Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 243

There was a wheeze in his ear, a grinding hiss that rose and fell over and over. Kerubim tried to shake it off and return to oblivion but the rasp kept intruding, coursing over his dreamless sleep like a rasp. He didn't like it, he preferred the black infinity of non-being, to dwell in the inky emptiness without thought or memory. He yearned to remain as he was but the rasp kept pulling him back to the light, like a fish caught on a hook his mind was yanked from its state of peace and brought back to painful consciousness.

Sharp pain stabbed into his eyes as eyelids fluttered open, agonising white light searing his retina. He clenched them shut then opened them again, straining to see. He beheld white tiles and hanging drip lines, attached to pulsing machinery. He did not know this place and a surge of panic rose in his gullet as his eyes flicked from side to side. He beheld looming machines surrounding him, he was laying prone and was attached to these devices by hundreds of lines, like a fly caught in a web. Strange cylinders spun on centrifuges, pumps drew blood and filtered it through odd filters before reinjecting it and a plastek stack rose and fell repeatedly, shoving air into his lungs. It was this that was making the rasping noise and he knew immediately that these machines were keeping him alive.

That thought triggered a memory and recent events hit him all at once. The warning of treachery, the fight under the capacitor, being beaten within an inch of his life and then seeing it taken from him. He had been shot by a Volkite weapon, he'd felt it, he'd felt his guts being incinerated. He had died, he knew it to be true, his life had ended in that dark place but somehow he remained in the world of the living.

Panic made him want to scream but he couldn't, a large intubation tube was inserted into his mouth, disappearing down the back of his throat. He gagged and tried to yank it out, but his arms didn't move an inch. He remained prone, unable to move a finger, choking on the tube as alarm tore his mind apart. Thankful his distress was noted and a figure in white sterile robes leaned over, blocking out the light as the tube was withdrawn. Kerubim coughed as phlegm threatened to block his throat but a thin suction tube was stuffed into his maw and the spittle was sucked away.

"Wha…" Kerubim gasped feebly, "I…"

"Do not exert yourself," a monotone drawl replied, "You have suffered a trauma."

"Can't…" Kerubim wheezed, "Move…"

"Muscle necrosis has wasted your body mass, this can be repaired but the nerve damage is systemic and irrecoverable. The damage has left you quadriplegic."

"Paralysis…" Kerubim gulped as terror battered against the walls of his Hypno-indoctrination.

"Your blood pressure is spiking. Remain calm. You have visitors."

A heavy tread signalled a large body moving into the space, followed by a stomping grind that he knew all too well. Sure enough Jordig moved into his field of view, followed by the looming bulk of Brontes. The pair towered over the machines keeping Kerubim from death, blank metal faces concealing their thoughts. There was a small whine and Kerubim felt his head and shoulders rising slightly, the med-slab he was on lifting one end so he could lie high enough to see. He found a wide Apothecarion, filled with Chirugeons and Medicae. He seemed to be the only patient, but doubted it was usually so.

Jordig reached up to remove his helm but the Chirugeon snapped, "This is a sterile zone!"

"It hardly matters, a bacteria can hardly make his condition worse," Jordig snapped.

"This is my patient and I will not have you risking his health!"

"Your work is done. Leave us so I can complete mine."

"But…"

"By the authority of the Omnissiah, clear the room, immediately!"

The Medicae staff obeyed, shuffling out of view, leaving the trio alone. Kerubim eyed the pair, wondering where they had been. Brontes was inscrutable but Jordig's face was a blank mask of self-control. Only one who knew him well would see this was a carefully maintained façade, hinting at the turmoil below. Yet he remained proud and stiff-backed, looking down at Kerubim without pity, for which the lad was grateful. Kerubim wondered why they were here, clinging to any distraction to avoid processing his own dire fate.

"Alone at last," Brontes said, "Now I can speak."

"Sorry for… the inconvenience…" Kerubim retorted bitterly.

Jordig cut in to ask, "What do you remember?"

Kerubim sighed, "Everything… I remember the fight… I remember dying. Dannye killed me."

Jordig nodded solemnly, "So he did. Much of your internal anatomy was vaporised, leaving you burned inside out. Thankfully your Sus-an-membrane is located inside your head and the shock triggered it. It slowed your brain functions and physiological decay just enough for us to get you to an Apothecarion. Still it was a close call, stabilising you took twenty-seven hours of surgery and you were clinically dead twice. You've been in recovery for two days since."

"Three days," Kerubim wheezed, "A lot of trouble… for me."

"It wasn't kindness," Brontes growled, "They needed to know what you heard."

"You what?!" Kerubim gasped.

Jordig explained, "I was too far away, I didn't hear what the traitors were saying. Ruuka and Dannye made good their escape and stole the Tezla, they slipped into the Warp before we could stop them. Their agents were left behind but interrogations revealed nothing, we need to know if you overheard their plans."

Kerubim was incredulous and snapped, "That's why you brought me back, for intel?! I was dead and gone and you dragged me from my grave for that! You should have let me pass with honour…"

Kerubim stopped as a coughing fit tore through him and he lapsed back, strength spent. Brontes however leaned over and growled, "Honourably dead or dishonourably, it's all the same. You're alive and that's all that matters. While you remain living you can get payback for what they did to you, you can stop their plan."

Kerubim glared angrily but relented, "Cippum, they spoke of Cippum."

Jordig sagged, "Then our most dire predictions are true. They seek to awaken ancient horror."

Brontes growled, "Your worst predictions fall far short of the mark. You have no idea of the calamity that awaits on Cippum. We have to get there and stop them awakening the Hungering."

"On that front I bring good news!" a mechanical voice cut through. Kerubim's eyes were drawn to the corner and he saw the clattering form of Belisarius Cawl entering the Apothecarion. The Archmagos skittered along on his many legs, bulk filling the room with bulbous mass but he smoothly approached the medslab and faced the fallen Space Marine. Kerubim could discern no sign of his mood from the mask of his face but Cawl's voice was ebullient as ever as he declared, "I have bent my finest efforts to repairing Zar-Quaesitor's drives and have restored them to perfection. We sail for the jump point as we speak!"

"They have a three day lead, and Tezla is the faster vessel," Jordig pointed out.

"Details, details," Cawl scoffed, "We have rooted out the Lazarites from our ranks and stand ready to fight. As soon as we catch up we will blow that treacherous Dannye out of the stars."

"Lazarites?" Brontes asked.

"The Lazarus Progression," Jordig explained, "A sect of the Mechanicus, one of many. They believe in using forbidden rites of Cybermancy to elevate Imperial fighting forces. They hold that the secrets of the past should be used, without care or concern for possible side effects. I am aware of several attempts to enhance Space Marines with cybermantic augmentation; to a degree even the Iron Hands would find Heretical. The incident with their Censors rocked the Mechanicus to the core. If they claim the weapon of Cippum, you can be certain they will use it."

"Wretched fools," Brontes snarled, "You knew they were on board and let them run rings under your noses!"

However Cawl sounded amused as he scoffed, "There isn't an adept on this ship who doesn't report to some clandestine sect or petty faction. Why, I myself am a member of over two-dozen cliques, of varying degrees of Heretek thought. It is an expedient means of keeping tabs on my rivals. If I purged every adept on board who has a petty plot in motion I wouldn't have a crew left!"

"Your cult keeps finding new ways to sicken me," Brontes growled.

Kerubim was growing annoyed and spat, "Could the dying Marine get some attention?!"

Cawl's head turned to peer at him and replied, "Of course, we owe you a debt of thanks for revealing the Lazarites' plan."

"You can repay me with a mirror!"

"I don't think you want to see this," Jordig deflected.

"I can take it," Kerubim spat.

Brontes extended a Mechandrite and picked up a plane of glassic from the bedside. It was held at an angle so Kerubim could see his own body and the sight made his soul shrivel. His face was waxy and pale, threaded with black veins. From his sternum to his groin there were only tatters of flesh, the rest covered with flexible tubes and pulsing plastek sacks, to replicate the functions of organs. His arms lay inert, and he could not move so much as a finger. The hips and legs were almost separated entirely, kept from decaying by oxygenated blood pumped through drip lines and others that took waste acids away. One glance was enough to tell Kerubim the machines were all that was keeping him alive, without them he'd be dead in a minute.

"There's nothing left," Kerubim gasped.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Jordig protested, "We can replace muscles and sinew with clone-flesh, Augmetics can take the place of your digestive tract and bowels. In time we may even get you to stand and walk again."

"Good enough to fight?" Kerubim hissed, "Hold a bolter, swing a sword?!"

"No," Brontes stated with brutal honesty.

"Then I'm better off dead," Kerubim uttered, "Turn off the machines, let me go. Tell my Chapter I died honourably."

"I won't do that," Brontes growled, "You have to live."

"If I can't fight I'm as good as dead," Kerubim retorted.

"Life is life," Brontes stated firmly, "I won't let you die like this."

Kerubim was set back by the rebuke but then Cawl spoke up, "My, my, my, such morose talk. It's like being at a wake, when instead we should be celebrating this opportunity!"

"Opportunity?!" Kerubim spat.

"Yes! In every crisis there is opportunity to be found, so I always say. You have lost your digestive tract and abdominal muscles. Your Haemastamen, Biscopea, Preomonor, Oolitc Kidney and Mucranoid are gone and the damage to your spinal cord is irrevocable."

"What part of that is meant to make me feel better?" Kerubim snarled.

Cawl however pressed, "The extent of the damage leaves us only one possibility. This is a chance to implement an idea I've been toying with for a while, a way not only to restore your previous state but improve it!"

Jordig looked angry as he spat, "Not this again, I told you it's impossible!"

"What's impossible?!" Kerubim hissed.

"Nothing, he's taunting you with false hope," Jordig protested.

But Brontes growled, "Shut up before I break you in half. Cawl, you talk."

Cawl drew himself up and explained, "Understand that when I designed the Primaris I intended to replace baseline Astartes, the Firstborn, wholesale. The superiority of my new paradigm would be obvious, so I thought. Yet when I introduced them to extant Chapters I was stunned to encounter resistance. They clung to their old gene-seed, dragging their feet implementing the superior model, citing production issues and mistrust of the new. I was not expecting that, it put back my plans for decades. I ran behavioural models trying to understand why they did not embrace my gifts and concluded I had not accounted for pride. The Firstborn are proud, they cannot admit the Primaris are better, so they cling to what they know. The river between them is too vast; they see the new as different, as other. So I determined the only way to resolve this issue was to bridge that river, to take Firstborn and elevate them to Primaris."

"Convert a Firstborn into a Primaris?!" Kerubim gasped, "Is that possible?"

"No, it's not," Jordig growled, "Once bone maturation is finalised it cannot be restarted. Mature tissue cannot accept such changes. To force adult tissue to grow again would kill the recipient."

"So limited in vision, so short-sighted," Cawl crowed, "I can do it, my theoretical models have nearly a forty-percent success rate!"

Brontes cut in, "So… you've never actually done this successfully?"

"No…" Cawl confessed, "But I am certain I know what went wrong last time."

Kerubim lifted his voice to say, "I will attempt it."

Jordig looked dismayed as he said, "Kerubim, this is foolish, you can still contribute without throwing your life away."

But Kerubim turned to Cawl and said, "This will make me able to fight again?"

Cawl replied, "Better than before, you will be reborn taller, stronger, faster!"

"Then consider me your next test subject."

Cawl spread his arms wide and declared, "Then it shall be so. We shall push back the boundaries of what is known and cross the Rubicon Primaris together!"