Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 226
"Mmmmm, refried beans," Kerubim sarcastically said as he stirred a pot bubbling on the heating plate. The grey mush was unappealing and smelled faintly of tin but it was nourishing, that was the best thing one could say about it. Jordig insisted it was standard fare for many of the more serious Chapters, but the Amber Vipers had never been so rigid, they held so long as they kept themselves ready to fight then what warrior chose to eat was his own affair. Kerubim missed that freedom, he'd give almost anything for a palette of beer right now.
With no enthusiasm he picked up the pot and began to eat with a wooden spoon. He sat on his sleeping mat and looked about the room, taking in his handiwork. Over the last day he'd scrubbed gunk out of a dozen servitors, then spent almost as long again cleansing the filth off his armour. Left with nothing to do he'd read and re-read the technical scriptures Jordig had left him, tracts he'd memorised long ago. Brontes had been silent throughout, leaving him no one to talk to. He'd almost taken to talking to the servitors for company, but he wasn't that far gone, yet.
At times like this he grew wistful and thought on the path that had led him here. He couldn't remember his birth world, just one more strife-torn backwater. He'd grown up a child soldier, as everyone on his planet did, expecting a short life of conflict and inglorious death. No friends, no warmth of comradeship, but he'd found comfort in the iron certainties of maintaining his gun. Then the Amber Vipers had come, tipping the scales of war and taking their due in metal and flesh. Kerubim hadn't understood when they inducted him, all he knew was the pain of gene-forging and relentless training. He hadn't excelled enough to stand out, but he'd shown an aptitude for technical matters that drew interest and had seen him apprenticed into the Cult Technis. It had been Athelling where his life had changed again, finding Brontes and a Soulbound and sending his destiny crashing off in a most unexpected direction. Not for the first time he wished they'd never gone to that blasted planet; he wouldn't be stuck in prison otherwise.
Then with a startling blurt of gears Brontes came to life uttering, "Someone is coming."
"Wha!" Kerubim yelped in alarm, "How could you possibly know that?!"
Brontes didn't answer but moments later there was a faint whoosh of air moving and the door slid up, revealing a transit capsule. Jordig was standing inside, and he called, "You are summoned, both of you."
Kerubim leapt to his feet as he asked, "Where?"
"Don't ask stupid questions," Brontes snarled as he trooped past.
Kerubim followed hastily, stepping within the capsule a moment before it closed and slid away. Kerubim wondered what was about to happen but knew there was no point asking, Jordig wouldn't say anything until he was ordered to. Kerubim could only assume this had something to do with the information they had retrieved from the lost starship. So, they whisked along, moving through the depths of the Forgeship, grey walls flashing past the small portholes in the capsule.
Their journey came to an abrupt halt and the door slid open to reveal pale blue light and a cold wisp of frosty air. Curious Kerubim stepped out, to find himself in a vast cavern. As far as the eye could see stretched an immense vault, its far ends lost in darkness. It was ten decks high and just as broad, a vast volume of space to leave in a ship, but it was far from empty. Along every wall glassic capsules stuck out of the wall, each filled with bluish fluid. They hummed with chilling refrigeration units, and cold vapours spilled from vents in their sides. Many contained bodies, insanely muscled in the manner of Transhumans, but less than half of the tubes were currently occupied.
"Primaris Marines," Kerubim breathed.
"Yes," Jordig replied with a note of bitterness, "Awaiting the call to war."
"There must be thousands, tens of thousands," Kerubim marvelled.
"And still not enough," Jordig spat.
"Perhaps the Primaris are not all they are cut out to be!" Crackled a harsh rasping tone. All looked to see a shape in a red robe striding along a catwalk that protruded out into the void. He was heavily augmented, with no visible flesh left to him. A sign of great favour in the hierarchies of Mars, and yet he was not Belisarius Cawl. This one was whipcord thin, his metal limbs elongated and his torso compact and sparse. His face was a blank metal mask and three shining orbs passed for eyes beneath his hood. This body was configured for combat, sleek,swift and robust in its simplicity. A Magos Secutor of the Skitarii contingent.
"Magos Dannye," Jordig uttered.
"Mongrel," Dannye replied coolly, "I see you brought your pet abomination."
"That's no way to talk about the boy," Brontes retorted.
Kerubim sighed, for Dannye was a bitter rival of Jordig. A Skitarii Secutor who somehow had been involved in the development of wargear and tanks for the Primaris. He was vocal in the opinion that his Skitarii were superior, that the resources spent developing the Primaris would have been more efficiently used building Skitarii hordes. To everyone surprise Brontes didn't seem to mind his sneers, the two were almost amicable in their jibes.
Kerubim butted in, "I think it is wondrous, to see the future of the Space Marines unfolding with one's own eyes."
"Space Marines," Dannye scoffed, "Fleshy and fallible beings, the Skitarii are purer expressions of the Omnissiah's will."
"If you think so, why become involved in the Primaris project?" Jordig snorted.
"Don't you Fenrisians have some quote about keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer?"
Jordig bristled at the implication and spat, "I am not Fenrisian, as you well know!"
Dannye leered back, "Oh yes, I recall now. You are Terran, one of Cawl's first inductees. Implanted with Primarch Six's gene-seed. Cawl didn't bother to consider the repercussions of that, did he? Such troubling failures, so many lost to genic incompatibilities. You were a mistake."
Jordig's lips drew back over his fangs but then a harsh tone rang out, "I do not make mistakes!" All turned to see the Magos Dominus himself emerging from a doorway, skittering into the cryo-vault on many legs. His body was a bloated fusion of machine parts, with many different styles in evidence. Bulbous swells hid whirring components, legs long and short, clawed and hooved, framed his flanks and his humanoid torso rose above like a rider mounting a centipede. His many arms held various tools and staffs and his head was covered by a pale clone-skin that did nothing to make him appear human. With such a profusion of parts Cawl should have moved slowly, cumbersome and awkward, and yet his motions were startlingly fast, bringing him to them in an instant.
Belisarius Cawl loomed high and hissed, "You question my creations?!"
"No Magos," Dannye replied, "I merely repeat my position that the resources invested in this fleshy project are misplaced."
"So noted and overruled," Cawl snapped, "And you, 06-765-182, do you have something to say?"
"Only that I have a name," Jordig stated icily.
"Names, objections, both of you waste my time with such tiresome bleating," Cawl uttered, "Away with you, away I say!"
"But," Jordig protested.
"Don't make me repeat myself," Cawl snapped, "Begone the pair of you, I have business with our guests!"
The pair trooped away, neither happy at being dismissed so. Kerubim and Brontes were left alone with the Archmagos, waiting to find out why he summoned them. Kerubim took a moment to examine Cawl, trying to judge his mood. On the few occasions they had met Cawl had been wildly erratic, sometimes ebullient, others miserable and once outright hostile. Today however he seemed upbeat, perhaps the information they had found was the cause of this good mood.
Cawl spun about on his many legs and exclaimed, "Kerubim, tell me how your studies fare!"
"Slowly," Kerubim replied, "All I get to do is scrub Servitors."
"No, oh 06-756-182, he is such a stickler for rules. I must redress this and get you some more interesting tasks at once!"
"Getting us out of prison would be a start," Brontes grumbled.
"That is for your own protection," Cawl countered, "None can know what you truly are."
"A prisoner," Brontes grunted.
Cawl chortled, "My, you are a surly one. Such a paradox, why build a machine to be grumpy? But then everything about you is a paradox. A soulless device with a mind. A pinnacle of logic and reason, that gets annoyed all the time. Pure Machine, the very apex of what every Tech-Priest aspires to become, yet an abomination we would destroy on sight. Cadmus, you call yourself, a war machine and yet named after a great hero and bringer of civilisation. How very contradictory you are."
Brontes growled, "Has anyone ever told you that you have a face that invites punching?"
"All the time," Cawl laughed, "But that is not why we are here today. Tell me, what do you think of my army?"
"The Primaris?" Kerubim replied, "Impressive, but I see a lot of empty stasis-pods."
"Alas, it is so! The demands on my new paradigm are telling, we lose so many, more than I ever projected. My perfect creations, the ultimate expression of the Astartes concept yet we fritter away our numbers reinforcing obsolete Chapters, who actually resist my improvements. The Primaris are superior in every measurable way, I even corrected many of the gene-flaws plaguing certain bloodlines and yet the old model persists! Such disappointing reactions, I never thought the Space Marines of all folk would oppose my advances."
"Let them die," Brontes sniffed, "Replace them wholesale with new Chapters."
"That was my original plan but Primarch Thirteen demands we support them. I try to keep our stocks up, but demand outstrips supply. A crisis is brewing, but in every disaster lies opportunity. Lacking the quantity I require; I must seek to improve our means of production."
"Is this getting anywhere near a point?" Brontes pressed.
"You are the point!" Cawl cried, "Your makers had means and ways beyond our ken. The secrets of the past are the key to unlocking the future. I pursue the possibility of a whole new way to create Space Marines, flesh and metal both! I envision a means to produce a Primaris not in years but weeks, days even!"
"You should tread carefully," Brontes said, "There are few ways to do what you propose, and all of them had their dangers, if mishandled."
"The coordinates we brought back; they will lead you to these secrets?" Kerubim interrupted.
"No, but it is a breadcrumb," Cawl answered.
"Breadcrumb?" Kerubim replied in confusion.
"From the tale of Hanzar and Grete, two explorers of the wilds of Old Earth, who left a trail of breadcrumbs behind so to find their way back. The ancients hid their secrets well, but they left a trail I can follow: behold!"
He held up one of his many hands and a planet appeared in Hololithic form, crystal blue with vast continents of ice and frozen seas. One glance told Kerubim it was utterly hostile to human life and yet Brontes started, "The Farum of Hadreb, you found it."
"You didn't know where it was?" Kerubim frowned.
"There were many classified worlds," Brontes explained, "Secret bases hidden even from me. I went to many places whose Stellar coordinates were never disclosed, locations a ground-pounder like me didn't need to know. But this, this could reveal them all."
Cawl continued, "Yes, the secret means by which the ancients navigated the warp. Quantum beacons, spread across the galaxy, acting as wayfinders for your fleets. Not so potent or precise as an Astronomican, but not dependent on one being to function. Alas, I have determined that a Farum will no longer serve as they once did, the Warp has grown exponentially more turbulent in the millennia since, too storm-wracked for anything save the Omnissiah's light to penetrate. Yet here will be located all the maps and charts of your Hegemony, all the secrets they thought to bury. If we can but access the core cogitators of the Farum, we will find all the hidden places of the Dark Age of Technology!"
Kerubim guessed, "So Zar-Quaesitor sails for this world?"
"Not exactly," Cawl replied with a deflated air, "I cannot be seen to go there."
"Let me guess," Brontes snorted, "You don't want your spies telling everyone what you've got brewing."
Cawl chuckled, "More or less, if word of this leaks every Magos will race to snatch up the secrets before I can find them. It will reveal many locations to scout, and I am but one entity. No, I must draw prying eyes away while you go in my stead. Zar-Quaesitor will be nearby, engaged in various distracting activities, while you lead an expedition in my name."
"Jordig will demand to come," Kerubim sighed.
"As will Dannye, but it is no matter," Cawl chuckled, "I would have sent them anyway, but letting them badger me into it will ensure their commitment to the mission."
"Wonderful," Kerubim groaned.
"One problem," Brontes interrupted, "Without a ship, how are we to get there?"
But Cawl chuckled, "What one always does in times of need: I'm going to call in a favour from an old friend."