Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 229
It did not take Tezla and Zar-Quaesitor long to break apart, slipping away from each other like thieves splitting up before a crime. The two ships both sailed for the nearest jump-point, but they would travel separately. The smaller vessel swiftly outpaced the lumbering Forgeship as the Navigator began her ritual preparations for Warp Translation, fixing the wavering beacon of the Astronomican in her third eye to steer a safe course. The two ships would be jumping to different stellar systems, close enough to stay in Astropathic contact, but far enough apart to draw prying eyes away from the true objective. For now Tezla was on her own.
Kerubim felt mixed feelings on the matter as he watched the Forgeship shrink into a speck behind them. For a year that ship had been his prison and he was heartily glad to be away, and yet the bounty of knowledge she promised still tempted him. There was so much to learn, so much to discover, realms of the Machine God's lore even the Hallowed Forges of Mars did not have access to. Belisarius Cawl could show Kerubim wonders, if only he could convince the Archmagos to reveal them. Kerubim had no wish to spend the rest of his life as a prisoner, and yet to give up such learning chafed. Sadly there was no getting around Brontes' nature, he would always be a forbidden thing, and Kerubim his reluctant companion. So long as they stayed together they would be suspect, but to leave the Silica Animus would be to break his solemn oath to his Chapter Master.
Churning with indecision Kerubim left the observation blister, heading towards the quarters they had been assigned in the Explorator ship. He walked past deferential crewmen, lowly Enginseers and servitors making way for him to march by. It was a nice change of pace. To them he was a mighty Astartes, a warrior of the Omnissiah, to be feared and respected. They didn't know anything about his confinement or his companion, Cawl having imposed protocols of silence upon those who had stumbled across their secret. It helped that Kerubim was armed once more, having commenced their mission Jordig had deigned to return his Adrathic weapon and shock-stave, with clear instructions to return them once the mission was done. As ever he remained a stickler for rules and regulation.
Kerubim found his way back to their quarters and entered the hatch with a brisk step. Inside the billet was spartan, with minimal furnishings and no adornments. In typical Mechanicus fashion it was all bare metal and exposed wiring, with the skull and cog icon the only decoration to be seen on the walls. Still it was something new and possessed tools and stands for their armour to be serviced, a step up from Kerubim's previous living arrangements.
Brontes stood silent in a corner, powered down for now. The Cadmus had agreed not to make a fuss, though he'd been invective about having the Squat along on the mission. The pair of them hadn't thawed at all, their loathing deep and mutual. Only the presence of Famuluos Treya seemed to keep the pair quiet, lacking her presence Kerubim was sure violence would have erupted, and he wasn't convinced Brontes would emerge the victor of that duel. The whole situation baffled him, but he had no answers to give.
He heard the sound of running water from an ante-chamber and marched over to find Jordig in the ablutions. The Techmarine was staring into a mirror, his hands disarticulated to pass over his chin and cheeks with wet bladetips. He was shaving again, a ritual Kerubim had observed the Primaris was obsessed with, at least twice daily he would cleanse his face of stubble.
Kerubim waited for Jordig to finish then sniffed, "Is that really necessary?"
"Absolutely," Jordig replied as his hands reformed and he grabbed a towel to dry his jaw, "Damned fur grows back faster than I can shave it off."
Kerubim shook his head and mused, "Of all the quirks the Space Wolves possess, accelerated follicle growth was not one I expected."
"It's not merely cultural that Fenrisans have beards," Jordig scoffed.
"How do they fit helms on for void-combat?"
"Beats me, I didn't hang around Fenris long enough to find out."
The Primaris strode over to a table and poured a glass of distilled water into a tin mug, then downed it. Kerubim had a moment to examine the Mark X armour in great detail, noting the changes from Firstborn plate. So many innovations, so many raw inventions, it was as miraculous as it was alarming. That Cawl had made so many discoveries was nearly as impressive as the fact he'd got away with it. Kerubim was sure many on Mars would love to have Cawl declared Heretek and his creations immolated, but his favour in the courts of the Imperial Regent was unmatched and none dared challenge him, at least openly, or so Jordig informed him.
Kerubim eyed his stern keeper and asked, "Seeing as we will be travelling together, tell me more of how you came to be."
Jordig eyed him suspiciously then said, "Only if you tell me of your Chapter."
"You don't know already?"
"Only what the briefing slates say, tell me of your character, your spirit. Miserable thieving bastards is what is said of you, but who are the Amber Vipers truly?"
Kerubim breathed out slowly then said, "Contradictory. You know we teetered on the brink of destruction and had to rebuild from nothing. We have been forced to scrape and bargain for supply, everything we have has been traded for or salvaged. I know our reputation is dire, but it is not who we are. We aspire to greatness, to act with honour. We dream of being the equal of any other Astartes, seeking to grow beyond our base state. If we could act as the vaunted Ultramarines or Imperial Fists, we would, but to try would be the end of us. Honour on one hand, survival on the other and us caught in between."
"And do you oft harbour Abominable Intelligences?" Jordig probed.
"We acquired many relics of dubious origin," Kerubim sighed, "And some of them were more than we expected. Brontes and others like him were brought into our vaults without us understanding what we grasped. It did not end well. Suffice to say we suffered for our mistake and Brontes was the only surviving Silica Animus."
"It sounds like your Chapter is desperate for a true Techmarine, to stand vigil against such blundering foolishness."
Kerubim bristle at the insult but retorted, "You promised to tell me of your origin."
Jordig accepted this and said, "You know of the Primaris project, of the thousands recruited from the old Legion homeworlds and Terra. Then followed millennia spent perfecting the Primaris paradigm… but there were many missteps along the way. Aberrations, failed genotypes, and rejected stock. Cawl's path to perfection was a rocky one indeed. In the early days he tried many combinations, much blending of stock, I was one of them."
"Dannye spoke of Terrans being implanted with VIth Legion gene-seed," Kerubim prompted.
"Unfortunately," Jordig sighed, "Cawl claims there was a VIth Legion in existence before Fenris was discovered, yet he brushed off the records that spoke of Genic irregularities. I suppose it made sense, there was no definable reason why Terrans could not accept the gene-seed, but when he tried… failure after failure, rejection after rejection. I was one of the mere handful who survived the first implantations. He claimed his experiments were incomplete, that the Primaris stock had yet to be perfected, but eventually he was forced to conclude only Fenrisians can truly adapt to the ferocity of VIth Legion stock."
"You wish it was otherwise?" Kerubim probed.
"I wish he'd stuck to XIIIth Legion stock, or VIIth, Red Sands I'd even have preferred Vth or XVIIIth. I smell everything, absolutely everything. My fangs get in my way and I feel a wild pulse of violence in my breast at all times, a wild animal straining at the leash. I have to keep it under control every second. It nearly drove me mad when I was released from stasis. I thought visiting Fenris would resolve this frustration, that they would understand the struggle, but they don't grasp it all. They revel in their wildness, drinking, gaming, laughing, they let the beast rule their hearts. It disgusted me, I begged Cawl not to reassign me, to make me one of his retinue and he consented. The purity of the Machine Cult is my salvation."
Kerubim saw anguish slip past that stoic mask and pressed, "You hate Cawl for what he did to you."
"Hate, no, but he was toying with forces he didn't understand. He didn't consider the wider ramifications of what he did, he never does. He plunges into projects without a care, throwing out Heresies like a child batting about a new toy. I try to steer him away from his more egregious errors, to curb his enthusiasm. Sometimes I even succeed, but there's always a new project, a new mistake to be made… like me. That's why I can't hate him, because he needs me, he needs someone to stop him going too far."
Kerubim heard his woe and took pity, changing the subject, "What of the Squats?"
"Squats?" Jordig blinked, "Oh, Cawl didn't make them. They are an Abhuman strain that predates the Imperium. Heavy-worlders, from near the Galactic core. They date back to the First Diaspora."
"I'm surprised the Imperium let them live," Kerubim remarked.
Jordig snorted wryly, "There was no 'letting' about it, the Squats were indomitable. The Great Crusade soon learned to treat with them, rather than throw lives against that mountain of granite. The records were altered of course, we couldn't admit the Imperium met something it couldn't batter into submission. Officially they were compliant, but it was more of a trading relationship than subjugation. It caused no end of constipation in the Administratum. We've learned the Squats have been erased from all history texts on several occasions, the whole Imperium at times denying they even exist. But they endure and come back, always they endure."
"It's remarkable they remember the Dark Age of Technology," Kerubim mused.
"There's a trick to that," Jordig explained, "Their homeworlds orbit the supermassive black hole at the galactic core, and suffered time dilation as a consequence. Time passes differently for them. It hasn't been twenty-thousand years since the Age of Strife for the Squats, not even close. One of the reasons they are famously long-lived, though they keep that quiet."
"So what's one doing in an Explorator fleet?" Kerubim probed.
Jordig grunted, "Unknown, you'd have to ask him. Though rumour has it their homeworlds suffered greatly under Tyranid assault. Cawl intervened and saved a few colonies, perhaps he struck a deal afterwards. I wasn't there for that and the Archmagos doesn't tell me everything."
Kerubim shook his head and lamented, "Wulfe and Brontes are going to be a problem. Squabbling over old wars and ancient grudges. We need to keep them apart."
"Hard to do, since we will all be needed on the planet's surface."
"Let us trust that world is dangerous enough to keep them busy," Kerubim sighed.
But Jordig scoffed, "I wouldn't worry on that front, if experience has taught me anything it's that danger is to be found everywhere you go in this blighted galaxy."