Part 3: Next Stop; Hive Hyphereon
Slowly, inevitably, the outside world faded away. Violently shaking the great, domed antechamber which they had guarded for centuries, the massive blast doors gradually pulled together. Adamantium set a metre thick, groaned and churned incessantly with each agonising few feet of progress.
Behind stood the entirety of the Lander's cargo, rank after rank of rapt faces, eyes alive with a cold fusion of fear and steadfast wonder. A full third of the Cadian 42nd Regiment watched on in silent, mesmeric futility. Totalling seven companies - two thousand men and women of the Guard, they all quickly fell in tune to the same deep sense of foreboding, all held an unwavering gaze on the outside world - for they knew many would never see it again.
Jecht stood with them, fresh from his battle against the Harridan and its entourage of lithe, swarming Gargoyles. Yet the sight which now confronted him quickly stole any glimmer of hope derived from the small victory.
As if somehow connected with the raging tempest, wave after wave of glistening, seed-like pods began to plummet from the cloud bank above. Countless hundreds rapidly turned to countless thousands, plunging the horizon into premature darkness in all directions. Vast sheets of chain lightning tore through the ailing sky, buzzing and crackling in defiance of the planetary assault. Alongside this sickening infestation came too the Harridans, identical to the one sixth platoon had faced, yet in numbers that defied human imagination, their monstrous forms gliding gracefully among the living surge of mycetic spores like true birds of prey.
Gradually, the grim picture outside began to diminish, the blast door serving its purpose in sheltering those within from the horrors without. Yet is mere metal enough to save us? the thought was briefly accentuated with one of the chimera-sized pods coming to land just outside, striking the facility's access ramp with a sickening thud that sent huge flakes of jagged rockcrete spiralling in all directions.
The final, lingering image from the outside world became that of a throbbing, orb-like womb, bruised to purple and saturated with thick, alien mucus. Scything limbs sawed hard at its flanks, disguising the muffled hissing and screaming that rose like a discordant whine from inside.
And then silence. The hulking doors met firmly in metallic embrace, their grating collision reverberating throughout the chamber like some ancient tomb gateway, trapping those inside to rot in eternity. For a short moment the entire room was plunged into perpetual darkness, as if the void itself had come to consume those inside. Yet the generators quickly whirred into life, their dull drone echoing across the antechamber in a furious, resounding din. In turn they gave rise to the eerie glow of portable lighting, spreading across the marble floor like starlight.
----
Jecht turned to get a first glimpse at the huge building that now unerringly kept them from the alien hordes outside, even as nervous chatter and anxious whispers spread contagiously through the men around him like the first ripples of an epidemic.
The expansive room must have served as some sort of entrance lobby for the dockworkers as they made their passage to and from the main Hive construct. Smooth marble sloped gently downwards, delving deeper into the planet's ore-rich crust, onwards towards several gaping tunnel entrances, each one undoubtedly leading to a different Link platform. All around them stood the oddly shaped reception desks and ticket booths common to the Administratum halls of the Imperium - long, twisting queuing lanes and carefully placed security checkpoints. All empty. All left to decay in the interminable dark.
The air suddenly rose to life once more with the familiar sound of vox static, tearing Jecht away from his almost surgical study of the antechamber. The aging figure of Colonel Drezlen nimbly pounced up onto one of the desks, his form, as ever, compulsively clad in long leather trench coat and black-grey peaked cap. Below his thick, dusty collar shone the slight gleam of Imperial gold - his refractor field gorget-generator being the only visible sign of official heraldry about his person.
"Men of the 42nd, heed my words," his voice rang like iron, echoing and resounding through the dozens of shoulder-mounted vox-amps that were dotted through each company. The room plunged instantly into silence, two thousand pleading eyes looking to their vigilant, seasoned commander for some glimpse of hope, "As I know you are all aware, the mysterious threat here on Carsus has kindly given us time to show its face. For a lot of us, it's the worst thing we could've hoped for, a 'Nid Splinter Fleet this far in on the segmentum. Yet for all its worth, we can't choose the foes we face, We can only choose how we meet those enemies. And meet them we shall! At every corner, at every turn, at every Emperor cursed place in this hive that these things choose to attacks us, we'll make 'em pay tenfold for that choice!" he paused to search the eyes of every man gathered close, "No insect shall ever stand before us. Show them your faith in his name, show them that you are the hand of his iron will! Show them this and they will crumble before us, they will buckle and break beneath our righteous wrath!" he punched the air as he spoke, emphasising the anger behind each word, "So I ask you now men of Cadia - stand vigilant by my side. Send these foul Xenos whimpering back to the holes they sprang from. Do this and we can get off this planet - to somewhere with damn sight better weather, I promise you that!" The room swiftly met their commander's rallying speech with the roar of two thousand mouths, rifles held aloft in defiance of the alien horde outside, "Now get this gear ready to head out, we move on from here in five minutes. Company and Platoon commanders to me. That is all."
With that the huge lobby erupted into activity once again, morale restored to beleaguered hearts. Most had a clear idea their chances were slim but they had purpose now. A reason to stay alive.
----
Jecht dropped to one knee, gathering up a hulking belt of Heavy-Bolter ammo and slinging it over his shoulder, But how did they surprise us so easily? despite the Colonel's invigorating words, the thought worried him.
Diffidently dropping his gaze to the marble below, the Cadian coyly walked towards the gathered group of officers, who were by now at one of the abandoned desks, straying to just within earshot of their heated discussion. Carefully unslinging the ammo-belt, he quickly made to coil the heavy links, hoping desperately that none amongst them would notice his prying.
With the assembled group stood his own sergeant, clearly unaccustomed to being involved with the higher end of ranking officials. Remaining on the outskirts of the group, Valerie's scarred figure kept quiet, likely regretting the way sixth platoon's original JO, Lieutenant Omagh, met his untimely demise some ten thousand feet above the city.
"…I just don't see how the fleet didn't spot any Tyranid activity in this sector before we were already in orbit, it doesn't make sense that they could've just come out of nowhere!" rose the irate voice of one of the Company commanders.
The reply came from Jecht's own company superior, Captain Irahn, his bionic right arm whirring mechanically with each gesture, "I don't think there's much going on here that makes any sense Victor, for a start why have the 'Nids left this planet in such good condition? We've all seen the results of their invasions before, why hasn't this entire world been seeded and stripped of everything organic? From the looks of it, all they've done is taken out the human and animal populations and left. Even now outside, there's no sign whatsoever of the seeds falling with their pods. Hardly seems like the workings of the Hive Mind to…"
"That is because you do not understand them Captain," interrupted the Colonel, who had been heeding the anxiety of his command staff in silence for some minutes now, his usual commanding tone had dropped away to an almost sorrowful whisper, "For millennia we have waged war against these aliens. With the very will of the Emperor we have sacrificed millions to hold them at bay, to try and contain their insurmountable threat to all we hold dear. Their threat to humanity rivals even that of the Ruinous Powers and yet what do we truly know of them?" he paused to rub wearily at his fast-receding hairline, "What can we say of their purpose? Their meaning? Their reasons? Can any of us honestly say why it is that these monstrosities move from planet to planet, draining life in all its forms, right down to the very oceans and Emperor damned atmosphere itself?
Gentlemen. This is not some Ork that you can strive to out-think or outmanoeuvre on the field of battle. These bastards cannot be second guessed or predicted. Any attempt to figure out the reasons behind what they do is futile and a waste of time we do not have. All we can hope to say is that they know we're down here and they're coming. They're coming to feast."
----
The Link platform stood empty and vast, its rotting walls housing a full twelve shuttle lines, each one stretching off and away through the ultraviolet gloom, into the inescapable dark of the rail tunnels. Many of the giant transports still sat stationed, their hulking, metal shells leering ominously from the far reaches of the platform. Hundreds of Perspex windows and portals glistened eagerly along their flanks, set like opaque screens against the glare of probing barrel-torches and Sentinel searchlights. To Jecht it seemed as if the huge constructs waited in grim anticipation of their final, conclusive journey, left for so long to slumber in the inky black of the Underdark. He did not dare think on the fate shared by their last set of passengers.
Gradually the entirety of the 42nd's Taskforce filled the platform, giving a strange image of what it must've resembled prior to the alien incursion. Hundreds of men and women, still weary from the earlier drop, piled forward across the hewn rockcrete stage, forming up in their respective companies and platoons in organised precision. Amongst them strode the mighty Sentinel walkers, swinging heavily from side to side and bathing the platform with their high-powered searchlights. Some stood out as power-lifters, their broad, hydraulic arms bearing the brunt of heavier loads and equipment.
Servitors clicked and buzzed as they hauled the mobile generators into view, securing them in place with robotic efficiency and speed. Jecht sneered and spat at the sight. He had never liked the 42nd's entourage of half organic, half bionic servants. Forming the personal retinue of the sole Enginseer, Techpriest Ordaint, he couldn't help but get the feeling that they weren't totally under human control, almost as if they could suddenly turn against their creators at any moment.
All throughout the Imperium their unfeeling, emotionless presence had become a vital asset, the resilient, durable creations being perfect for the more menial, dangerous tasks that were rife through peace or war.
Even the Cogboy Ordaint himself didn't seem quite human, his robed figure covered in bionic upgrades and enhancements. Of these, the most notable was a plasteel Servo-arm, attached through surgery to his spinal cord, sequentially granting him the relative control of an extra, mechanically-strengthened limb. Indeed Jecht remembered how he had mistaken the Enginseer as some sort of metallic half-scorpion on his joining the regiment, a view shared through many regimental jokes and tales across the years. Yet he knew that the presence of Ordaint and his servitors would be fundamental to their every chance of escaping the Hordes above. Whatever chance that was.
With that thought, he raised a glance to the cold ceiling overhead, to the exposed girders and supports rusting visibly through the gloom, So what now Hive Mind? he wondered, knowing well that the aliens would immediately attract to the fallen Lander and the dead human and alien cadavers piled in and around it. It wouldn't be long before their tracks into the Facility were picked up and followed.
----
Without warning the platform lighting began to flicker, struggling valiantly to force themselves from slumber, "Well well. Old Dainty's done it again," spoke the Corporal from behind as the white glow of electro-light exploded all around - forcing Jecht to shield his gloom-accustomed eyes from the glare. As if on cue, the vox amps of forty different platoons spurred into static, the rasping voice of Ordaint merging unnervingly with radio white-noise, "As per request, reserve power cells have been deployed for Links two, five and nine. Please begin loading with haste, for the reserve power will not hold. Praise the machine spirit for its blessing. That is all." As the vox-amps crackled back to silence, so the taskforce began to move out, entire companies and their platoons swiftly organising the complicated troop movements between themselves.
Herded towards the Link Shuttle marked as bay five, Jecht hoisted the uncomfortable load of ammunition higher onto his shoulder and winced as the heavy belt links bit into his skin, "Where you reckon they'll send us?" he asked, looking left at Quentin.
"Into the Underhive no doubt. I'm guessing they're hoping the spooks on the surface get put off by the smell and stop looking," he answered grinning, "that's if there's none already down there 'course."
The Underhive… Jecht thought to himself. Being born in one of the high-raised, habitation layers of the Cadian Megaspires, he had never seen one of the infamous Underdarks with his own eyes, though the countless stories that passed through society and life in the Guard gave him enough of a picture to stay away.
Before him the shuttle doors slid open, releasing the pent up, stale air that had been trapped inside. Waiting patiently for his turn to board, the Cadian studied the hulking carriage, its stained, grey hull gleaming in the new light.
At least a hundred metres in length and perhaps twenty wide, the vessel was split into three autonomous compartments; two for passengers and another for cargo. It seemed to run on two separate rails, one along the ground and the other above on the ceiling, respectively securing the oversized, bubble-shaped carriage in a parallel embrace. Both lines hummed and droned monotonously under the rippling, electric current, curving off into the unlit link-tunnel like twin silver snakes.
Stepping inside, Jecht was met with the amassed rank and file of the seating units, standing like battered troops under the pale interior lighting. The design emphasis had evidently been on sacrificing comfort in the interests of goading as many possible passengers on board, all the while trying to avoid the risk of asphyxiation in the extensive rail networks that circled the main hive.
Stowing the bolter ammunition-belt, Jecht hurriedly made way to his designated seat, struck by the similarity between the Link Shuttle and the Lander Cataphract he had dropped with earlier. As images of the fateful falling began racing nauseously through his mind, he shivered violently and slumped into his seat beside Quentin and Raif - one of the other privates from his squad. The burly, dark-skinned man sat expressionless as always, a large, belt-fed heavy-stubber perched on his lap. Illegal in the main Cadian army, the weapon resembled an archaic machinegun, capable of unleashing a hail of relatively weak fire at any given foe. It was apparently only granted to Raif due to him being strong enough to man and fire the unsightly weapon single-handedly, a compliment to his physique and a detriment to his aim.
Casting a gaze out through each side window, Jecht watched as the other shuttles slowly roll forward and set off into the shadows, the roar of conduit engines audible even through the perspex. Before long the last of the equipment and troops, including the Colonel's command squad and Ordaint, filed into his own carriage, just as the bloated transport began to shift and stir, gradually moving forward with agonising inevitability. The Cadian closed firm his eyes in cold realisation of where it was they were going. The descent had begun.