Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 282
Since the opening of the Cicatrix Maledictum the warp had been a raging squall of destructive hate. Typhoons of grief blew ships far off course and sucking whirlpools of despair dragged them to their doom. Vicious reefs of tears ripped through Gellar fields and the light of the Astronomican waxed and waned without rhyme or reason. The number of ships lost could not be counted and yet, in one of those perverse paradoxes of the Warp, those that survived found their flights shortened by decades. Swift gales sped vessels on their courses with unheard alacrity, making galactic voyages pass in a blink of an eye. So when the Thunderchild entered the Nakara system she was the first visitor for the Conclave.
A long beam of metal, stacked with gundecks and bombardment cannons. Her gunwhales were sleek for a Capital ship and she manoeuvred with grace and surety. Holo-pennants hung from ranked towers and her signal-beacons lit with the identifiers of the Storm Heralds Chapter. She coasted in-system at cruising speed, her plasma drives flaring through vents along her bow to brake velocity. Her course heading angled to bring her into orbit around Nakara's third moon, where she would greet her hosts.
On her bridge an officer stood. Scarred and battered by a century and a half of war. His armour shone in blue and grey, with golden rank chains hanging on his breast and a long red cloak hanging low, sewn with purity seals. He bore a relic blade at his hip, the Sword of Thiel, and his wrist was banded by eight gold studs. His face was broad, with an honest cast and earnest expressions came easy to him. The only blemish was a bulky augmetic eye buried into his right eye socket, with one large lens and multiple smaller ones framing it. He was Captain Toran of the Storm Heralds Third Company, and he was not looking forward to his mission.
"Estimation till we enter real-time auspex range?" Toran called.
"Still two light-minutes out," Persion replied from the Sensorium, "We can put up a time-delayed image."
"Do so," Toran ordered.
The Hololith shimmered and an image appeared. A starfort, hanging in low orbit of the moon. Toran reminded himself he wasn't seeing the base as it was, but how it was two minutes ago, the tyranny of lightspeed making space travel a complex dance of motion and speed. Even so he could make out the dilapidated state of the base, the ruined bastions and toppled towers. If he hadn't known it was inhabited he'd have declared Serpens Rex an abandoned wreck, fit only for salvage.
"What a craphole," Brother-Lieutenant Persion scoffed. Toran glanced down from the command dais at his old comrade, seeing the expanded comms-gear and augmetic arm that distinguished the specialist. Persion boasted a Friction Axe on his hip and a distrusting cast to the eye, but they had fought together for centuries and Toran trusted him completely.
"We should not judge on appearances alone," Toran chided, "We have seen worse."
"Usually on Traitors," Persion sniffed.
"A harsh rebuke, I sense more to it."
Persion grimaced, "I'm just worried about what this means. When last we met they were a rough Brotherhood, but loyal. None more leal than Ferrac, he and I saved each other's lives. I would never have thought one such as he would sink so low, but here we are. Perhaps he died, or was never the Marine I thought him to be. The Heretical rumours we have heard about these Amber Vipers. I blame Coluber, he had a desperate and ruthless air about him."
Toran gripped the rail of the command dais tight in concern, "When we parted ways I expected their road to be rough, but if half the rumours are true…"
Lieutenant Smyth cut in, "What exactly happened between you?"
Smyth stood at the side of the Command Dias, his hand on the pole of the Company standard. A brave soul, a stalwart friend and sharp of eye. Primaris, unlike the others, not that such distinctions meant as much as they used to. Belisarius Cawl promised to make such differences irrelevant, not that Toran believed he would ever pull it off. Smyth had stood by the Third for several decades of brutal warfare, never flagging, never failing, but he had not been present for the Storm Herald's meeting with Coluber and his kin. There were secrets of that day Toran had sworn to keep from all.
The Captain explained slowly, "We met at a time of desperate strife. The Storm Heralds had been attacked by a biogenic weapon of terrible potency. We sought a solution and found it in the hands of small band led by one called Coluber. There was barely a handful of them left, but they were determined to survive. Bloodshed nearly came to pass between us, but an agreement was struck. Their secret genic-lore, in exchange for our material support. We gave them the means to rebuild their Chapter; they shared a way for ours to survive. It was a bargain born in strife and suspicion, but their desperation was surpassed only by our own."
There was a lot Toran was leaving out of that story but the damning truth was not for any who was not present. Smyth sniffed, "You believe it was a mistake?"
"That has yet to be determined," Toran allowed, "But even then I was unsure what the right thing to do was."
"Then why risk it?"
"Because I gave them my word," Toran sighed.
A mechanical voice arose, "You're all jumping the bolter, believing rumours and hearsay." That was Novak, a Dreadnought of fearsome power. Contemptor in class but refitted in exotic ways. His limbs bore enhancements that boosted his speed and precision and his hands carried an energy-absorbing shield and a blade of dolorous weight. His sensor-dome had a champion's crest fashioned into it and his sarcophagus boasted a broken Rosarius, a trophy taken from battles far away and long ago.
"Trust you not to think things through," Persion scoffed.
"I mean it," Novak affirmed, "These are dark times, and not all have the luxury of a homeworld to support them. The Amber Vipers do what they need to survive, we can't blame them for that."
"You say we should wave off their sins?" Toran asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I say we wait till we see them with our own eyes, before casting judgement. Remember the old saying, 'The winds may blow wild, but don't trim your sails till the current turns'."
Persion frowned, "That's not an old saying."
"It so is!" Novak retorted.
"Said by whom exactly?" Persion pressed.
"By… some people…" Novak deflected
Persion grinned, "You're making it up! Admit it; you spun that tale out of nothing."
"I'm a Dreadnought," Novak sniffed, "Anything I say automatically becomes an old saying."
Toran shook his head at his old comrades' banter. A braver band of Brothers none could wish for, but irascible and loose-tongued at the best of times. Toran had long become accustomed to their merriment, for he knew in battle their zeal was ferocious. They had seen Brothers come and go, mourned the passing of some, missed those transferred and promoted, and cursed a select few who had proven unsound. Toran had been through hell several times with these Marines and would not rebuke them for speaking their minds.
Smyth edged nearer, "Brother-Captain, exactly how broad is the scope of our orders?"
"I am given wide discretion," Toran explained, "We are to protect the life of the envoy above all, but keep our eyes and ears open. The Amber Vipers may be everything people say of them, or they may merely be misunderstood. We must determine which is true, and if necessary carry out our secondary orders."
"Is that truly necessary?"
Toran sighed, "I had them in the palm of my hand, I could have destroyed them and taken what we wanted from their corpses. I chose not to, all for the sake of my given word. The responsibility for what follows falls on me. Everything they have done since, I allowed to happen. Have they been a benefit for the Imperium, or a plague upon its people? That is the question Chapter Master Phalros demands answered, and it falls to me to determine what kind of woe I unleashed upon the galaxy."
Smyth pressed, "And if you find them a worthless band of renegades, pillaging and despoiling all they come across?"
"I have a Battle Company at my back and a ship armed with Magma bombs," Toran growled.
"But this High Conclave will demand binding oaths of Parley," Smyth argued, "I have not known you to break your word, once given."
Toran lowered his eye and sighed, "I held my word sacrosanct once, and many may have suffered for it. If what we hear of these Amber Vipers is true then I have unleashed a terrible blight upon the galaxy. Did I not have a duty to those innocents too, was my word worth more than their lives? What of those who will suffer if these brigands continue this Heretical rampage across the galaxy? I judged keeping my word worth the risk of letting Coluber go free, now I must determine if that was a mistake, and correct my error if so."
"At times like this I miss Furion's counsel," Smyth sighed.
"Aye," Toran agreed, "He always knew the right thing to do."
A ping from the Sensorium and Persion called, "We're entering real-time communication range."
"Send hails," Toran ordered firmly, "Summon Castabore to the bridge. And keep our secondary objective to ourselves."
A minute passed then Persion said, "They're sending a ship out to greet us… Throne, it's a Battlebarge!"
"A Battlebarge?!" Novak yelped, "Where the hell did they get one of those?"
"An excellent question," Toran muttered darkly, "Run its ident through the logic engines."
Persion bent over a console, "Ruminating, ruminating… here it is. The Angel's Revenge, of the Blood Talons Chapter. That Brotherhood was listed as destroyed in the opening of the Cicatrix Maledictum, no survivors."
"Salvaging a dead Chapter's ship," Smyth remarked, "Not necessarily Heretical."
"Depends on how they got it," Toran muttered.
"It's not like they could return it to the Blood Talons," Novak argued, "No point letting it go to waste."
A sound at the bridge hatch behind and Toran turned to see Archmagos Castabore entering. She was an old ally, one deeply enmeshed in the factions of the Mechanicus that supported Belisarius Cawl. Toran didn't pretend to understand the feuding machinations of the Martian Technofaith, but he knew broadly there were adherents to both the new and the old. The hidebound traditionalists hellbent on undoing Cawl's new philosophy of invention and innovation. Blood had been shed by the Taghmatas of many Forgeworlds, hence why escorts of the non-aligned Astartes had been sought; Tech-Guard would fire on each other on sight.
Castabore had benefitted from her allegiance. Her frame had expanded over the years, becoming a human-sized pillar of metal. Her robes covered a round cylinder of banded metal, floating an inch off the ground. Her face was a sculpted mask of Adamantium, with serene features and numerous Mechandrites waved in the air above her cowled head. She glided elegantly across the deck, though Toran thought she looked like an Iron Maiden set to coast on small wheels.
"We have arrived?" Castabore asked as she came to a halt.
"We are about to exchange greetings," Toran informed her, "Would you care to inspect our auspex?"
Castabore must have interfaced with the Machine Spirits for she did not move as she replied, "I see, I see. Vast structural damage to the base, but it remains Ramilies class. STC designed, eminently repairable."
Persion blinked, "You think you can fix it up?"
"With sufficient resources and time," Castabore replied, "The glory of the ancient designs allows for a perfect restoration. Cawl informs me he has had a plan to repair the Serpens Rex in place for some time."
"He's been here before?" Toran started.
"Not directly, but I know these Amber Vipers had some highly-classified interactions with the Crusade," Castabore replied, "Cawl has an interest in lost and broken things. His schemata promise to be of great benefit in the negotiations to come, I have much to offer for an STC. Cawl is most eager to claim the Laser Destroyer to add to his arsenal."
Toran chewed on it for a moment, "Archmagos, out of curiosity, what would happen if a volley of Magma Bombs were fired into the base?"
"Why do you ask?"
"We are about to venture inside, I want to know how sound the superstructure is."
Castabore's cogitators hummed for a moment then she replied, "The bones of the Starfort are unbroken, it would take multiple volleys. But shields are frail and the inertial compensators broken, troubling stress points have developed. Three volleys into these exact positions will see the Serpens Rex break apart."
Toran looked over the Hololith where red blinking dots flashed. He instantly noted the locations for future reference. If he needed to destroy the Amber Vipers, he could do it. He didn't want it to come to that, he wanted to find an upright and pure Brotherhood waiting to greet him, but the universe rarely cared what he wanted. If duty demanded he act as judge, jury and executioner, he would do so.
Persion spoke up, "We're being hailed over the vox. They weren't expecting us so soon, but have cleared a drydock for our ship. The Angel's Revenge will escort us to our berth and their Chapter Master will greet us on the dockside."
"Helm, bring us in as directed," Toran ordered boldly and then quietly muttered, "Soon we shall see how grave an error I made all those years ago."