Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 112

The primary workshop of the Wyvern bustled industriously. Tools whined and sparking welders were applied with diligent care to delicate systems. Teams of lay-preachers marched, swinging silver thuribles that oozed thick smoke as Binaric psalms were recited. Cyber-Cherubs floated above and shrieked when they spied a mortal accidentally dropping a spanner. Instantly his Overdeacon dispatched him to the penance chambers for shriving and flagellation, ordering him not to return until he could show proper respect to the Cult Technis.

Glord watched from the sidelines as the Chattels worked. The focus of their labour was the squad's bikes, joined by another example of their model. Unlike civilian marks these machines were built for war. They were heavy and robust, low-slung with armoured farings and tires as broad as a man's chest. Built to take a battering, they could grind a mortal to shreds under their wheels and barely notice. They were worthy steeds for an Astartes, each warrior forming a sacred bond with his machine and together bringing woe to the enemies of man. So it was deeply distressing to see them being altered.

Glord clenched his jaw and hissed, "This seems wrong."

Larus concurred, "To be changing the nature of the Machine is a troubling prospect. It veers dangerously close to innovation."

Joffel however sniffed, "I don't see what the problem is, the Chapter does this all the time."

"We do not!" Larus spat.

But Joffel scoffed, "What is Doombringer if not flagrant innovation?"

Glord muttered, "But the difference is, this time it's our steeds that are being interfered with."

Kazao's voice was muffled by his customary helmet as he said, "This strikes too close to home for me."

Their debate was cut short as Sergeant Reddam proclaimed, "This has to be done, bolters will not stop the Necrons. If we are to reach our objective then we must have better armaments."

Glord eyed the Sergeant and commented, "You seem awfully sanguine about this."

Reddam sniffed, "I've had to swallow many compromises in my time."

"Compromises like me?" Kazao asked.

"Yes," stated Reddam with brutal honesty.

Everyone was discomforted and Glord hurriedly asked, "How are the other Aberrants?"

Kazao shrugged, "I don't know, we went back to our own squads. We're not an order or a fraternity, we stay away from each other as much as possible. Zasio and Nazrik can barely stand to be around each other and Hasak is unflappable as ever."

Glord chewed his lip in hesitation and then said, "What does everyone make of our new Librarian-Dreadnought?"

Larus asserted, "He will be a powerful asset."

Tebes concurred, "Such a mighty relic can only strengthen the Chapter."

Yet Joffel mused, "I don't know… he didn't seem too impressed with us. I get a distinct feeling he disapproves of our way of doing things."

Glord said, "He's been sitting in stasis for millennia, he must adapt to the state of the galaxy. We've had to make a lot of hard choices, a lot of shady deals. He must accept we do these things to survive."

Redam however lifted his head and said, "It is not he who needs to rethink his ways, it is us. He is an example of who we should be. You callow youths have never seen the glory of a Chapter in its full splendour, the dedication and disciplined of a proper Astartes. You do not understand how far we fall below the mark expected of a Space Marine."

Glord stiffened at the rebuke and said, "We are few in number but one-to-one we could beat any of those stiff-necked peacocks."

Reddam snorted, "You dream, a properly trained Space Marine would take any of you apart with one hand tied behind his back. Why else do you think we have scrupulously avoided encounters with Traitor Marines; none of you is ready to face a foe of that calibre."

Everybody bristled at the insult and Glord protested, "I think differently."

Reddam snapped, "Your opinion is irrelevant, only obedience matters."

Silence fell but Glord eyed his Sergeant and reflected the encounter with Maru Kysoto seemed to have effected Reddam. Perhaps it was the reminder of his past, of the discipline Reddam had once known, or maybe he had seen a standard to live up to. Either way Reddam seemed to have shoved a stick up his arse, Glord reckoned. If this was what the Amber Vipers were going to become he wasn't sure the younger Brothers were going to be too keen.

Thankfully there was a great cry from the gathered Chattels. A looming figure stepped from their ranks, Berio the Cerberii, and he waved the squad nearer. As they closed Glord got a good look at their bikes. The bikes gleamed with blessed unguents and purity seals had been affixed to the exhausts, but these were only appeasements to soothe the changes made to their frames. The front cowlings had been changed out for custom fittings, into which new armaments had been fixed. Gone were the twin-linker bolters, now they were armed with the sinister weight of Fission-Blasters, the over-under charging coils glowing with a wicked red light.

Glord's attack bike had been further changed. In place of his lost Heavy Bolter was a larger mark of Fission-blaster, a doughty cannon identical to those wielded by the Cadmus-robots. Glord hesitated at the sight of an unfamiliar weapon but worse was yet to come. Behind his seat was a cage, within which hung a glassic sphere. Contained within that sphere was a series of intricate rings, set within each other and spinning eternally, each revolving around a different axis to create a bewildering array of dancing lines. Glord couldn't count their number, they seemed to shrink endlessly and looking at the ever-smaller rings made his eyes water and the feeling crept over him that he was falling into an infinitely deep well.

Berio declared boldly, "The alterations are complete."

Glord stared at the cannons and spat, "You can't expect us to use these."

Yet Reddam rebuked, "Nothing else will work on the Necrons, they've proven vulnerable to rad-weapons."

"Vulnerable?" Tebes probed.

"Well… less immune," Reddam allowed.

Berio waved to them closer and said, "I shall be accompanying you on my own bike. Examine these weapons, learn their characteristics. See the thermal vents here, you can fire repeatedly but the risk of overload increases as you demand more. Learn to pick your shots, you can't fire wildly and pray to hit something, these aren't stubbers."

Glord leaned down and peered at the odd sphere clamped to the back of his seat asking, "Is this the bomb?"

"Don't get too close to that!" Berio snapped, "The Eye of Discord is not to be trifled with."

Glord hastily stepped back but Joffel asked, "What does it do?"

"We're not sure," Berio confessed, "The records speak of a powerful detonation, irresistible forces that cannot be denied. It was intended to rip worlds apart, leaving only tears and ash behind."

Larus frowned as he queried, "If it's that powerful why don't we just fly overhead in Doombringer and drop it on them?"

Reddam however explained, "Necron technology is disturbingly advanced, they may have some form of shielding around the target that can stop even this. No, sneaking in and planting it by hand is our only option."

Tebes rubbed his jaw and asked, "How do we trigger it?"

Berio explained, "Simply break the glassic casing."

Glord swallowed as he wondered, "So… if a stray shot hits it while its ten centimetres from my back."

"We all die horribly," Berio stated flatly.

Glord gulped in concern but Kazao was poking a Fission-Blaster warily and remarked, "You do know these vile things spew radiation with every shot. We'll all be irradiated long before we reach the target."

Reddam and Berio looked at each other and then the Sergeant said, "Yes, we had considered that. Which is why we've been granted a special dispensation."

Glord frowned in confusion but then from behind them came a scuffle. All eyes turned to the entrance to the workshop, where a line of Chattels was marching in. They sang a litany of Binaric praises and in their hands were screws and drills, yet that was nothing compared to what they bore on their shoulders. In a long line came six biers, each one bearing a suit of battle-plate. Six power armours, laying cold and inert. Their ceramite was freshly daubed in amber, the paint still glistening, but they radiated strength and endurance from every inch of their forms.

Glord's jaw dropped as he gasped, "Power armour?! We are to be blessed with power armour!"

Larus breathed, "But… I thought the Chapter had no more to spare."

Reddam explained, "Nathanal had some spare parts left over after we divided up the spoils of Athelling. Plus he scoured the Serpen's Rex's armouries and found some derelict suits left in pieces, awaiting an artisan's touch. Between them there was enough to cobble together six suits. Mark V, mismatched parts of differing ages and models, but they shall serve."

Glord reached out a hand and felt the cool ceramite under his hand and a sensation of awe crept over him. He had dreamt of donning power armour since his first moment in the Chapter, they all had, but to actually experience it under his fingers was wonderous. A Space Marine without his armour was only half complete, less than he should be and unable to reach his full potential. Glord suddenly felt like he had been missing something his entire life, though he had never realised it and he ached to don a suit.

Reddam was shrugging off his tunic as he said, "I'll go first. Watch closely, and memorise the ritual phrases. I mean it, donning your armour forges a sacred union between warrior and machine. Your armour is your life and it is your duty to maintain it, you must treasure your plate more than your own blood. Show it the utmost respect and devotion in all things and it shall serve you well."

Glord watched in awe as the Chattels fitted a fibre-bundle undersheath, covering him from his toes to his neck, fixed with exoskeletal joints and connections. Then Ceramite outer layers, fitted perfectly to the exoskeleton and forming an all-encompassing suit around Reddam. At each stage ritual phrases were exchanged, words from antiquity ringing forth. In minutes Reddam was clad completely in amber Ceramite, a helm fitted over his skull and a generator attached. Then a purity seal was affixed to his breast and he stepped forward with a growl of powered joints.

"I'm next!" Glord shouted as he dashed forward. The Chattels brought forward the next suit and repeated the procedure. Glord felt the undersheath being pulled over his limbs and for the first time connections slotted home in his implant sockets, binding the armour to his nervous system. Strange impulses ran through him and his mind was no longer alone in his skull. The armour was becoming a part of him, as much as his skin and bones. Its spirit touched his mind and he felt its bellicosity, its stubbornness and its fierce need for action. No wonder Space Marines were famously aggressive, he thought.

The first stage completed the Ceramite outer layer was attached piece by piece and a Chattel with a voice as dry as a tomb intoned, "Trust in your armour and it will protect you."

Repeating the Sergeant's words Glord recited, "I shall repay it with my blood, sweat and tears."

More plates were affixed as the Chattel intoned, "Honour the craft of war."

"I shall become an Angel of Death," Glord declared.

Thick pauldrons were set over his shoulders as the chant continued, "Revere the gear of the lost."

"Death holds no fear, we ask only to serve," Glord affirmed.

A helm fell over his head as the chant finished, "Whom do you serve?"

"I serve the Emperor," Glord avowed.

Suddenly the autosenses sprang into life and Glord's eyes were inundated with information. Targeting icons blazed before him, mixed with signal inputs from his armour, vox-channel options, environmental readings and bio-readings from other suits. He could barely see and when he tried to look at a Chattel the autosenses highlighted his weak points and critical vulnerabilities.

Glord tried to take a step but he overcompensated for the motion and stumbled forward, tripping over his own feet. Strong arms caught him and Reddam said, "Steady, don't try to alter your walk. The armour is meant to move freely, walk normally and it will be with you."

Glord steadied himself and was amazed how deep his own voice sounded as he said, "How can you see anything?"

Reddam sniffed, "You get used to it, soon you won't even notice the icons."

"What's it like?" Kazao asked.

"Strange," Glord said with a shrug, "OW!"

"Oh yes," Reddam sniffed, "Watch out for the auto-pauldrons, they shift position to fit. Best not to shrug when in plate."

Glord rubbed the side of his helm where the pauldron had caught him and muttered, "You could have warned me."

A Chattel held up a plasteel bar and Glord picked it up asking, "What's this for?"

"Bend it," Reddam commanded.

"But I can't," Glord protested, "Nobody could…"

"Do it!" Reddam barked.

Glord obeyed and fibre-bundle servos swelled as he effortlessly bent the bar forty-five degrees. His jaw dropped as he beheld his enhanced strength, performing a feat he could never achieve before. His strength was doubled with power-armour assistance yet he retained all his natural finesse. He was amazed at the display and he wondered how Reddam had ever given this up. The armour was a part of him, they were one and he saw this is how Astartes were supposed to be. He had been designed for his armour, as it had been designed for him.

Reddam waved him off as the next Brother suited up. Glord walked unsteadily to his bike, swaying like a drunk. Despite Reddam's advice he found it hard to adjust but after a few steps he managed to walk in a straight line. He made for his bike and sat down, then almost leapt up as the suspension creaked alarmingly under his weight. He grabbed the sidecar's weapon and saw a targeting icon spring up in his vision, moving in tandem as he swung the weapon back and forth. He could feel the grip through his gauntlets, impulses fed straight into his nervous system like he was holding it in his bare palms.

He spent a few minutes practising his aim then the rest were fitted out and he looked up to see a squad of power armoured warriors standing proud. Joffel's voice oozed out of one, asking, "Does this make us part of Primus Cohort?"

"No," Reddam growled, "It does not."

Kazao was bashing the side of his helm and said, "My rad-counter won't stop clicking."

"I said these suits were made of mismatched parts," Reddam rebuked, "Your suit leaks a bit of radiation, it shouldn't trouble you greatly."

Glord called out, "Look at it this way, under that helm nobody can tell you're an aberrant. You could be just another other Brother in that plate."

Kazao straightened with pride but Reddam barked, "That's enough banter! You all have to become accustomed to your new strength and we have less than a day till we engage the foe. Mount your bikes, we have training drills to run!"