must prevail, is that not what Guilliman teaches?’

Galt nodded solemnly.

‘There is, dear captain, another factor at play; the hulk is never in-system for long, five to ten days at most, before departing. A decisive assault could not perhaps be mounted in such a short time. We would be forced to rush, and such tasks should not be rushed.’ Caedis smiled broadly, revealing his long canines fully. ‘Our combined fleets are more than up to the task. Bombardment and the cleansing heat of starfire it is. We are agreed. Together, we may rid the galaxy of this menace, and be on our way. As you say, our tasks are many.’ He raised his goblet. ‘A toast, then, to our rapid success.’

‘Our rapid success, lord,’ repeated Galt.

Their cups clanked together. The toast was taken up around the table, until it was shouted with approval.

Chapter 3

Bombardment

The two fleets had become one. The hallways of the battle-barges echoed to the sound of servitors as they prepared for war. Ponderously
Lux Rubrum
and
Novum in Honourum
manoeuvred around one another, until the vessel of the Blood Drinkers, black-red in the sun’s light, drew ahead of its Novamarines sister. The
Lux Rubrum
’s engine stack flared as bright and blue as Jorso. The ship pulled ahead, until it became a wink in the dark, the engine little larger than the stars.
Novum in Honourum
’s reactor rumbled and it fell into line five thousand kilometres astern of
Lux Rubrum
. Strike cruiser
Ceaseless Vigilance
angled downward to fly below and to the port of the Novamarines battle-barge.
Corvo’s Hammer
limped behind. Escorts moved easily above and to the front of two flagships, Thunderhawks flew in formation, full weapon load-outs slung beneath their stubby wings. To the fleet’s portside the hulk continued its orbit around Jorso, massive and squamous, a canker that would soon be excised from the galaxy it so troubled.

Quiet bustle characterised the bridge of
Novum in Honourum
. A large tactical view of the hulk hung in the air over the chartdesk, reticules in bright red marking points of weakness that should cause the hulk to break apart swiftly. All nine brothers on the bridge wore their full plate. The serfs carried sidearms at their waists, and racks of guns had been extruded from the walls for masters and servants both. Several weapon-servitors stood station at the doors, and squads of battle-brothers patrolled the corridors of the command and gunnery decks. Counter-boarding was unlikely, but all was done as strictly dictated by the Codex.

Armoury savants had calculated it would take two days of bombardment to utterly destroy the hulk.

On the bridge, Ranial stood at Galt’s side. Occasionally he closed his eyes as he eavesdropped on the astropathic chatter among the fleet, catching stray metaphorical images the psykers used to communicate with one another. Odon had retired to his cathedral to lead the serfs there in prayer for their victory, Aresti and Mastrik were aboard their own ships. Clastrin had removed himself to
Corvo’s Hammer
, ostensibly to monitor the ship’s damage. The Master of the Forge had taken the news of the bombardment with stoic silence, Galt nevertheless knew the tech-priest was sorrowed by the decision and had withdrawn so as not to witness the loss of his prize.

On the long spine of the battle-barge, giant turrets swung to port, pointing squat, broad-muzzled cannons at the hulk between
Novum in Honourum
and the sun. A symphony of mechanical noises – distant clanking, whines, the muffled sounds of munitions trucks many decks below, the muted roar of weapons powering up – added themselves to the grumble of the ship’s main power core.

‘Brother-Captain Galt,’ said Persimmon. ‘All gunnery decks report ready. You may give the order when you desire.’

Galt reached for his pendant reflexively. Only when his gauntleted hand touched the eagle emblazoned across his chest did he realise it was beyond reach beneath his breastplate. He clenched his fist. ‘We wait for Lord Caedis, he commands here.’

‘As you wish, brother-captain.’

A few moments later Caedis’s voice crackled over the vox. The systems aboard both ships were more sophisticated than most, but still they struggled with the star’s furious heliosphere. ‘Brother-captain, you answered our call for aid. The honour of the first salvo belongs to you.’

A cheer went up from the non-servitor personnel on deck, the loudest coming from Persimmon, who banged his remaining hand on his throne-cradle.

‘Many thanks, Lord Caedis,’ said Galt. ‘The honour is gladly received. All guns acquire target. Prepare to open fire on my mark.’

His brothers on the bridge stared out of the curved window toward the
Death of Integrity
. They were composed as warriors of the Emperor should be, but their eyes betrayed their excitement. This was their meaning, to purge the galaxy of alien life, leaving it safe for mankind’s Imperium. To further this goal was the greatest satisfaction a Nova-marines had. Their work never ceased, but each xenos dead was one less to prey upon the children of Terra.

The brothers waited. Galt let the feeling build a moment, to heighten the release. He permitted himself a small surge of satisfaction.

‘Port broadside, fire,’ he said.

The floor shook as the port weapons batteries discharged. Plumes of fire erupted all down the ship from the cannons between its launch bays. The bridge vibrated with every report.

‘Bombardment cannons, fire at will,’ he said. ‘
Corvo’s Hammer
,
Ceaseless Vigilance
, commence firing when ready. Thunderhawk wings, await my command.’

The turreted bombardment cannons spat no fire, their munitions, magnetically impelled, shot from their gaping muzzles at a velocity so high there was only the briefest spark of sunlight on metal to tell of their passing.

Corvo’s Hammer
and
Ceaseless Vigilance
’s prows flashed as their guns discharged. Away ahead of them, made small by distance,
Lux Rubrum
sparkled with righteous violence.

The hulk was a long way away. If would be nearly half an hour before the first rounds hit home. The bridge fell back to quiet, muttered orders and muted conversation the order of the day as the complicated affair of space combat was undertaken.

Twenty-seven minutes or so later the bombardment cannon rounds, outpacing the explosive-cast shells of the weapons batteries, hit home.

Bright explosions flared on the side of the hulk, round blisters of fire welling up on its rough skin. Those less sophisticated than the adepts called such rounds lava bombs. Each contained a large fusion generator. In the brief moment the fusion generator operated, the bomb generated several gigatons of explosive energy, hotter than the surface of a star. Weapons like that could crack a planet’s crust, given time.

They were equally effective against the space hulk.

‘Target report.’ Galt directed his question at one of the battle-brothers acting as officers on the bridge. Brother Montan, Fifth Company, he noted. He should and did know the names of all the initiates under his command.

‘Target integrity holding, brother-captain.’

‘Continue bombardment,’ said Galt. He cast his eye over the tactical hologram over the chartdesk. It pulsed and flared with bursts of light, denoting hits. ‘Concentrate on target point alpha ten, I see a weakness there. Exploit it.’

Energy beams flicked across the void. Shells glimmered in the eternal night of space. The black between the fleets and the hulk sparkled with short-lived stars.

‘Lord captain!’ Brother Montan said. ‘We have our first major collapse!’

All eyes on the bridge went from the display to the distant hulk. A dazzling flash preceded a billow of flame toward the hulk’s nominal stern, and a long, thin shape detached itself from the main body of the hulk. Half a starship, at least, it span slowly about its axis, wheeling gracefully as it fell toward the sun.

Grim smiles on the bridge. The hulk was almost obscured by clouds of fire. A tail of debris now trailed behind it.

‘Lord captain,’ called a serf. ‘We have some unusual readings…’ Puzzlement creased the man’s face. He was heavily tattooed, a man of Honourum.

‘To me!’ said Persimmon. Within his throne-cradle, the crippled captain leaned forward as the serf sent the information to the captain’s data-slates. Persimmon’s remaining eye narrowed. His face lit up as his screens flashed. ‘Strange. I’m reading multiple, concerted energy emissions. If that were a warship I’d say they were powering up to fire or flee.’ Persimmon lay back in his cradle. ‘Not unusual. Probably feedback from dying systems, it is hard to tell in all this static, brother-captain.’

‘It is not a concern at this time,’ said Galt. ‘Have the Forge examine the data after the bombardment. Continue firing.’

The tac-screen fizzed, then went out. The lights on the bridge flickered. All faces turned upward instinctively. All but Galt’s. ‘Have faith brothers, and continue to fire.’

‘Probably a stellar pulse, not unusual so close in,’ said Persimmon. ‘Jorso’s magnetosphere is lively. But we’ve lost most of our auto-targeters, brother-captain.’

‘I trust your hands and eyes to guide the gun crews, brothers,’ said Galt. Not once did he take his eyes from the blazing hulk. The bombardment would now rest with the judgement and skills of the brothers. They were trained to solve the difficult calculations of combat over such a distance. The hulk was two light minutes away, and so what they saw was where the hulk had been two minutes ago. The actual position of the hulk and the differing speeds of the Space Marine projectiles all needed to be taken into account to ensure effective targeting. Taxing work, but this was better, the minds of adepts and not the spirits of machines bringing death to the unclean.

He was pleased that most of the rounds he watched hit home. More wreckage fell away from the hulk, some of it revealed to be burning as it floated across the hulk’s silhouette, before the fires were lost against those of the sun.

Ranial, who had remained silent and still, suddenly came alert.

The ship’s vox crackled, more laden with static than ever. ‘Lord captain,’ Van Heem’s voice was serpent-smooth and oddly accented. ‘Inbound fleet. Emperor preserve us, lord captain, warp translation imminent!’

‘What?’ shouted Persimmon.

‘We are receiving an astropathic broadcast. Mars-stamped,’ Lord Feldiol’s voice sounded over the vox. ‘We are decoding it now.’

‘I feel it, a powerful sending preceding a fleet.’ Ranial’s eyes shut. ‘They are coming in hard by.’

‘Where?’ said Galt.

‘Between the fleet and the hulk.’

‘All hands! Prepare for evasive action!’ shouted Persimmon. ‘Hard to starboard! Hard to starboard!’

Alarms wailed.
Novum in Honourum
’s deck tilted as the ship pitched. Galt had the uneasy feeling of being trapped between warring forces far mightier than he, cosmic forces ignorant of the fragility of man: the inertia of the craft’s forward motion, the pull of the artificial gravity plates, the mass of the ship itself and its sudden movement to the side.

Between the hulk and the fleet space flickered, the fabric of reality wavered as if a blanket shaken. The star’s light took on an unnatural hue, a colour not native to this universe.

‘Translation underway!’ shouted Van Heem.

Thunderhawks darted nimbly from the warp point, escorts following swiftly. The
Ceaseless Vigilance
crawled around, thrusters and braking rockets jetting all over it as it sought to avoid the incoming vessels.
Corvo’s Hammer
trailed dangerously behind.
Novum in Honourum
heeled to the side, nose sweeping out and away from the star.

‘Throne! We’re going to end up right in the middle of them! All ahead full! Ahead full!’ shouted Persimmon.

Further pressures assailed those on the bridge. In a great, round arc,
Novum in Honourum
lumbered away from the ripple in the sky, the fabric of the ship groaning in distress.

There was a blinding flash. Reality folded into itself, torn asunder by warp engines. A third fleet disgorged itself from the warp, ships tumbling from nonsensical geometries into shapes suited to material space.

A great vessel, longer than either of the battle-barges and at half their mass again, floated serenely between
Novum in Honourum
and the space hulk as if it had always been there, its rust-red exterior betraying none of the violence of its arrival. Void shields flared as weapons fire intended for the
Death of Integrity
slammed into them.

‘They’re opening fire, brother-captain!’ shouted Persim-
mon.

Galt bared his teeth, ready to return the favour, but stopped. The arcane cannons that lined the vessel from prow to stern remained silent. Only swarms of interceptor missiles issued from it, not ship killers, and they slammed in their hundreds into shells still streaking from
Lux Rubrum
.

Galt saw what he expected to see, a skull, half-human, half-mechanoid, contained within a white-and-black cog – the badge of the Adepts of Mars.

‘All decks hold! Hold fire!’

Alarms clamoured across the bridge, proximity alerts, emergency evasion, firing aborts, damage warnings.

‘Tech-priests?’ said Ranial.

‘Hail them,’ said Galt angrily. ‘Let us see what they want.’

Caedis got there first.

The hiss of static from the star and the backwash from the fleet’s arrival could not conceal the fury in his voice.

‘Mechanicus vessel, remove yourself immediately from the area. You are interfering in the affairs of the Adeptus Astartes Chapters Blood Drinkers and Novamarines. If you do not do so, your dangerous warp translation will be interpreted as an attack and we will open fire.’

‘What does he think he is doing?’ hissed Ranial, as he took in the array of giant weapons festooning the Adeptus Mechanicus ship.