A Thunderhawk was flying through a leaden sky, carrying a cargo of Space Marines.
'Look at all the smoke!' Nasty said.
The wind swirled in through the open hatch. The metal ramp hung out into the air. Albatross was laid out below them. Alaster was gripping a wall-hoop in his free hand, swaying in the wind. He was stood a little way back from the hatch. He could feel the rough metal of the hoop under his hand. His fingers were wrapped tightly around it. The hoop creaked on its mount. A gust of chilly air swirled into the forward compartment. With it came the rumble of the engines. The Thunderhawk was hovering a couple of thousand feet above the city.
Down below, black plumes of smoke were rising throughout the conurbation. Here and there, Alaster could see dancing specks of orange – flames, burning amongst the grey buildings. There were surges of movement amongst the streets. Mobs, looting, rioting and running amok. The city had fallen into disarray.
'The news spreads,' Alaster said. He tried not to lean on his ankle. Magos Kelso wasn't happy about this. She didn't think he was ready for deployment. She had actually protested Lakon's orders to his face. He hadn't seemed to care. The deflection of the mothership had changed everything. The Chapter needed all its warriors and they had too many Space Marines in the infirmary as it was. Alaster could at least walk, so the theory was that he could also play a role in this operation. He would be on his jump pack most of the time. He wouldn't be putting much weight on the ankle. Alaster supposed that it would be okay.
For his part, in a way Alaster was glad to be going back to the fight. The last few days he had felt like a spare part, useless and unneeded. And he'd watched the disaster unfold in front of him. There'd been nothing he could do, no way to fight the impending cataclysm. Helplessness didn't come easy to Space Marines, and Alaster was no exception.
The time for the recollections came to an abrupt holt.
Behind them, Kodos banged his chainsword against the hull. It clanged against the metal. Alaster felt the vibration through his boots, on top of the mighty rumble of the engines. 'All right marines, listen up!' the sergeant barked. 'This isn't going to be pleasant. This is probably going to be messy. But what we're doing today is critical. The port has to be secured, so we can get people out. The ships are going to keep running until the last possible second. We're not going to get everyone out – no-one imagines that – but the longer we can keep the port open, the more people get to live. That's what it's about today. Saving the innocent.
'But you can see the state the city's in. It's like this everywhere on the planet. Order has collapsed. But once order goes, there's nothing but chaos.'
Alaster twitched as he heard that word. He wondered if Kodos had used it deliberately?
'I don't condemn the people down there,' Kodos said, 'for what they're doing. They're frightened, they're hopeless and they have no control. They're doing what frightened people do. They're lashing out.
'But if the rioters overrun the spaceport, we can't use it. And with the port's facilities lost, that's even fewer people who can get out of here alive. That's what we're here to do – help others survive. We're Space Marines. That's what we do. Brothers, none of us will enjoy what lies ahead today. But we must do our duty. We must not flinch and we must not fail. Too much rests on this. And remember. I said that today is about saving the innocent. We are the Astartes – we stand for the Emperor's Will. Those who stand against us – well, they're not innocent anymore.' He paused, then added, 'In a few minutes we will deploy. In the meantime, I suggest you pray for the souls of those we will kill today. That is all. Bring the storm, brothers.'
Kodos made his way forward. Nasty and Alaster were at the front of the compartment. Alaster half-looked around, expecting to hear Patreus muttering prayers quietly.
Except that he didn't. Patreus wasn't with them. Their brother was still unconscious aboard the Wrath. It felt weird not having their brother with them. Alaster realised they badly needed Patreus's steady faith right now, if only to bolster their own.
Kodos stood between them. 'Karo, Shepherd,' he said, turning his helmeted head side to side. 'There's only two of you today. So I'm putting you with Sergeant Solyn and his Devastators. Your job is to play bodyguard. If anyone gets through the perimeter, you're to deal with them. I don't want the Devastators getting distracted. Do you understand me?'
Alaster nodded. 'Yes, Sergeant.'
Kodos nodded. 'Okay. I need the two of you in place to plant this.' Kodos reached down to his belt. A device was hung there. It was a metal tube with a line of LEDs up its side. It had a folded, tripedal stand. It stood about thirty centimetres high. It was a silvery-grey, marked with a fat wax seal of purity. The seal declared that it was sanctioned by the Adeptus Mechanicus, and would work provided the proper rituals were undertaken. The flat end of the cylinder bore a round, red button in a recessed metal frame. It was marked with the rune that Alaster understood to mean OFF/ON.
Kodos held the device out to Alaster.
Alaster slid his chainsword into its belt loop, then took the device. It was solid underneath his fingers. 'What is it?' he asked.
'Portable teleport homer,' Kodos replied. 'You put this down and set it out, then the Devastators teleport in. There's a flat-roofed building at the south-west corner of the spaceport. I'll mark it on your displays. That's where I want you to set up.'
Alaster glanced toward the edge of the city. A glowing blue dot appeared on his display.
He nodded. 'Yes Sergeant.'
'Okay.' Kodos's blue-black helmet nodded. Reflections gleamed on his red eyelenses. 'Now get ready to jump. And don't forget the Rite of the Button. It's pretty hard to get wrong – just push the big red button on the end. Oh, and Karo?'
'Yes, Sergeant?'
'Try not to damage that leg again, if you can.' Did that almost sound like concern? From Kodos? Underneath his helmet, Alaster blinked. He twitched as well. The sergeant didn't notice – he'd turned and was walking back, deeper into the compartment.
Moments later, they were given the all-clear to jump.
Alaster ran up the ramp, boots clanging on the metal. Cold wind swirled around him. Then he sprang, with only a small twinge from his ankle. He was in the air. The city was spread out below him. Streets, buildings and parks – he could see them all.
He and Nasty fell out of the Thunderhawk's turbulence region before firing their jump packs. Alaster's fall was arrested with the familiar jerk of the harness. It was wonderful not to have any weight on his ankle – there was no pain at all!
The two Storm Ravens flew over the doomed city.
It took them a few minutes to reach the spaceport. Alaster watched the landscape below as they moved, clutching the homer to his chest. The impression of chaos proved apt. Now that they were lower, he could see the surging mobs, crowds of frightened and angry people smashing everything that they could find. Many streets were filled with them. Other streets had already been ransacked. These lay empty, silent and deserted. Abandoned debris was strewn over the roads and here and there, the sunlight glinted off of broken glass. Many of these streets played host to plumes of thick, black smoke. Alaster and Nasty were careful to navigate around those.
They passed over a church. It was set in the middle of some open space, whether a paved square or grass Alaster wasn't sure. It was filled with people. There were thousands of them, packed in around the church. The spire towered over the sea of people. Its shadow cut across the crowd, a sharp black line, pointed at the end like a sword or a knife. Alaster heard the bell tolling, low and sonorous, as they flew past. The streets leading to the church were thronging as well. It seemed that the churchmen at least were still performing their duties, even if the rest of the planet was spiralling down the drain.
'You wouldn't believe it could fall apart so fast,' Nasty's voice said through Alaster's earphones.
'What else do you do when you get bad news like this?' Alaster said.
'I'm surprised as skak that they found out so soon,' Nasty said.
'You can see the Nid mothership now,' Alaster said. 'There was no way it was staying secret.'
He glanced up at the sky. For Minoris and its damaged climate, this was about as nice a day as was possible. There wasn't even too much cloud and the two suns were shining with a watery light. The atmosphere was still dusty from the earlier, smaller impact. It was a hazy silver. To think that impact had once seemed the worst thing to happen! Now it was possible to feel nostalgic for those days, when the planet hadn't been lost.
Even on this tranquil day, there were signs of doom. Looking out toward the western horizon, down low, there was a daylight star. It hadn't been there the last time Alaster was on this planet. It wasn't prominent yet, but it was slowly getting brighter. As the mothership fell closer to the doomed planet over the next few hours, that star would brighten. A few hours before the end, it would resolve to a clear disk, even to human eyeballs. In the last hour, it would grow rapidly. Then it would fill the sky over the Emperor-forsaken part of the planet that it would strike.
And then this world would cease to be, if not as a physical planet then definitely as a human place. The star was an unwelcome reminder of the approaching menace.
'What's going on with the bugs, down south?' Nasty asked.
'Apparently they've fallen apart,' Alaster said. 'No co-ordination, no strategy. Some fighting, but no coherence. The Hive Mind knows they're toast, I guess. So it's thrown them away. Apparently it's hurling everything it's got against Majoris now.'
'So it's trying to get in there?' Nasty asked.
'Yes,' Alaster said. 'Makes sense, I guess. This planet's not worth fighting over now.'
'And what about in orbit?' Nasty asked. 'I keep seeing a lot of flashes.'
He was right. Glancing up at the sky, past the thin cirrus, Alaster saw one then. A brief flash of light, as silent as it was sharp. Some gun being fired, beyond the atmosphere. 'Apparently the Nids are making a push for Majoris,' Alaster said. 'They're throwing everything they've got at the ships up there.'
'Last roll of the die,' Nasty said.
'Basically,' Alaster agreed. 'If they can even just push a few spores through, then they've got a chance. It means the fleet are really busy.'
'And with all those ships blown up before,' Nasty said, 'well, skak. That can't help.'
'No, it doesn't,' Alaster agreed. 'The entire fleet's engaged. What's left of it. I gather it's intense. The Nids really are giving it everything. It's making for real problems with the shipping up there.' He glanced down at the teleporter. 'Maybe that's why they're keen on using these things.'
Suddenly, Nasty said, 'Why don't they teleport people up?'
Alaster took a second to realised what he meant. 'You mean, from the city and stuff?' Nasty's helmet nodded. 'Umm. I don't know if that's a good idea. Pulling a lot of people through the Warp, you know…' He trailed off.
'Ah,' Nasty said, seeing Alaster's point. 'Not good, I guess. Though we've done it!'
'Yeah but we're Space Marines and they aren't,' Alaster pointed out. 'That probably makes a difference. And – let's be honest – I didn't like it very much myself. It kind of felt wrong.'
'Yeah, true,' Nasty said.
'And anyway, even if they did do a teleporter-vacuum – where would you put all the people? The problem is simple. There aren't enough ships to get them between planets.'
Nasty considered it for a minute. 'Can't they just – like – teleport people between planets?'
Alaster glanced up. Halfway behind a cloud, he could see the crescent of Majoris. Even in daylight you could see some points of light on its nightside. The cooling arrays, he knew now, glowing furiously away into space. 'I guess if they could,' he said, 'they'd be doing it, right?'
He looked back at the daylight star. From this angle, it was close to one of the columns of smoke. The oily black plume rose into the sky beside it. 'And we know shooting it won't work,' he added. 'We just don't have the firepower anymore.'
Nasty looked down at the city below them. They were flying over another mob. No-one appeared to take any notice of the passing Ravens. Alaster supposed they were too high up to be prominent.
'So we're going to be shooting our own people,' Nasty said. He didn't sound pleased.
Alaster looked at him. 'Your tone,' he said. 'You sound a bit like Patreus did, before we got the head Loser.'
'Maybe he had a point,' Nasty said.
'If they try to storm the port,' Alaster said, 'what else can we do? Let them?'
'So we'll kill them instead,' Nasty said. 'We'll do what power always does.'
'It's not like we actually want to,' Alaster pointed out.
'We didn't want to kill that lot at the street, did we?' Nasty said. 'But we did.'
Alaster felt a fresh discomfort. The Originists – and just what were Originists doing here, on Minoris? He realised they hadn't even crossed his mind since the other day. The new bad news had eclipsed everything.
'Can you remember how many you killed?' Nasty said. 'I can't. But I did kill them. In fact I remember being skakked with you, holding the violence up. I wanted to get my skakking axe into their skakking-stupid skulls. I wanted to scrag some dumb Originist scum.'
'Haven't you always?' Alaster asked.
'But don't tell me you didn't feel angry too – they spat on you!'
Alaster remembered the gobbet of phlegm, flying through the air. He remembered the little splash as it found its mark. He remembered it dribbling down his shoulder pad. And he clearly remembered the rage he'd felt, the complete, burning fury at the total disrespect shown to his army.
'Yes,' he admitted, 'but it was a stupid thing to do. Oh look, there's a Space Marine, why don't we see if we can provoke him?'
'But that's the skakking thing,' Nasty said. 'Killing. It's easy for us. I don't feel guilty about it, and you don't too. Admit it. We ripped through the Emperor knows how many civilians – and we're not bothered about it. And we're going to do it again today.'
'And this is a problem?' Alaster asked.
Nasty was quiet for a moment. Then he said, 'No. It isn't. But I wonder if maybe it should be.'
'We're nothing,' Alaster said, 'except what the Chapter made us to be. We were made this way so we can serve the Emperor's will. And don't forget, you chose this – and so did I! We were given every chance to back out and we didn't.'
'You forget,' Nasty said with asperity. 'If I'd skakking backed out, they'd have hung me.'
'Oh yes!' Alaster blinked inside his helmet. 'So they would've!'
Nasty's helmet turned toward him. The sunlight caught his eye-lenses with a sparkle. 'Brother, I'm a murderer,' he said. 'Fourteen bodies, before they packed me off to the courts. Only I get to be a Space Marine. I get pardoned. And then what happens? I get to kill more people. I've killed more people now then I did before I was a marine. Before, they wanted to hang me. Now they pat me on the back and tell me it's my duty! A death is a death, right? What's the difference? I'll tell you what it is. What's different is that I've got a skakking uniform!' He tapped the head of his axe against his breastplate. 'And apparently that makes skakking murder into skakking duty!'
'The people at the street were standing in the way of the Emperor's will,' Alaster said. He tried to sound calm and definite. He wasn't sure how well he was succeeding. Nasty's words had echoes of his own misgivings.
'They were Originists,' Nasty said. 'The people I murdered were Originists too. They're like rats – the skakkers get everywhere! Some skakking difference. Murdering my girlfriend didn't make them heretics … but standing in front of a Rhino did? What's worse, murder or standing in a road?'
'I tried to talk them down,' Alaster said, 'and they wouldn't do it. And don't forget, they shot first!' He sounded defensive. He felt uncomfortable.
'Yeah but only just. I don't know if I'd call that silly little pistol a gun. For all the good it did it may just've spat out a flag saying BANG! Now this is a gun!' Nasty waved his bolt pistol about with passion. The comparative effectiveness of firearms was a subject close to the Space Marines' hearts.
'Kodos ordered us to take them down. So we did.'
'Yes,' Nasty said. 'And we skakking liked it, didn't we? Teach the skakkers a lesson, they had it coming, following orders, all that. Face it, Brother. Neither you nor me minded the killing.'
Alaster was silent.
Nasty waved his axe at the streets below. 'And we're not going to skakking mind the skakking killing we're going to do soon, are we?'
'We have our orders,' Alaster said. 'That is justification enough.'
'But if we aren't bothered about killing,' Nasty said, 'how are we to know when it isn't justified?'
Alaster thought about it. 'When we're told that it's not,' he said. It seemed like a weak argument – probably, he thought glumly, because it was a weak argument. He added, 'Why, are you thinking about not doing what you're told?'
'No!' Nasty sounded genuinely shocked at the suggestion. He was, of course, a Space Marine. Obedience was ingrained into them.
'Then there's not a lot to talk about, is there?' Alaster said.
They fell silent. They flew on, toward the spaceport. It was visible now, an expanding grey blotch near the horizon. As they flew Alaster found himself thinking about the conflict. It was taking its toll on all of them, he realised. Was this what the rest of his life was going to be like? Flying on under a grey sky, between dirty plumes of smoke, from futile battle to futile battle? Of course he didn't regret the choice he'd made back at the school, not even for a moment. Being a Space Marine was worth it just for that honour in of itself – service was indeed its own reward.
But there was a part of his mind that couldn't help but wonder – if he'd known then what he knew now, what would his earlier self have done?
And Alaster realised that he didn't know.
They were at the spaceport.
The sky overhead was an ominous mixture of thin grey cirrus and dense black smoke. An icy wind had picked up, coming from the west. There were clouds on the horizon. There was a hint in the wind that the weather might be turning. The wind was driving the thin cloud up overhead. The suns and Majoris were still visible, as was the day-star. It was low over the cityscape to the west. It was flanked by the dark spires of two church steeples. Despite its brightness it was hazy and ill-focused behind the cirrus, as were the suns and Majoris.
The spaceport was a wide expanse of thermocrete, blackened here and there by ship exhausts. Even now, shuttles and spaceplanes were taking off and landing at short intervals. The relative quiet would be shattered by the deafening roar of their engines. Sometimes also there would be a flash of actinic light from their drives, as they punched their way skywards. With each roar the ground would shake under foot.
Alaster looked around, scanning the terrain. The concourse buildings were all grouped on one side of the port area. Secondary control towers were dotted around the wall along its edges. Alaster and Nasty were setting up on top of one of the towers. The wall was about twenty metres away. Between it and the tower was the thin line of a chainlink fence, hastily erected as a second line of defence. It too encircled the landing area.
Beyond the wall was a sea of ragged people.
The airport was served by a dense tangle of roads and trainlines. They were all at a standstill. Every empty space was filled by people. All ages, all genders and all social groups were there. They were creating a huge tumult. They were demanding to be let in. They were offering bribes. They were pleading. They were crying. They were shouting defiant insults. Every human reaction one could imagine was exhibited beyond the wall. It was a sea of people and a storm of emotion.
Even at this distance, Alaster could sense the mood of furious betrayal that hung over these people. All throughout this war they'd been promised victory, they'd been promised protection, they had been promised one last effort and one last sacrifice. Every time the propaganda machine had lied. And now the world was dying and they found themselves locked out, locked out from the one place that they could escape this nightmare.
Betrayal. They felt betrayed.
Alaster looked down at the bolt pistol, gripped in the blue-black gauntlet around his hand. He turned it over. The Imperial eagle embossed on the side caught the diffuse sunlight with a shimmer of gold. Alaster looked back up at the crowd. He knew he and his brothers should be protecting those people. He thought about what Kodos had said, on the Thunderhawk. That, in a sense, by holding the port so more people could leave before the end, they were. But to protect those people, the marines would almost certainly have to kill some of them. The mood carried on the wind was ugly. A riot was a certainty.
There was a paradox here, Alaster thought. To save the people, they would have to kill some of them. But how can you save a person when they were dead? It didn't make sense. He had his orders, he had no choice but to follow them – but none of it made sense. He'd been raised to believe in a universe given order and form by the guidance of the God-Emperor – but how could there be order if things didn't add up? How could one thing exclude another, and yet both be true?
We will leave, he thought, and all these people will die. Surely it was the duty of the Space Marines to sacrifice themselves so that others could live, not the other way round?
Alaster's eyes drew back to the eagle, gleaming weakly in the light. He shook his head. Then he felt a sense of pure horror wash through him. He ran his last few thoughts back through his mind. He realised that for a few moments there, he had actually questioned his duty. No – worse then that! He had stood right on the precipice. He had almost contemplated the idea of…
He swallowed. He didn't want to admit it to himself.
The wind moaned over the roof of the squat tower. Alaster forced himself to confront the truth of what had very nearly happened inside his head. He had, for a moment then, come within a whisker of contemplating disobedience. Rebellion against lawful orders. The idea made him feel physically ill. There would have to be a confession of this, he thought, and there would have to be penances. Serious ones. This was a major error, even if it had happened only inside his head.
Suddenly, he turned round to Nasty. 'What you were saying earlier,' Alaster said. 'It's this war. It's taken all of us right to the edge. The way we take ground, only to lose it again the moment we leave. The way everything and everyone's skakked up and next to useless. The way the Bugs just keep coming back and back and back. And the way it just keeps going downhill at every turn. That's why we have to do what's necessary today. One way or another, this needs to end.'
Nasty's helmet stared back at him for a minute. Then he nodded.
'That's why we need skakking Patreus back,' Nasty said. 'He's good at reminding us what we're for.'
Alaster nodded. 'Truly spoken. Let's get this thing set up.' He gestured at the tripod, lying on the floor.
The tower roof was a flat, grey space, bounded by a low wall with a single railing running over it. A big satellite dish sat on one side of the space. On the other were some air conditioning units and a plain brick hut. The hut had a door, opening onto the stairs to the lower floors. The two Space Marines set the tripod up right in the centre of the open space, so there would be plenty of room. As they did the floor rumbled with the takeoff of another ship.
Alaster pushed the button down with his thumb. It light up. The tripod beeped loudly. The wind moaned around them. Alaster and Nasty stepped back, to give the new arrivals some space.
There was a flicker and a pop of displaced air. Sergeant Solyn and the first two of his marines had arrived. There was a noticeable vibration in the floor beneath them as the three marines appeared. There was also a loud triple thud.
Solyn was quite recognisable, Alaster noticed. As well as the skull on the brow of his helmet, he wore Mark Six armour. His squad number and company insignia were painted on the curved surface of his greaves, where the knee pads would have been. His helmet was of the pointed, bascinet-type with the downward-turned point.
It did, Alaster had to admit to himself, look a bit like a beak.
Under one arm Solyn was carrying a massive power axe rather than the more usual chainsword. Alaster wondered where he'd got it from. In his other hand he had a plasma pistol, like Kodos.
Solyn's helmet looked at both of them. 'So you're Karo and Shepherd,' he said, without preamble. Alaster nodded. Nasty winced. Solyn said, 'Kodos has told me about you. You can help us set up, since you're here.'
The first two Devastators through had a plasma cannon each. They were setting them up on tripedal mounts, with the intention of using them as improvised gun emplacements. Alaster and Nasty helped them set up. Once the weapons were positioned, the Devastators got to manning them. They moved with quiet professionalism. It was refreshing, Alaster felt, to be fighting alongside his own for once. While fighting alongside other Ravens, he felt they wouldn't have to risk the usual cock-ups that had dogged them throughout this war.
The other Devastators came through until the squad was assembled. Then, to Alaster's surprise, they were followed by Lakon and Kaylos. Lakon had again reluctantly decided on Terminator armour.
As he was helping set up another gun, Alaster listened in with half an ear. Kaylos and Lakon were talking to Solyn. Alaster supposed that if it was secret, they wouldn't discuss matters where other marines could hear them.
He gathered they were doing some sort of inspection, seeing how the perimeter was being set up around the port. Then he heard something that caught his interest.
'Hold up,' Lakon said, raising a hand for silence. Kaylos and Solyn respectfully fell silent. 'Just getting a message,' Lakon said.
There was a pause, then he added, 'That's interesting. Kodos is coming here – apparently he has news.'
Shortly after, Alaster heard the whine and then the growl of a jump pack. An instant afterwards a shadow appeared on the roof, and then Kodos dropped down. He banged his breastplate in salute. 'My lord,' he said.
'What is it?' Lakon asked.
'I've been at the terminal building,' Kodos explained. 'We're evacuating the last of the Octalian Guard forces. I was marshalling people – it was a mess in there! But some of our men brought something to me.'
'What is it?' Lakon asked.
'Who, more like. My lord, you remember the attack on the guard post, in the Hydra Delta?'
Alaster's ears pricked up. The Hydra Delta? He only remembered one attack there – and that ahd been the one where he and the others had stood firm against a Tyranid assault. It had been the action that had recovered their honour after the earlier disgrace, and the action that had earned them geneseed.
But why bring it up now?
Lakon said, 'What about it?'
'It turns out,' Kodos said, 'that we've still got the Originist saboteur.'
'What? I thought he had brain damage? Was comatose?'
'He does. Karo socked him one good. He's a vegetable. But they've had him sat on life support at one of the hospitals, all this time. And he's lying on a stretcher at the terminal building. What do you want me to do with him, my lord?'
For a moment Lakon actually sounded surprised. 'I'd not realised he was still alive out there somewhere!'
'He might have useful intelligence. Should we evacuate him?'
'No,' Lakon was firm. 'We can't give a traitor a flight out – not if it takes a seat away from an innocent! That would be wrong. He can stay. He deserves his end.'
'The intelligence,' Kaylos put in, 'is a good point, my lord Captain. This Originist filth had to get here somehow. He might know something useful.'
'I thought there'd been a purge,' Solyn said. 'I thought we'd got rid of all the sympathisers in the Guard staff.'
'What if we missed someone?' Kaylos said. 'This Originist vegetable might have that information locked in his brain somewhere. It could be got out. A séance. Or a cybernetic probe. But they take time – we couldn't get results in the time we have left here. And not if we need to fight a battle first.'
Lakon considered it. Then he said, 'I still maintain that we can't evacuate a traitor. And the other options aren't practical. But you're right about the intelligence.' He fell silent for a moment. 'There's only one option. Sorry, Kodos, but you're going to have to eat his brain.'
'An Originist?' Kodos sounded revolted. 'Emperor forbid!'
'Is there another option?' Lakon asked.
'My lord,' Solyn said, 'what about the omophagea problem?'
It was, Alaster knew, the other of the two signature mutations of the Storm Raven geneseed. Thinking about it, he ran his tongue over his teeth. The canines were appreciably-pointed now, more then they had been before. That was the cosmetic mutation, and in most brothers it wasn't even that significant. Ravens only rarely produced Wolf-like fangs. But the omophagea issue was more significant. He vaguely understood that it was something to do with the enzyme balance in the stomach. The concentration was too low and the mapping of neural structures took too long. By the time the omophagea could extract much information from it, the tissue in question would already be mostly digested. It was one of the reasons why the Storm Ravens didn't share the cannibalistic practices of some Chapters.
The other reason, of course, was moral distaste for such dubious activities.
Lakon said, 'We'll just have to chance it, I'm afraid. You'll probably get at least something from it. That's better than the alternative, which is no intelligence at all.'
'Do I have to do this?' Kodos said, sounding grumpy. 'The skakker's bound to be all stringy. He'll get stuck between my teeth.'
'Think of the Emperor, Brother-Sergeant,' Lakon said. 'And you only need to gag down the brain, after all. We don't care about the rest of the carcass.'
'Well,' Kodos sighed, 'the sooner I'm done with this, the better! With your leave, my lord?'
Lakon nodded. There was a rumble as Kodos lit his jump pack. Then he was gone.
Alaster looked toward the west. To his surprise, he saw a void between the two church spires. He realised that the day-star must have set while they were talking. Strange to think that something like that would rise and fall like all the other, normal stars. He wondered if its absence meant anything.
Perhaps surprisingly, the next few hours were quiet. It was tense, but little actually happened. Ships carried on lumbering up into the sky, loaded to the bows with the last rounds of desperate refugees. A small handful of people found themselves allowed into the concourse, counting their blessings, cheering or crying with relief as they stumbled into the waiting departure queues. Outside a greater number of people, beyond the walls and the barbed wire, watched their friends and loved ones escape into the relative calm of the concourse. For these people at least there was the small consolation that someone they knew and cared about would escape the coming carnage. Beyond them was the greater mass of people. They watched the second group with bitter envy, and they watched the first group as if they were traitors.
The situation was quiet, but the tension was rising.
Hours passed. Day slid into evening and then into night in Albatross. There was little darkness, though. Powerful floodlights illuminated the landing pads and searchlights shone out over the crowd beyond. The Space Marines remained at their stations, manning their positions, watching vigilantly.
Clouds were filling one half of the sky. They obscured the vigilant gaze of the Tech-Priests' observation satellites. In various tactical centres, puzzled eyes stared at various screens. Here and there were hints of movement near Albatross, but the signal was weak. The clouds were eating too much of the flux and the resolution on what was left was awful. Few details could be gleaned. Some meetings were held and some discussions happened amongst the Imperial tacticians, but little emerged from the discussion. The messy telltales certainly were not ignored, but it was agreed that there was just too little information. It was also agreed that there probably wasn't much point sending out a patrol or doing reconnaissance by fire. The planet was basically lost and only scant hours away from its end. It was hard to see what could happen on the surface that would make much of a difference.
At Albatross spaceport, at oh four oh nine hours in the night, so late it was now early, the wind was cold and the air felt tense. The Space Marines were still watching over the port walls. The crowd beyond was growing more and more restive.
Standing guard alongside Captain Lakon, the librarian felt it. Kaylos too was struck by an additional, peculiar sense of unease. Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite tell what. His perceptions were still fuzzed around the edges by the Shadow.
Down below, in the city, a rumour had started somewhere. Someone heard something from someone else, who'd heard a garbled tale from another person, and they all believed it. But it grew on the re-telling, as these things are prone to. One person claimed to have seen the marines at the port's only open gate stop someone entering. The next person to hear it claimed they weren't letting anyone through. Then the next person embellished it further, claiming they were shooting anyone who tried to pass.
In this febrile atmosphere, the story spread and mutated. Many versions emerged. Some enthusiasts claimed the Space Marines were moving through the crowd, mowing down anyone who past. Others claimed Thunderhawks were en route, to mow the crowd down. Others claimed deathsquads were already among them.
The crowd had been scared before. Now its fear had found a target.
Over near the fourth of the wall towers, the crowd started throwing stones. At first these met with no response. Then one of the Space Marine – Doom Eagles, in this case - positions fired a warning shot over the crowd, intending to calm them down. It didn't work.
Someone in the crowd, a deserting PDF trooper, had a missile launcher with him. He'd planned a break-in with it, to get past the barriers, but now he panicked. He'd heard the rumours, and now he thought he was seeing the Astartes shooting into the crowd. So he did what came naturally for a soldier.
He shot back.
The night was briefly ripped open by the howl of the projectile and the fire of its passage as it ripped through the air. It smacked into the side of the tower, exploding with a powerful bang.
The tower rocked, but stood.
From their point of view, the marines had come under attack. So they too hit back. And they hit back with heavy weapons. But that wasn't the end of it. There were many people in the crowd with some sort of weapon to hand, and they started shooting back. The engagement quickly escalated. Similar firefights started breaking out in a spreading wave of carnage, running around the spaceport. More deaths, more killing.
And out beneath the dark clouds, beyond the crowds and beyond the lamps ringing the spaceport, there was movement.
Alaster looked at his display's clock. It was some dreadful hour in the morning. He was still at the tower, along with Nasty and Solyn's Devastators. They'd been there for several long hours. The night was black. In fact, dawn was only a few hours away. It would be the last dawn the planet would know as a living world. Impact was now only sixteen hours away. There was still no sign of the false star. Alaster wondered when it would rise next. The sky overhead was mostly cloud. Only a few, cold stars leaked through in the gaps. Majoris had set.
In the distance there was some sooty orange backlighting, from the fires raging throughout Albatross. They had got worse as the night wore on, Alaster noted. Surely the rioters must be running out of stuff to burn?
He and Nasty were watching the crowd. They were stood at the front of the tower. It had been a quiet night so far.
'Well,' Nasty said quietly, 'we haven't had to kill anyone yet.'
'Give it time,' Alaster said, feeling cynical. Where was Patreus when you needed him?
'Hey, what was that?' Nasty said. He pointed.
Alaster turned. 'What was it?' Nasty was pointing at one of the towers, on the far side of the launch pads. It was small in the distance, but were Alaster's eyes deceiving him, or could he see smoke?
'I saw a flash,' Nasty said.
Suddenly there was another flash, from atop the tower. Out in the dark beyond, something exploded.
'Skak,' Alaster said. 'A firefight's breaking out!'
Sure enough, little lights were sparkling all over the far side of the port. Alaster heard a faint bang, followed quickly by another one. Little puffs of smoke started erupting from the ground. Then the far towers answered. Alaster watched rockets and plasma bolts blast into the distance.
'Brothers – it's starting!' he heard Solyn say. 'Be ready!'
Alaster turned his attention to the crowd in front of them. That was where the next attack would come from. He readied his jump pack, feeling the controlled rumble as the fan assemblies spun up. His thumb rested on the button of his chainsword. The sounds of the fight on the far side were louder now, crackles, roars, growls and bangs. It was spreading, he realised.
A flare went up, casting a bright light over the scene. It crackled as it rose. Everything was starkly outlined for a moment in the dazzling ruddy light. Alaster could see it all. The crowd. The wall, the chainlink fence. His gun and sword, in front of him. The scuffed and battered roof of the tower. The thermocrete of the launchpads below, scarred and marked from generations of spacecraft. In the distance, Alaster noted, the city before them was now strongly aflame. It hadn't been a minute ago – fire was fast!
'That's a skakker of a flare!' Alaster said admiringly.
'Uh,' Nasty said, 'I don't know what the skak that is – but thatt's not a flare!' He pointed at something with his axe.
Alaster looked. He saw something in the distance, above the city. There were several somethings, backlit by the ruddy flames rising below. He zoomed his helmet eyelenses in. For a moment he got the impression of some sort of winged shape, but even as his eyes focused, it blurred and shimmered in the heathaze rippling up from the dying city. For a moment, he blinked. He looked again – it was gone.
'No,' he agreed, 'I don't know what that was.'
He was about to say more when a new noise caught his attention. It was in the middle distance, a screeching, creaking sound. He looked down, toward the chainlink fence beyond. The crowd were on it. Fear, anger and despair was written across their faces. They were tugging and pulling on the chainlink. He could hear them shouting and crying and cursing as they tore at it. The creak-screech was the chainlink, bending and breaking.
His earphones crackled. It was Lakon. 'Brothers, look sharp,' the captain's voice said. 'They're breaking in. All around the spaceport. Looks like we're going to have to fight them back. Remember - the ships must be protected! Every ship that can't take off is dozens fewer survivors tomorrow. Remember your duty, brothers. Lakon out.'
'Here we go,' Nasty said.
With a desperate screech of twisted metal, the chainlink finally gave way.
