Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 284
Through the haunted nightmare of the Warp a Strike Cruiser sailed. Swift and graceful, as far as such things could be said of a vessel eight kilometres long. She surfed along a current of avarice, Gellar Field flaring in the unlight of the Empyrean. Far across the galaxy she had travelled, with speeds unheard of in more passive ages. The Era Indomitus brought many dangers but for those bold and cunning enough the rewards were great, and the Howling Griffons had access to the finest Navigators. Unwavering Conviction was her name and her course was set for Nakara.
Deep within the vessel Captain Ryneon inspected his Marine's conduct and was satisfied. Squads of Howling Griffons advanced through an urban environment in a crisp echelon, leapfrogging each other with perfect precision as suppression fire hammered the foe. They fought combat servitors in a live-fire action, trading shots with lurking figures who popped out of doors and windows to blast with autoguns. Many wearing the red and gold suffered chips and scores to their heraldry, but none had fallen. Ryneon would have been offended if they had, Seventh Company may be Battleline Reserves, but he demanded no less of them than the elite First. That was why his exercises were live-fire, paint rounds would not drive his Marines to their keenest edge.
Clad in Gravis armour he strode down the street between two rows of facsimile hab-blocks. He attracted plenty of fire, but he refused to seek cover. His plate was sound and his body untouched, though the colours of his Chapter would need reapplying in due course. More than this Ryneon led by example, inspiring his Marines from the front. He refused to show fear in the face of the enemy, and so his squads drew strength from his proud stance.
A Tactical squad laid down torrents of bolt rounds, the hammering of their actions battering at autosenses. Under cover a squad of Heavy Intercessors advanced to the next building, where they provided covering fire for their Brothers further back. It was a swift advance and Ryneon heard over the vox the pattern being repeated throughout the broad training ground, Seventh Company sweeping along with astonishing speed.
They reached a broad concourse, dominated by an armoured bunker, and Ryneon barked, "Sergeant Moresa, take your Tacticals left. Sergeant Invika, your Heavy Intercessors shall spread right. Sergeant Cottas, the breach the bunker."
Responding to his orders the squads deployed, flanking the bunker as servitors thundered from narrow apertures. Traditional bolters spat back, blasting craters into Ferrocrete as the Intercessors let rip with assault bolters and Hellstorm rifles. The suppressing barrage was intense and under that umbrella Cottas advanced. His assault Intercessors were the fist of Seventh, rigged for close quarters fighting and Nyoir was with them, the Bladeguard veteran lending his sword to their charge.
They reached the bunker and Brother Aswan shoved a Frag grenade into an air vent beside the door. They were surprised a second later when the grenade came tumbling out of a smaller hole at their feet. The vent was a blind, intended to draw an attacker into a trap. A Ceramite boot flashed and the grenade went flying, detonating safely out of range, but Ryneon nodded in respect, the serfs had outdone themselves with this one.
Thwarted Cottas took the direct route, physically wrenching the door off its hinges with a spray of sparks. Nyoir was first through the breach sword and shield leading the way. The sounds of bodies parting and servos being violated echoed and the defender's fire trickled to nothing. Nyoir was fast and skilled, in another life he would make Company Champion, but Ryneon would not bestow such an honour upon him, Nyoir had not earned it.
The fighting died down and Ryneon was about to declare victory, but then a hurtling bullet came from nowhere and took Sergeant Moresa in the hip. "Sniper!" roared Invika as the squads scattered, one Brother dragging the crippled Moresa along.
"Identify and eliminate!" Ryneon barked.
"I saw the flash, that bell tower, range three thousand metres!" Invika snarled.
"Three thousand and thirty-seven metres," Ryneon corrected, "Take the shooter out."
A Brother called Kewill levelled his executor bolter and pulled the trigger. A standard Bolter had muzzle velocity enough to penetrate flak armour at point blank range, trebled by rocket propellent of the bolt itself, but an Executor rifle put that to shame. The round hurtled away, slamming into the brickwork of the tower, missing by mere inches. A mortal would have been crippled by rock shards, sent flailing to the ground by a shredded face, but the servitor was indifferent to its wounds. Kewill did not curse, he reloaded swiftly and fired again, only to miss by a hairsbreadth.
Return sniper fire nearly took Invika's head off as he yelled, "The range is too great, we must advance!"
"Negative, I will deal with this," Ryneon uttered as he lifted Chrysoar and fired a single shot .
The relic bolter's voice delivered stern judgement, and the round struck the servitor between the eye sockets. Ryneon lowered his arm as awed silence fell, all amazed by the Captain's keen eye and steady aim. Ryneon did not bask in their awe, Chrysoar was an exemplary example of its kind, forged by arts forgotten and besides, Ryneon never missed. This was not boasting, it was the standard he held himself to.
"Exercise terminated," Ryneon stated, "Return to your starting positions. Summon an apothecary for Moresa."
Kewill stood, head hung in shame, "I offer penance Brother-Captain."
"Penance?" Ryneon queried, "Whatever for? You continued to operate under fire, there is no shame in that."
"But I... missed."
Shame hung upon him yet Ryneon explained, "The shot was impossible, beyond conventional mass-reactive rifles. Yet you did not accept that weakness. You strove to surpass the limits of your tools and training. To admit a feat cannot be done, that would be the greater failure."
Ryneon left his Marines to their task, as the talk of his impossible aim fluttered in his wake. He strode past Nyoir without giving him a word. The Bladeguard had neither excelled nor disappointed, he performed to expectations, there was no need to comment on that. Ryneon walked calmly to the edge of the training ground and ascended a flight of metal stairs, till he reached a wireframe catwalk running the perimeter. Here he found Posix, Magos Dominus and envoy of the Martian Forge-Synod.
Ryneon slowed as he approached for Posix was a sight to behold. The Tech-Priest wore the traditional red robe of his order, but over it was projected shimmering holo-scales. They refracted light in curious ways, each fractal the size of a fingernail but utterly unique in all other ways. They ranged from lighter hues over his shoulders to darker pallets around the hem of his robe but all were shades of red. They changed as he moved, the slightest gesture making his colours swim. He resembled a snake in desert heat, glimpsed in the corner of the eye and leaving one unsure of what they saw, an apt metaphor for his personality in Ryneon's opinion.
Posix looked over the training grounds, "Your activities are concluded?"
"For the hour," Ryneon answered.
"A remarkable shot," Posix ventured.
Ryneon did not reply, for that was not a question and he did not engage in idle chatter. Posix shifted, causing dazzling shimmers to dance over his holo-scales, "You surpass the upper limits of accuracy. Your weapon is superlative."
Again silence was the reply and Posix continued, "What marvellous craftsmanship forged your bolter?"
An actual question and Ryneon explained, "Chrysoar is a relic of the Great Crusade, liberated from the hands of the foul Yeremus. And I do not miss."
Posix's colours danced as his head turned, "Your subordinate missed, and yet you praised him. Why?"
Ryneon replied, "There are two mistakes a teacher can make. First, failing to bestow edification, when meritorious effort has been made."
"And the second?"
"Failing to deliver punishment, when chastisement is due."
Posix's voice became aggravated, "You do not like me, do you?"
Ryneon removed his helm, revealing his blunt features. He stared into the black hole of the hood, a vortex of darkness in the sea of dancing holo-light, and said, "My likes or dislikes are irrelevant. I am oathsworn to protect your life, as you bargain for scraps."
Posix snorted, "Nothing so base. STC, the holy grail of the Adeptus Mechanicus! Knowledge of the ancients, gifts from the Omnissiah. The greatest accomplishment of our race and two of them lie within our grasp. The Inquisition vies for a knife, but it is we who shall produce it for them. As for the other, the Laser Destroyer, it shall belong to Mars."
"So you can bury it in a vault, to be argued over by endless Cyber-symposiums and Techno-forums," Ryneon rebuked.
To his surprise Posix chuckled, "How little you understand. We have no wish to bury the weapon, it must be used!"
Ryneon had misspoken, he didn't like misspeaking, and pressed, "That is unexpected."
Posix nodded in a halo of lights, "There were some factions in the High Synod who wished it buried, the same fools who think to reverse Cawl's efforts. Blinkered reactionaries, hidebound old fossils I name them. No, the door is open and the Onager has fled, there is no going back to how things were. Cawl has made possible invention again, but he is not the only one who can innovate. Others dare to dream of their own paths, and the Cult of Sollex has friends in high places."
"Cult of Sollex?" Ryneon asked.
"A faction within the body politic of the Mechanicus, one of many, many Techno-sects. We believe in the holy power of light, laser and Laz. Probing the mysteries of photons and wave-particle duality. The wonders of the electro-magnetic spectrum, holy carrier-wave of the Motive Force. Majestic in all forms, but none more so than in the destructive power of the laser weapon. The Cult of Sollex seeks to propagate the supremacy of Las across the Imperium."
Ryneon stated, "I care nothing for your factionalism and doctrinal disputes."
"You should, it was the Cult of Sollex who sponsored the expedition of Moritor Repugnam into the Maelstrom, to wrest the Las-Impulsor from the hand of the Dark Mechnaicum and make possible the Knight Preceptor. The Laser Destroyer will be no less epic a discovery."
Ryneon lifted an eyebrow, "If your goal is to utilise the knowledge, then why oppose Cawl?"
"Cawl is a reckless fool!" Posix spat, "Careless, unwary, unsound. If given this knowledge he will use it frivolously and with disrespect. We shall put it to better use than he ever would. I will wield it with superior skill and respect. My inventions shall surpass his, my fame will eclipse his. Cawl may have opened a door to invention, but it is I who shall stride through it and bask in the light. Cawl shall writhe in spite as l become the Prime Conduit of the Omnissiah!"
Ryneon sensed bitter jealousy in the words but found no conflict with his orders. He was tasked to protect the envoy's life, not judge his character. Posix could do as he willed, so long as he didn't get himself killed. Ryneon would stand by his side in silence, and while doing so seek to complete his true orders. Posix would be a useful foil for Ryneon's intentions, a blind to draw the eye while the Howling Griffons reclaimed their precious relics.
Ryneon lowered his head a degree, "Magos, our ship will break warp in a few days. The negotiations are nearing, you should prepare your bargaining strategies."
Posix's shining head turned away, "Agreed, my rival will not go down easy, I must optimise my processors for the cut and thrust of the Conclave to come. I have weapons and armour and artefacts to amaze these Amber Vipers, they will not deny me what is due. You may return to your Marines."
Ryneon's eyes narrowed at the supercilious dismissal but held his tongue. The Magos' opinion carried no more weight with the Howling Griffons than an ant's does with a Carnodon. Ryneon would use the Magos as a stepping-stone towards his victory, the Tech-Priest's life was under the Howling Griffons aegis, but his goals were not. Ryneon would not lift a finger to help him acquire the STC, all that mattered was their relics return to Mancora. There could be no other outcome, Ryneon had sworn an oath and he would see it done, no matter who he had to sacrifice on the way.