Crux Lapis Chapter 1

996.M41

Crux Lapis was not a beautiful world; it sat upon the star spackled cloth of space like a lump of coal in a field of diamonds. It was a small blackened rock, scorched by stellar winds and utterly bereft of atmosphere. The ugly planetoid was barely the size of a moon and its surface was pitted by asteroid impact craters and powdery dust seas. Across its northern hemisphere were two intersecting canyons, gouged by an ancient impact event and so large that they were visible from space. They formed a massive 'X' shape on the planetoid's face, giving rise to its title in Low Gothic 'The Crossed Stone.' This world was utterly unlovely and objectionable, yet that did not mean it was worthless. All over its surface rose black spikes, artificial constructions that stabbed into the empty sky like thorns on a sea urchin. These served a variety of functions, there were defence emplacements, void shield generators, vox and auspex arrays, thermal exhaust ports, refuse dumps and slag conveyors all arising from deep beneath the surface.

The planetoid also had a halo of moving stars, each one a hefty starship, orbiting this bleak world in teeming numbers. There were shoals of mass-conveyors and cargo ships constantly moving material to and from the surface, along with Forgevessels and defence cutters, passenger liners, diplomatic couriers and Explorator vessels. The variety and numbers of vessels was staggering, a plethora of shapes and sizes, yet they all had one thing in common: they all bore the skull and cog of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

For all its ugliness Crux Lapis was perhaps one of the most important worlds in the region, for it was a Forgeworld. This diminutive planetoid was a sovereign domain of the Tech-Priests and as such it was one of the few worlds in the galaxy that held fealty to Mars not Terra. It was odd therefore that that today one of the orbiting crafts was not of the Mechanicus, a brutal and slab-sided warship that stood out like a sore thumb. This vessel was a Strike Cruiser, a scarred veteran of the Adeptus Astartes, bearing the icons of the Storm Herald Chapter and the engraved name, Ticonderoga. The intruder sat among the drifting fleets untroubled and ignored, for it was neither an invader nor attacker: it had been invited here.

Dropping from the Ticonderoga were a flight of Thunderhawk gunships, diving down towards the surface, headed for an open and inviting airlock portal. The gunships flew in perfect formation, for the Mechanicus had calculated the exact amount of space needed for them and to drift out of their assigned corridor would be to invite being shot down, regardless of whom they were or who had invited them. Aboard the lead Thunderhawk twenty-seven Space Marines were strapped into their restraint cages. Among them was a Captain bearing the heraldry of Third Company, he had a glorious relic sword strapped to his hip and one glowing red augmetic implant where his right eye should be. His name was Toran and he was the leader of this expedition, Commander of all the Space Marines of Third Company.

Toran was looking around the bay, seeing his squads assembled and ready. With him were the tactical squads of Sergeants Mylos and Matheus, along with his Command Squad: Brothers Furion, Jediah, Persion, Bylan and Novak. There was also one other Brother present, clad in red and with a large servo arm over his shoulder: his name was Hevostan and he was of the order of Techmarines. The squads were chattering among themselves, discussing tactics and bantering about past glories and memorable kills. Toran encouraged comradery among his men and he let them have their moment of Brotherhood. However Toran spied his Company Champion, Novak craning his head to look out of the troop bay, through the pilot's window high above. Novak suddenly announced, "By the Throne, what an ugly bit of gristle, it looks like a burnt tuber!"

Furion sighed, his brutal Mark III armour barely fitting in its cage as he said, "This world belongs to the Tech-priests, did you expect them to care about aesthetics?"

Novak answered, "I was expecting wonders, the hidden tech-mysteries of the Mechanicus laid bare… not this eyesore."

From further down the bay Hevostan answered in surprisingly rich baritone, "There are sacred mysteries aplenty to be found here, but the Magi are not in the habit of leaving them out for anyone to see. The Forges themselves are below the surface, we must go deeper to find such wonders, much, much deeper."

Persion leaned over, his expanded communication rig bumping against his cage as he said, "You've been here before then?"

"Yes," Hevostan replied, "It was the first stop on my training pilgrimage, I thought it was impressive… until I reach Mars and I saw true wonders."

Toran asked in curiosity, "Crux Lapis is not considered an important outpost then?"

Hevostan answered, "By the standards of Mars… no. This is barely a Tertiary Minoris Forgeworld."

Furion said, "But it is a Forgeworld, the only one to be found in this part of the Saint Karyl Trail, which makes it invaluable."

There was a flash of light and then darkness cut off the sights outside as the Thunderhawk dived through the airlock and carried on travelling nose first down a long tunnel bored into the rock, sailing ever deeper through layers of stone. From his cage Bylan spoke up in the droning monotone of augmetic implants, "+Do you think we will see a Titan?+"

Hevostan answered, "Anything is possible, the Legio Astraman is based here."

"+Imagine that+" sighed Bylan, "+I would love to see a Titan, just once in my lifetime+"

Toran smirked and said, "Live long enough and I will make sure you will see plenty, so many you will get bored of them."

"Not bloody likely," Furion interjected, "Nobody ever gets bored of seeing Titans striding into war."

Suddenly Jediah said in a suspicious tone, "Am I the only one wondering why we are here, I mean a whole Battle Company pulled off the line simply because the Tech-Priests requested us for undisclosed reasons."

Toran answered, "The Tech-Priests are our valued allies, it is right and proper that we should answer their pleas."

Persion sounded unconvinced as he said, "Yes, but we would usually send a squad at most. A Battle Company is a significant fraction of the Chapter's strength, why would Chapter Master Gorgall send a hundred Astartes on such a mission?"

Furion answered that question, "Because our Chapter is hardly well regarded in the galaxy, we have many enemies in the corridors of power who would love to see us declared Excommunicate Traitoris. Yet the Mechanicus is the most powerful and influential all Imperial institutions, without their sanction the High Lords could not even move a single ship. We need to keep them on our side, so if they request the aid of a Battle Company, a Battle Company is what they shall get."

From further down the bay Mylos spoke up to say, "I hate to interrupt, but has anyone else noticed that we are flying at full speed and we are still diving?" Everybody turned to look out the sliver of sky visible and realised that he was right, despite long minutes of flying the Thunderhawk was still diving nose first into the tunnel.

Persion gasped and said, "By the Throne, how deep are these Forges?"

Hevostan sounded amused as he said, "Wait and see."

Suddenly the tunnel fell away and the Thunderhawk soared into an open sky, impossibly blue with a dull bulb of a sunset in the firmament. Toran hurriedly patched his augmetic eye into the Gunships' spirit and looked out of its pict-imagers, seeing rock faces spread out in every direction, literally every direction, left and right, upwards and sideways and above. The Thunderhawks were surrounded by rising walls on all sides, encapsulating them inside a vast globe the size of a moon.

Novak asked, "What do you see?"

Toran sounded utterly shocked as he replied, "Its hollow, the entire planetoid has been hollowed out. The Tech-Priests emptied the interior of an entire world!"

Hevostan snorted in amusement at the shock in his voice and explained, "Not exactly, what you are looking at is the inside of a Geode. A vacuum formed Geode with a crust of impure Adamantium and a crystalline interior. The Mechanicus long ago harvested the crystals, leaving the interior vacant for a Forgeworld to be built. The formation of such a natural structure makes for a fascinating study in zero-gravity dynamics."

Toran was lost in wonder as he said, "But the sky… the sun."

Hevostan explained, "Artificial illusions, wonders of forgotten Archeo-technology. The air is processed through atmosphere recyclers and there are even gravity generators set to Terran standard, we will be able to walk on the interior surface unimpeded."

Toran watched in awe as the Thunderhawks flew over the strange landscape, seeing the world curve up and around them in a perfect globe. Every surface was covered in belching manufactories, heavy machinery, and industrial lifters, an entire Forgeworld's worth of industry spread out over the inner surface and covering it in metal. The horizon was most disturbing, rising up where it should fall away and Toran was forced to keep his eyes down, to stop himself staring inanely at it. The gunships flew over strange and arcane machines, veritable armies of servitors going about their business and Red-robed magi performing inscrutable rituals. None of them seemed remotely interested in the Astartes' presence, not looking upwards nor deviating from their assigned tasks for a moment.

Eventually the Thunderhawks began to descend, heading towards a large Ferrocrete landing field that sat empty for them. They flew down at full speed, as if they were in an active warzone and came to a halt in a blast of downwash that snapped everybody's heads forwards. Before the ramps had even finished opening the Astartes were moving, grabbing bolters and piling out of the doors. They took up defensive positions with the ease of decades of practice, always on guard, even here amid allies. Toran strode out of his gunship and saw Third Company perfectly deployed, every angle covered, every bolter aimed and ready to fire. He marched forwards looking for a sign of welcome but found none, nothing but the distant rumble of constant industry. The landing field was bare and empty, nothing but basic half-man, half-machine servitors trundling around bearing cargo pallets and fuel bowsers.

As he watched several dozen servitors came trundling up to the gunships, dead eyes staring blankly ahead and pulling trolleys of tools behind as they prepared to service the Thunderhawk's needs. The Astartes tracked them with their bolters, ever wary for threats, but Hevostan waved them down indicating that the Servitors were harmless and they let the lobotomised, cyborg slave-machines through the line. Everybody turned away, ignoring the drudging slave-machines as they worked and Furion remarked, "Does anyone happen to see where our welcoming committee is?"

"Over there," said Hevostan pointing at a figure crossing over the edge of the landing field.

She was a blocky and square figure in a red robe, floating over the Ferrocrete without legs or any visible sign of locomotion. Toran recognised her instantly; she was Magos Castabore, an old friend and ally both of the Storm Heralds and himself personally. Toran raised his hand in greeting and watched as she sailed over. She hurriedly closed, waving at them and Toran was about to step forward to greet her, but then out of the corner of his eye he saw something odd. Hevostan had started knocking the side of his helm with a fist and shaking his head as if he was confused. Toran looked back at the Magos and realised that she was not waving in greeting, but frantic warning. She was shouting something in an organic voice and his enhanced hearing cut through the distant noise of industry to hear her yelling, "No… get away from them! Keep clear of the Servitors!"

Toran instantly glanced back at the slave-machines surrounding the Thunderhawks and was shocked to see the cyborgs had abandoned their duties and picked up arc welders and cutting torches. Their dead eyes gleamed with malign intelligence and before anyone could react they leapt at the Astartes, trying to cut them apart in a brutal surprise ambush.