Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 38

The Wyvern groaned as her superstructure was compressed by the multiple dimensions of non-space, battered by empyreal tides that owed nothing to physics or sanity. The crew slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares and every soul on board kept glimpsing strange shadows in the corners of their eyes, that disappeared when looked at directly. Time ran strangely on some decks, crew labouring for hours only to look up and find seconds had passed while other entered corridors on the morning watch and when they reached the other end the night shift bells were ringing. Some individuals found themselves lost in compartments they had walked with confidence for years and others stepped through hatches to find themselves emerging on the other side of the ship. Many could not cope with the bizarreness, going mad or launching into murderous rampages while suicide rates among the chattels soared.

All things considered it was a fairly routine warp jump.

Sergeant Reddam paid no mind to the disquieting sensations as he ministered to his bike, soothing its wounded spirit and repairing its damage. The noble steed was mostly intact, its reinforced frame withstanding the blows of the enemy with only minor scrapes but he worked on it anyway. The machine had served him well once again and it deserved his care in return. So he polished its frame until it shone, buffed out the grazes and applied fresh paint to its cowling. He did this for hours, a soothing meditation that distracted him from the perils of the Warp, sadly his reverie was interrupted as Glord complained, "This is chattel work."

Reddam glanced up, looking across the machine shop attached to their billet. Set out in rows were the squad's bikes, each one being worked over by their rider. Joffel working a polishing cloth over his exhausts while Tebes was pulling bits of broken bone from under his mudguard. Larus was scrubbing out his bolters with a wire brush while Kazao was fiddling with his auspex, the built-in surveyor reflected in his stormtrooper's helmet. Only Glord was idle, drumming his hands on the sidecar of the attack bike and gazing at the bare metal walls.

Reddam didn't look up from his work as he replied, "This is important, your arms and armour deserve your full attention. The Machine Spirits are fickle and wayward by nature, without your total dedication they may turn upon you."

Glord snorted, "How likely is that to happen?"
Reddam replied sternly, "A warrior who does not tend to his gear is a fool, and then soon after a dead fool. Would you be struck down by a blocked oxygen line or your armour's power cell failing at a critical moment?"

Joffel looked up from his own bike and retorted, "But Sergeant, we don't have power armour, only scout-plate. Only Primus Cohort can boast such gear."

Reddam snapped back, "And on the day you are elevated to Primus may the Emperor save you, for Battle-Captain Ferrac would flay the hide off any warrior he saw disrespecting his armour."

Larus suddenly grunted as he reached into the space between his bike and its sidecar and yanked hard exclaiming, "Fang-rot, something is really stuck in here… hold on… Throne! Tis a jawbone, a whole human jawbone, it must have sprung up there when we ran over those Heretics."

Reddam snorted, "You see, that could have worked its way into an axle or a brake line, fouling your bike at the most critical moment."

Glord didn't seem to be paying attention as he eyed Larus and said, "Are you going to dispose of that?"
Larus held the jawbone up to his eyes and said, "Actually I think I'll keep it. The teeth would look good hanging around my neck."
Glord laughed, "Try taking the skin off this time, before it stinks the place out."

Reddam rolled his eyes for Larus had developed a habit of collecting trophies from the dead. Teeth, ears, fingers, bits of hair. He'd even tried to keep eyeballs in the billet, until they started to rot and stink the place out. Reddam had ordered him to throw them out, they were no strangers to battlefield stenches but the billet was no place for such things. The squad all had their strange ways, Joffel's quest for glory, Tebes' dourness, Kazao's mutations, Larus' collections and Glord's laughter. For a solar year Reddam had led them to war and they had fought and killed many times. Their rough edges were working away and a true squad was emerging, yet it was not what he was accustomed to. They lacked the stern discipline and rigid self-restraint he had known in his youth, when he had marched in other colours.

Kazao spoke up then, "What I want to know is, where are we going next?"
Joffel answered, "Rumour has it we're taking the fleet to Braxia. Apparently those Navigators we recovered had some juicy information."

Reddam frowned as he asked, "Where'd you hear that?"
Joffel replied, "From a chattel, who heard it from his supervisor, who heard it from a galley worker who feeds the helmsmen's mess."
"I wouldn't put much stock in rumours," Tebes muttered.

Joffel shrugged, "Doesn't matter, we will find out soon enough where the next job is coming from."
Reddam scowled as he corrected the youth, "We are the Adeptus Astartes, we undertake holy missions in service to the Golden Throne and for the benefit of all mankind. We do not do 'Jobs'."

Glord called over, "Really? Then what would you call that fight on Caweral? That fat Governor wanted his eldest son eliminated, along with his whole household. We gutted his orbital palace and made it look like a Traitor attack, got fifty palates of missiles and a flight of Vulture gunships for our trouble."

Reddam winced for that had hardly been their noblest hour, one more sordid pact to extend the Chapter's life, but outwardly he proclaimed, "You know Chapter Master Coluber learned that the son was plotting secession from the Imperium. The governor couldn't move openly against his own family but with one clandestine strike we prevented an entire war."
Glord grinned as he said, "That's the official story, but I never believe anything until it's officially denied."

Reddam was irked by his tone but thankfully Kazao stepped in to say, "Glord you take your duty too lightly, the life of the Astartes is a sacred calling. You should be content in your station and cease questioning everything. To question is to doubt and doubt is the path to Heresy."
"Aye," Tebes concurred, "Truly it is said, 'Blessed is the mind too small for doubt'."

Reddam was relieved at a couple of his squad took their life seriously. His hands were aching from long hours of work and he determined that their bikes' spirit were placated. He drew in a breath and said, "I think we have completed our ministrations, let us retire." The squad thankfully dropped their tools and stood up, stretching out tired muscles. Tebes in particular had to work out his right arm where a patch of fresh scar tissue clung to his shoulder, a memento from their exfiltration of the drift. The dour lad had an unearthly ability to get hit, every time they went out he seemed to come back with some minor scrape or injury. It was getting ridiculous how many scars he boasted.

Reddam led the squad from their machine shop, leaving their bikes to rest in peace as he marched into the billet. The squad's billet was a large open space, with a few items of furniture and individual sleeping cells set around the edges, along with an arming chamber and an ablution chamber. It wasn't quite as austere as a conventional Chapter's quarters. There were trophies on many of the walls, odd items they had picked up on their travels, a shelf of books and a few foodstuffs and beers in a small cabinet. Reddam remembered the cold, bare cells of his youth and the stern-faced Chaplains who had overseen every facet of their lives. Those grim zealots would have been scornful of such frivolous luxuries, and would have commanded them to burn the lot. On this one matter Reddam was glad the Amber Vipers had not recreated that stern discipline, he rather liked owning more than his armour and his weapons. It had been a revelation to learn he could relax for an hour and not face stern penances for simply enjoying himself.

Everybody threw themselves onto couches and chairs taken from various adventures. Tebes and Larus set up a game of cards on a table, using spent bolt-casings as currency. Kazao took a book off a shelf and opened a well-thumbed page while Glord rummaged around in the cabinet and asking, "Anybody else want a beer?"
Reddam had a flashback to his former life and pictured the fit of apoplexy the Chaplains would have had at such a sentiment, then cheerfully said, "I'll have one."

Glord tossed him a bottle, which he opened bare-handed and supped at the contents. He swilled the taste of hops in his mouth and swallowed slowly. He couldn't get drunk on this but he enjoyed the taste. Meanwhile Joffel was eyeing a wooden rack, which held the squad's melee weapons. His eyes lingered on the power spear and he asked, "Can I try it out?"
"When you're old enough," Reddam snapped.

Joffel didn't catch the warning tone in his voice and continued, "It's a fine weapon, truly magnificent."
Tebes frowned as he asked, "Why have you never told us the tale of how you acquired it?"
"Aye Sergeant," Larus concurred, "Tell us the tale of your heroics."

Reddam good mood evaporated as his mind flashed back to the Time of Exodus. Those dark days on the run, fighting to survive at any cost. He remembered the burnt sky overhead, he remembered the smell of churned mud and the sight of broken purple-clad bodies all around. He remembered the corpse laid out on the ground before him and the smears of blood and brain over his hands as he dropped the weight of the rock and snatched up the spear to defend himself from the next attacker. Above all he remembered the sense of shame and dishonour that had dogged him since that accursed day. Reddam nearly crushed the bottle in his hands as he growled, "Never ask me that question again, do you hear me?!"

Everybody started in surprise at his outburst and all eyes turned to him but thankfully there was a cough at the door. Reddam was glad of the interruption and turned to see Apothecary Shrios standing there, his white armour looming over the lighter-clad Brothers. Shrios cocked his head and said, "Am I interrupting?"

Reddam called out in relief, "Nothing of import, come in. What can we do for you honoured Apothecary?"
Shrios stepped within and said, "Its that time again."

Kazao groaned audibly and stood up, trooping over to the Apothecary as he removed his helmet. The others averted their eyes as he revealed his mutated face, even after a year of bonding the taint of the mutant stirred hatred and revulsion in all true Imperial hearts. Reddam forced himself to look at Kazao, taking in his scaled features and red eyes. Kazao was afflicted by sub-standard gene-seed, a lingering curse left by the extreme measures the Amber Vipers had been driven to in order to survive. Other Chapters would cull such aberrations without comment but the Amber Vipers needed every hand that could hold a bolter, so such twisted malforms were permitted to fight alongside their pure stock. A necessary evil, that all hoped would prove temporary and be swiftly forgotten. Still Kazao's gene-seed would never be accepted, his sole legacy would be a good death on the battlefield.

Shrios held Kazao's head in both hands and twisted his skull up and down, left and right as he muttered, "No change in skin condition, cornea still afflicted. Some slight growth in the fangs… nothing worth getting worked up about. Externally there is no change, but let's have a look at your blood, give me your arm."
Kazao held out his arm and rolled up his sleeve as the Apothecary took a sample from a vein and said, "Am I dying?"

Shrios examined his armour's Narthecium as he replied, "Not today, but your Betcher's gland is overworked. Your acid bite may become troublesome in time… I'll keep an eye on it. That's it for now, return to your duties."

Kazao gratefully jammed his helmet back on and returned to his seat. Reddam however was gazing at the Apothecary's belt, where several glass orbs hung and asked, "What's that?"
Shrios grinned slightly as he replied, "A new poison, I cultivated it from a rare fungus growing in the Drift's air vents. The prisoners said it would rot a man's lungs out in a day. Larus can try it out for me."

The Apothecary set down the orbs on a table as Glord exclaimed, "That's where you get the poison for your knives! I thought you had a Catachan Devil hidden under your bed!"
"Hardly," Shrios snorted, "I cultivate poisons and toxins as a hobby, Larus is good enough to try them out for me. The effects have been… interesting if mixed."

Reddam shook his head in bemusement, then he leaned in and said, "Do you know where the Chapter is heading?"
Shrios glanced at him and asked, "Why do you want to know?"
Reddam shrugged, "I just do, after all we've been through together won't you tell me?"

Shrios lowered his eyes and said, "You saved my life, I can't deny that, just don't tell anybody I said this. The Chapter is sailing for Braxia to the lunar palaces of House Chamandly. Coluber thinks to forge a pact with a Navigator House."
Reddam blinked in surprise at the revelation, "Navigators… that's unexpected. They are rich and powerful and cunning, one misstep and this could end in disaster. I trust he knows what's he's doing, because we are risking all with this endeavour."