Speculum Enigmate Chapter 39

The sound of battle echoed over the city. The embattled PDF units that hadn't turned traitor heard the thunder as they clung to their guns amid burnt-out ruins of factorums. The few civilians who hadn't fled heard it as they cowered in attics and basements, parents telling hollow lies to assuage children's tears. It was heard by Magus Tyvis in her lair, who basked in the knowledge that the last bastion of Imperial resistance was about to fall. And it was heard by Manaar.

The Warp Spider was currently hanging upside down from a girder. It was one of a thousand thick support beams that held aloft a landing apron for starships. The plate was three kilometres long and almost as wide, standing fifty metres off the ground so immense baffles and mass-distribution systems could bear the weight of the colossal vessel. There were a dozen such plates in the starport outside the city limits, each supporting the mass of a warp-capable cargo vessel. Arcane systems whose mysteries had long been lost to the understanding of the Imperium bore the weight without a hint of strain. While mindless servitors continued their daily routine, oblivious to the changes made to their surroundings.

The Warp Spider was in a sorry state, his armour was stained and battered by the fight against the Space Marine. His body was hardly any better, aching all over and his ribs throbbed painfully with every breath. The killing of Yones had been a hard fight, far tougher than he had anticipated and he bore his wounds with resentful scorn. His spirit was shaken by these events and he couldn't even take pleasure in the kill, the Space Marine had robbed him of that. It should have been a triumph to savour but the cold chill of knowing he had almost lost stole Manaar's joy, leaving him only with the urge to leave this place as fast as possible. So he forgot Yones' defeat and looked about, seeking his means of departure.

Among the girders and humming machinery his eyes beheld bodies laying in pieces. They hung from the beams like grizzly tapestries and piled up on the ground in thoughtless displays of crude violence. Many had been shot in the back as they sought to run, left where they had dropped but that was only the start. Guts had been opened, heads torn off and beating hearts ripped from chests, leaving a gory vista of death. This was not Manaar's work; the Genestealers had done this in the first hour of the uprising. The Starport was a critical lynchpin of Pascum's infrastructure and its capture had been a high priority. The Cult had attacked with overwhelming force, killing all they found and then sweeping off to join the assault on the Citadel.

Manaar looked over the scene and was satisfied that he was not being observed. He twisted about and dropped lightly from the girder, falling fifty metres without qualm to land so lightly he didn't even make a sound. The Warp Spider looked over the Mon-Keigh corpses and let slip a hiss of frustration. He had come to the starport seeking some means of departing Pascum and for that he needed someone alive. Sadly the Webway did not reach this planet; the only portal in the stellar system was tethered to that dead planetoid in the outer reaches. Manaar's warp-jump pack couldn't take him that far; even the Eldar's mastery of teleportation couldn't carry one clear across a Stellar system.

The Warp Spider glanced upwards and surveyed the vast cargo ships looming overhead. They were immense bastions of metal, fitted with engines and armour heavy enough to crush a city block. Manaar was well aware these were but minnows in void terms; only the most advanced Capital ships could enter a planet's atmosphere, something the Imperium had long lost the ability to build. Even so these ships were well beyond his means, requiring thousands of crewmen and officers to operate. They would never serve his ends; he would have to look elsewhere.

Manaar turned his back on the cargo ships and walked towards the edge of the starport, where smaller ships lay. As he walked he was gifted a view of the Jade Citadel and the battle raging around it. Even from this distance he could see the flaring void shield and hear the rumble of artillery and shooting. The Genestealer cult had amassed the bulk of its forces and laid siege to that bastion, exactly as the Space Marines had planned. Yet Manaar knew something they didn't: the trap would never be sprung. The team sent to bring it down were scattered or dead and the explosives were lost. Their scheme had failed.

A strange impulse made Manaar pause in his step. He frowned under his helm as he felt an inexplicable emotion rise, a hint of regret and sadness. From nowhere the thought arose that it wasn't too late, he knew where the explosives were buried and in which direction his teammates had fled. He could go back, a small voice urged, he could retrieve the charges and find his comrades. They didn't know how Yones had died, he could make up whatever story he wanted. Manaar could save them, he could save this world. Manaar could yet change the course of this war.

The Warp Spider was baffled by this impulse; it was not part of his Path to second-guess himself. Then he realised it wasn't his warrior Aspect speaking, it was his feebler and insipid half, its callow emotions seeping out from behind the mental walls that divided his being. The fight must have shaken him worse than he thought, disturbing his mental disciplines to allow his weaker half to surface. The Warp Spider was shocked to realise his other half had developed an attachment to the Mon-keigh, not as one would for an equal naturally, but rather as one would for a loyal pet. Manaar's artistic aspect wanted to go back, to save the Inquisitor and her retinue and play the hero.

It was a compelling urge but pointless, the Warp Spider half of his soul remained dominant and it laughed at the notion of risking an Eldar life for the benefit of Mon-Keigh. They were lesser creatures, the Warp Spider avowed, he owed them nothing. Manaar's mission had been for the benefit of Furta-Rith, nobody else. Let the apes die, let this world burn, nothing on this planet held any significance to the Eldar race anymore. He had achieved his goal and resolved he would leave this world as soon as possible. The Mon-Keigh could rot for all he cared.

He walked onwards, but a tiny whisper lingered, "What of Eirk? The others were pathetic wretches but he was a loyal comrade." The Warp Spider merely shrugged off the idea, one Mon-Keigh or a billion, it made no difference. The life of an Eldar was worth far more than any number of these apes. Farseers could and routinely did send billions of them to die to prevent some future tragedy overtaking the Eldar race. The Farseers plucked the strands of destiny, manipulating the Skein to manoeuvre lesser races to suit their ends. Mon-Keigh beyond counting and been sacrificed over the millennia, blithely unaware of their dooms approaching and who had placed it upon them.

Manaar heard a scuffle from ahead and froze as he sank into a crouch. His feeble half retreated, leaving the Warp Spider alone in their mindscape. That was good, he would need no doubts or indecision to weigh his arms down should he be required to fight. Ahead lay a Ferrocrete apron, carrying shuttles and orbital lighters in straight rows. These were useless to Manaar; primitive chemical-powered lifters, only rated to achieve orbit. Even the largest of them would barely reach a nearby moon. To traverse the stellar system to its edges would take these craft years, if not decades.

Yet at the very end of the row sat a different sort of vessel. It was larger and bulkier, five stories tall and with a blunted bow over which rose a small bridge. Its hide bore the marks of deep space radiation and the gargoyles sat along its flanks were flash scorched by re-entry burns. Most importantly it had a small plasma drive on its rear, the Imperial's favoured means of interplanetary transit. It was a system boat, a small vessel used for patrol and policing space lanes. Not Warp-capable but rated to travel to the outermost reaches of a stellar system. Most importantly of all it would have a crew of no more than a hundred Mon-Keigh, enough for Manaar to dominate.

Unfortunately between the Warp Spider and the vessel stood a pair of Hybrids, a rearguard left to hold the starport. They hadn't seen Manaar but they would if he did not dispatch them, he would need them dead lest they sounded an alarm. The Warp Spider leapt straight upwards, landing lightly on the roof of a shuttle. The Hybrids didn't notice his motion, nor did they notice as he leapt to the next and the next. The Warp Spider could hear them below his position, bantering back and forth like they were in no danger. He spent a moment judging the range, then he flipped forward and dropped right behind them.

The first never saw what killed her. The Warp Spider dropping behind her silently, then reached around and slit her throat with both phase-blades. The body dropped with a thud and the other turned, only to see his comrade lying dead at the feet of an Eldar Aspect Warrior. He hurriedly brought up a blunt shotgun but before his could fire the Deathspinners spoke and the Hybrid was engulfed in a cloud of mono-filament threads.

Manaar turned away from the pile of offal that had been an enemy and surveyed his goal. The vessel was sealed and barred against entry and the hatches were locked down. It seemed the Hybrids had been content to ignore this craft, leaving it for later. Manaar could see the crude lockplates and weighty hatches barring his way. Defeating them would take much time, but thankfully he had other options.

Manaar centred his mind and checked his mental discipline was undisturbed, lest his feeble half taint his purpose with doubt. Then he disappeared in a burst of unlight. He skimmed over the surface of the warp for a single heartbeat, only to reappear on the vessel's bridge, surrounded by cramped consoles and blank-eyed servitors. There was a single Mon-Keigh on the bridge, shivering in a chair before the helm. A pale-faced young male, with little strength to his arm and no scars of battle on his face, nor a pistol in his belt. Manaar instantly judged him a coward, hiding in this hole praying that battle would pass him by.

The Mon-Keigh rose with a start, "Throne! Who are you? How did you get in here?!"

His tirade was cut short by Manaar's phase-blade laid across his throat and a hissed, "How many others are on board?"

"What?" the man uttered, "I don't… Look my name is…"

"I need not your name," Manaar growled as he pressed a hair forward and drew a drop of blood, "You are not brave enough to defy me. Choose your words carefully."

"I…ah…" the man stammered, "There's… there's only me. I'm all alone, except for the servitor crew."

Manaar leaned in and spat, "You lie."

"No, no," the man pleaded, "It's mostly servitors on this ship, the captain and officers don't like paying for a full crew. They're away in the city; everybody took off to visit the bars and brothels. I was left to watch the ship, I'm the newest around here you see, so I get the short stick. Then the fighting broke out and I locked down the ship. I haven't heard anything in hours."

Manaar cut off his babbling with a hissed, "You can fly this ship?"

"I can," the man confirmed, "The servitors do everything, I simply tell them where to go. Just don't expect anything too fancy, they can't think for themselves."

Manaar stepped back and ordered, "Take off and plot a course for the outermost planet of this stellar system."

The Mon-keigh gulped, "There's a lot of fighting in orbit, a lot of firepower above our heads. We might die before we reach escape velocity."

"If you don't take off, you will die this very minute," Manaar informed him.

The Mon-Keigh seemed to get the point and dropped into a seat, then reached for the controls. As the ship began to stir around them Manaar looked out the armourglass viewportal and saw the flames and smoke rising from the city. The final assault on the Citadel had begun and he judged it would fall swiftly. The Genestealers were too numerous and too well-armed to withstand, they would carry the day and claim this world.

From the depths of his soul his feeble half protested he could yet change that, he could intervene and save the lives of those he had met. He had fought alongside them, eaten their food and partaken of their wine and art, crude as it was. He had been a comrade to them, albeit a reluctant one, but still they had formed a bond. Did that count for nothing, his insipid half needled.

Yet the Warp Spider remained unmoved by this plea. His purpose was clear and he was unwavering in his conviction. The quest given unto him was complete and he had no onus to remain. The Eldar race did not assist lesser races, he told himself, firmly believing that other species only existed for the benefit of his people. This world had no more value to Furta-Rith, its fate impinged not on the Craftworld so he would not lift a finger in its defence.

As the system boat began to shake with rocket exhaust Manaar turned his back on the battle, not even bothered to see who won. The stars called and he would not look back. With that thought Manaar departed Pascum, abandoning the Mon-Keigh to their doom.