Knights of Macragge - Nick Kyme Read online

  ‘Our failing power reserves are of significant concern,’ said Haephestus, taking the opportunity to voice his findings first. The Techmarine was a towering presence, only surpassed by the indomitable figure of Argo Helicos who stood next to him. ‘I have conducted numerous theoreticals based on the current depletion rates and have worked up a predictive algorithm to posit an energy half-life.’ Haephestus tapped a panel on his left vambrace. Unlike the other Ultramarines in the room, it was red, like the rest of his armour, to denote his Martian training and allegiance. A series of complex computations and isometrical power forecasts flickered into being, rendered up as grainy graphical images that the Techmarine transferred to the hololithic table around which they were all gathered.

  Sicarius looked on gravely and caught the gimlet stare of Haephestus’ bionic eye looking back.

  ‘I don’t have your technical acumen, Haephestus,’ he said, absently stroking the beard he had cultivated over the last few months, ‘but even I can see these projections are grim.’

  ‘A critical juncture will be reached in a matter of weeks,’ Haephestus confirmed.

  Sicarius leaned back in his chair, the fingers of his left hand drumming against the edge of the table. Unlike the fellow Adeptus Astartes currently in his presence, he wore light training fatigues, his bare arms displaying powerful muscles and his Chapter tattoos.

  ‘It’s draining then, our power.’

  ‘The ship, our armour, everything,’ said Haephestus.

  ‘Can anything be done?’

  ‘I will return to the lower decks, to the ship’s main power core. I might be able to eke out more time, but it is not a long-term solution. We are haemorrhaging power.’

  ‘But we shouldn’t be, should we?’

  Haephestus nodded. ‘The Emperor’s Will can maintain function for decades, and most of its critical systems are self-sustaining. Our armour generators also have years of operation. Until I have conducted further analysis, I can only assume a warp siphon.’

  ‘You’re saying while we linger here, becalmed in the empyrean sea, we are being bled dry?’

  ‘A tad poetic but, yes, that is accurate.’

  ‘And the severity of these outages?’

  ‘I’ve received reports of power failures in the aft decks, eight through twelve, and am considering moving the crew in those sections to more stable areas,’ offered a thin-looking woman wearing an amalgam of Militarum fatigues and Munitorum robes. Olvo Sharna blinked nervously at the captain behind a pair of wireframe glasses, a bleached bone servo-skull scribing every word to parchment with a neuro-quill. The reams of vellum gathered in a hefty stack beneath the floating machine, its tiny anti-gravitic impellers stirring the papery edges. ‘And there is also the question of sustenance.’

  Sicarius held her gaze for a moment.

  ‘Food, captain,’ she said.

  ‘I know what sustenance means, quartermaster,’ he said patiently. ‘Would you care to provide a little more detail about the crisis?’

  ‘Of course, captain,’ she said quickly, shoving her wireframes a little further up her nose, ‘of course. Put bluntly, we are reaching the end of our reserves and with the current power issues,’ she gave a furtive glance at Haephestus before looking away again, ‘we are unable to process the stocks that we do have. Our agri-stockpiles are already spoiling, far faster than we could have projected, and we do not possess the means to generate more. Rations have already been halved and I am stretching them out as far as they can go.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to stretch them further,’ said Sicarius, firmly but not unkindly. ‘The ship must still function.’

  ‘And the crew have to eat,’ Sharna replied, swallowing back her boldness. ‘Starvation is imminent and there has been…’ She paused, trying to wrap her tongue around the right word. ‘Unrest.’

  Sicarius turned his attention to the man standing at the back of the room, behind the others and half-hidden by the shadows. Valesco Kraef looked grey and as tough as old leather. He had a wiry orange moustache, turning white at the edges. His patrol cap was folded under one arm, and his bald scalp shone in the light. He was a veteran like Daceus, only Kraef was not transhuman. He stepped forwards as soon as he realised he had the captain’s attention.

  ‘Civil disquiet amongst the ratings has increased,’ he admitted. ‘I am doubling patrols and cutting sleep rotations but we took a lot of casualties during the last assault. I’m stretched rather thin.’

  ‘Aren’t we all, colonel,’ Sicarius conceded. ‘What’s the nature of the unrest, and can we just call it what it is? Five years lost in the warp, I think we’ve learned to be candid with each other by now, yes?’

  That prompted a few nods and the odd muttered word of agreement.

  ‘Rioting and murder, captain,’ Kraef replied. ‘Death tolls have gone up by at least eighty per cent. Some of it is warp madness. Deck thirteen remains under quarantine but we might need to do the same with other decks if this persists. The rest is sickness and fatigue. They want food, and they crave light and air. I cannot give any of that to them. Only the mailed fist and the promise of severe punishment if they transgress. They are locked in a steel box and the heat is rising.’

  ‘I rely upon you to keep order amongst the crew, particularly the deckhands and ratings,’ said Sicarius. ‘You have the assistance of the over-seers – use it.’

  ‘I do, sire, but frankly it is not enough. I have lost eight overseers in the last day alone. Five committed suicide by stepping into the plasma furnaces, while the other three were torn apart when a labour dispute turned ugly. Literally they tore the men apart, sire. Limb from limb.’

  Sicarius regarded him pensively as he considered the problem. Kraef looked at the edge of endurance and Sicarius wondered when last he had actually slept. His eyes kept wandering as if he were struggling to maintain focus, and Sicarius was forced to consider whether the man was still fit for task. He decided he would have Venatio check in on him later. The Apothecary had a full slate but Sicarius needed his master-of-arms functional.

  ‘Alright, colonel,’ he said, and then looked at Daceus. ‘Sergeant, task Squads Vorolanus and Fennion to assist in restoring order in the lower decks.’

  ‘That will leave our defences threadbare, captain. If there’s another attack–’

  ‘It’s either that or the ship eats itself from within. See it done,’ he said.

  Daceus nodded, and quietly relayed the order through his vox.

  ‘As to the dearth of power…’ Sicarius said, turning his attention to Haephestus, ‘divert what you can to ration production and hydroponics. Conduct whatever further analysis is needed.’

  The Techmarine’s bionic eye noisily refocused as he made the mental computations.

  ‘By your will, captain. But I must advise you that such measures will require taking most of the automated defences on the command, primary and secondary decks offline. Generator restoration cycles will also need to be expanded by a further twelve hours.’

  ‘Duly noted. Master Zaadrin? Any contact, even a scrap, from the crusade fleet?’

  A hooded figure in long violet robes turned his face towards the light. He had no eyes, but his features seemed to react to the meagre illumination as if perceiving by some other, less ordinary means.

  ‘Whispers, but nothing more, captain,’ he said, his reedy voice a match to his skeletal frame and hunched posture. He gripped a black obsidian staff adorned with a stylised silver eye – the symbol of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, the astropaths – and leaned on it heavily. ‘I cannot be certain it is our allies, either, and I dare not venture too far or for too long. The warp is ever close. I hear it scratching sometimes, just at the edges but it’s getting louder.’

  Kraef suppressed a shiver at the astropath’s remarks, surreptitiously making the sign of the aquila when he thought no one was looking.

  ‘Well, at least that’s brief,’ said Sicarius facetiously. ‘Keep trying. If a message in a bottle is our best ho
pe then we have to keep sending them out into the tides until one reaches shore. Is that everything?’

  ‘Not quite everything,’ said Daceus.

  ‘Ah, the serious problem.’

  ‘The matter of Ithro Arkaedron,’ Daceus supplied.

  The faces around the room, particularly those of the Adeptus Astartes, darkened at the mention of the Librarian’s name.

  ‘Without him, we have no Navigator,’ Daceus added.

  ‘Ithro’s loss to us is a grave one. He served with courage and honour. But we have a Navigator, Daceus.’

  ‘I meant a… ah… functioning Navigator.’

  ‘You mean one who’s sane.’

  ‘That too.’

  Sicarius’ eyes narrowed and his face changed as if he had just tried a rare Iaxian vintage on his palate and decided the taste was not to his liking.

  ‘We cannot remain becalmed, adrift on seas of fate. Sane or not, Barthus is needed. Venatio can make an assessment, but unless he’s raving I want the Navigator back at his post. Inertia now will see this ship and everyone aboard dead within days, let alone weeks. We are prey in these blood-laced waters and the predators have our scent. Five years we’ve been gone and have managed to avoid the worst, but we have reached the bleeding edge. Colonel, can you spare a few of your men to retrieve Barthus from the sanctum?’

  Kraef glanced at Daceus before giving his full attention to the captain. ‘With the assistance of Adeptus Astartes reinforcements to help manage the decks, yes, I can assign some men for that duty. I will see it done personally, sire.’

  Sicarius nodded. ‘Very well. If that is all?’ he asked the assembly.

  They gave their murmured assent.

  Sicarius nodded again. ‘To your duties, then.’

  TWO BROTHERHOODS

  When the others left, Daceus and Helicos remained behind.

  The Primaris lieutenant came to stand beside the sergeant. Even armoured as they both were, the mismatch was obvious.

  Helicos held his Mk X war-helm in the crook of his left arm as if he were attending a ceremony. It had a thick white mark down the centre, which in turn was split in two by a thinner red stripe to denote his rank and status. His armour was pristine and glorious blue and gold. Purity seals cascaded from the breastplate, an indicator of the suit’s fine forging and dependability.

  By contrast, Daceus wore heavily scarred power armour, Mk VII, its appearance and design near ubiquitous amongst the Chapter before the arrival of the Primaris brethren. His helm was clamped to his weapons belt, the bright red an indicator of his sergeant’s rank. He was a Lion of Macragge, one of Sicarius’ honour guard – one of the four that still lived, the others having fallen defending the Emperor’s Will.

  Helicos led the demi-company of Primaris Marines that Lord Guilliman had sequestered to Sicarius’ service at the beginning of the Indomitus Crusade. Four squads, including his own, sat under Helicos’ immediate command, though Sicarius maintained overall authority of the combined Ultramarines force aboard the ship, including his own Second Company. He trusted Helicos, and valued him not only as a warrior and battle-leader but also a vital bridge between the Primaris brethren and those that some had begun to call ‘first born’, an appellation that felt overly reductive and colloquial for Sicarius’ tastes.

  ‘This is far from the glory and retribution we were promised,’ said Sicarius, once they were alone. Helicos appeared a little stunned by the captain’s candour but did well to keep it from his face. Where Daceus was grizzled and leathern, Helicos was handsome and marmoreal.

  ‘I doubt even the primarch could have envisaged our fate,’ said Daceus, having known Sicarius for decades and no longer surprised by his honesty and directness. ‘After this long, and for our brothers in the crusade it could be even longer, I fully expect the Emperor’s Will to be recorded lost with all hands.’

  Sicarius gave a rueful laugh. ‘Judging by the day’s imminent calamities, we might yet be.’ He got to his feet, turning to regard the armoury inset into the alcove behind him. His sword, the Tempest Blade, sat suspended in its scabbard behind a shimmering stasis field. An ornate plasma pistol named Luxos joined it, along with a pair of artificer lightning claws that Sicarius had not used in many years, and his relic armour, the Suzerain’s Mantle.

  ‘Another attack is inevitable. Regardless of whether we are becalmed or not, the traitor hosts will come.’ With a fizz of displaced energy, the stasis field deactivated. Sicarius touched the faceplate of his war-helm, his warrior’s mask and the defining image of his rank. The golden ultima in the middle of the red-and-white crest still gleamed.

  ‘The last assault was severe,’ he continued, his fingers moving to the hilt of the sword and drawing it reverently. ‘We almost did not prevail. I ask then, are we of one mind and purpose, we sons of Guilliman?’

  Sicarius let a moment of silence stand, taking a few seconds to admire the blade before returning it to its sheath and re-engaging the stasis field. He turned to face his officers.

  ‘The finest blade is nothing without a skilled and focused hand to wield it.’

  ‘You are referring to Pillium,’ said Helicos.

  ‘I am referring to every Ultramarine on board this ship, Argo,’ Sicarius replied, his stern gaze falling on both Space Marines. ‘Retius, do you speak on this matter?’

  Daceus cleared his throat. ‘The arena is an attempt at promoting unity through martial contest.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Sicarius looked to Helicos, but the Primaris lieutenant allowed the sergeant to answer.

  ‘They need to blow off steam, Cato. That is the truth of it.’

  Helicos stiffened at Daceus’ use of the captain’s given name, the familiarity of it evidently uncomfortable for him.

  ‘The Primaris Marines are blooded but they are still raw,’ admitted Helicos, adapting to the informality of the exchange. ‘The crusade had barely begun when they, we, were cast into this limbo.’

  ‘It’s not limbo, Argo, it’s hell. We know that now, we’ve seen it and all its daemons.’

  ‘Hell or not, captain, Dac– Retius is right. Prolonged inactivity, kept in a heightened state of readiness… It is wearing even for an Astartes. An outlet was needed.’ He paused, choosing his next words carefully. ‘Division between us was not intended.’

  ‘And Pillium?’ asked Sicarius, watching for any reaction from Daceus, who stoically gave none.

  ‘Will be spoken to.’

  ‘With respect, captain,’ Daceus cut in, ‘I would prefer he wasn’t.’

  Helicos raised an eyebrow by way of interrogative.

  ‘Pillium craves glory. He is arrogant and vain, but he is also skilled and a devoted Ultramarine. His hunger is useful. It will serve. He will serve. Respect will come, either in the cage or fighting for our lives aboard this ship. Let it happen in its proper course.’

  ‘I believe redress is needed, captain,’ Helicos argued, visibly dismayed by Daceus’ suggestion.

  ‘I agree, Argo, but I also trust Retius’ judgement,’ said Sicarius. ‘It has never served me ill.’ He regarded Daceus. ‘Humble him, sergeant. You or Gaius, I know he has a point to prove also. And in so doing, return our two brotherhoods to one.’

  ‘You have my word, Cato.’

  ‘I appreciate your word, but I want your deed.’

  ‘Of course, captain.’

  ‘Argo, are you satisfied with this? Speak honestly, because I have no time for the diplomacy of hierarchy.’

  ‘We’ll do it Retius’ way for now.’ Helicos turned to Daceus. ‘I have not known you as long as our captain, but I trust and respect you.’

  ‘And I you, Argo,’ said Daceus.

  Sicarius smiled, nodding. ‘Courage and honour,’ he said, and heard his words repeated back to him. ‘I need Retius for a moment longer,’ he added, ‘but you are released to your duties, Argo.’

  Helicos nodded, saluted both men and then departed.

  ‘I apologise about the arena,’ offered Daceus after th
e door had closed again. ‘I had thought it a way for our two halves to bond.’

  ‘It’s dealt with, or at least it will be, yes?’

  Daceus nodded, reminded of his promise.

  ‘Brotherhood suits him well, don’t you think?’

  ‘I do, captain. They are all Guilliman’s sons.’

  ‘As are we.’

  ‘As are we.’

  Sicarius left a pause to regard Daceus’ lingering injuries.

  ‘Did you let him beat you?’

  Daceus gave a rueful look. ‘Would you believe me if I said I did?’

  Laughter echoed around the room.

  ‘We are an outdated design, Retius. That’s what I believe.’

  ‘You do not look it, Cato.’

  ‘Well, you do, old man.’

  Daceus gave a raucous bellow. ‘Ha! I expect I do.’

  ‘I can feel it, though,’ said Sicarius, serious again, ‘time gnawing at the edges. This place, this ship. It doesn’t help.’

  ‘You led them, Cato, descended from on high like a glorious and vengeful angel. I saw their faces, Pillium’s and the others. It was awe. The kind of belief and loyalty you inspire cannot be gene-wrought or created in any Mechanicus laboratorium. It’s innate.’

  ‘And yet we still lost Ithro.’

  ‘A bitter cost, but it could have been much worse. If we had lost the bridge or the warp engine, it would have been all hands. Ithro gave his life for us. He gave you enough time to save us all.’

  ‘Why then does it not feel like a victory, Retius?’

  ‘Because by most measures it is not, certainly not what we are used to. For now, victory is survival.’

  ‘I won’t lie, it is a weight upon me, this… stasis.’

  ‘You want to be out in the crusade, by Guilliman’s side.’

  ‘I want to be by his side, yes. But it’s more than that… All the campaigns we’ve fought. The battles we have won.’

  ‘Your honours are long and glorious, Cato. They will not end here.’

  Sicarius’ face darkened and he turned to look into the shadows. ‘I’m not concerned about that. Some battles leave a mark, even those we think we have left behind.’