PDF Watch Station Tetran III
Ulrich took two steps away from the wall, holstered his pistol and raised his hands to the skies. Head back teeth bared he whispered. At first nothing seemed to happen, then a quickening breeze began to spring up, a spinning vortex centred on the psyker. Two of the wraiths were now half way across the square with the third not far behind. As Ulrich had begun his ritual their eyes fixed on him and they started moving straight towards him. A storm trooper ran to intercept with two PDF grunts. They fired from the hip, their shots ineffective passing through the wraiths as though they were not even there. Seeing this the Stormtrooper gestured the others forwards shouldering his hellgun and pausing momentarily as he searched his combat rigging.
The first soldier to reach a wraith swatted at it with his rifle butt. This had as much effect as any of the las-shots passing straight through the wraith's body and left the soldier completely unbalanced by the lack of resistance. The wraith appeared to regard the man with mild curiosity before it swiped down, suddenly real enough that it's claws removed the man's head. In that instant several high explosive rounds detonated at the wraiths throat. The torso dropped to the floor, the strange antigrav effect abruptly failing while the head landed solidly a few metres away, the green eyes glowing almost angrily before they faded. Totiem hastily loaded another round into his oversized pistol as the remaining wraiths turned their glare to him.
As the evil machines resumed their gliding progress the Stormtrooper charged at the lead wraith he thrust his hands into the insubstantial torso and screamed as the wraith flickered into reality. The Stormtrooper dropped to his knees, arms now ending cleanly halfway to the elbow as the wraith swung to administer the coup de gras. Its chest bulged strangely, the metal glowing cherry red in places as the krak grenade the soldier had been holding detonated inside it. Damaged metal liquefied and started flowing but whatever controlled the uncanny regenerative processes the necrons used was obviously severely damaged as the torso twisted further out of shape before the creature dropped. With a green flash all three wraiths, active and disabled vanished. While they had failed in their assassination mission they had still succeeded in drawing fire away from the front wall and the first necron warrior began forcing itself through the gate. Tarik jumped down from the wall, landing feet first on the necron's shoulder. It was enough to unbalance the warrior who fell while Tarik jumped and rolled clear before turning and putting 3 high power las blasts through the necron's skull at close range. There was a moment of overpressure as though time stood still, Tarik looked up to see a flash of blue sky immediately above as Ulrich's efforts had cleared away the mist for a moment. More importantly it also punched a hole in the necrons' attempts to jam communications.
Static flashed off every metallic surface and there was a series of localised thunderclaps as 5 figures appeared in the courtyard. Clad in ancient warplate massive enough to dwarf even Ulrich's power-armoured form the Astartes terminators stood for an instant, frost evaporating from dull black plate. The only flash of colour on their dull armour being a white stylised letter I on one shoulder guard, the other painted a solid bone white. The armour suits were superficially similar though of different marques. It took a fraction of a second for them to scan the battlefield, then they were moving. A deceptive stride that carried them faster than a normal man could run. Three more necrons had made it inside. The first terminator marine grabbed a necron throat in an oversized powerfist and squeezed. Quick shots from his companion dropping the remaining necrons. The one held by the neck struggled feebly to bring its rifle to bare before the disruption field flared shattering the warrior. Two marines took station by the main doors sending a stream of bolt shells into the massed necron ranks. To the PDF present it sounded as though their bolters were on automatic. But the Space Marine's reactions and centuries of training allowed them to place precise 3 round bursts into each target, then acquire the next before the echoes of the first shots had faded. The first rank of necrons melted away. The two marines stepped back, swiftly reloading the suit's stormbolters as two more took their place. The remaining marine standing defiantly in the open holding aloft a necron skull as a trophy.
The necron advance staggered then halted. Faced with a new enemy there was a moment of calculation. The first rank fired sending the defenders diving back behind the walls in search of transient safety. Then the necrons behind the front ranks threw small devices through the gate or over the wall.
"Cover!"
The terminators remained unmoving, confident in the strength of their armour and using the pause to target yet another row of necron warriors while the humans dived as far as they could from the necron devices assuming some sort of explosive. They were wrong. Tarik saw the nearest device hit the ground. A white triangle the size and thickness of a man's palm that landed on a point, then seemed to drag itself underground. Many landed at the feet of the trophy taking Marine. In each place the triangles landed they shivered then disappeared underground. Moments later the earth began to shake and where the first had vanished a metal hand, fingers ending in talons the length of a man's arm punched up from the ground. A second hand, then a head forced its way up.
The marine stamped down, the neck cracking but more hands were appearing. One set of claws lashed out grabbing onto the marine's leg, using it as a level to pull itself out faster. Terminator armour offered unrivalled protection, but the layers of ceramite and adamatium restricted movement and there was no easy way for the occupant to reach down to defend against the ground level attack. Another set of arms wrapped themselves around the other ankle holding the marine in place.
"Gottries! Behind you!"
Three of the ghastly figures had pulled themselves fully above the earth. Corroded skeletons of metal, teeth and fingers grown to sharpened talons. The proportions had never been human which was bad enough but these were clearly warped parodies of the necron warriors still advancing on the fort. Backs twisted, limbs mismatched and impossible traces of flesh hung from the frame, though these steel monsters had never had any of their own. Seeing the struggling terminator one dropped to all fours bounding along the ground like an animal while the other two scrambled after in a hunch-backed shuffle that still left them covering the distance at a terrifying pace heading for the pinned terminator's unprotected back.
One of the terminators at the gate turned and sent a storm of bolts towards his companion. The arms holding Gottries in place shattered and the few shells that missed exploded harmlessly against his leg armour. While terminator plate was heavy and reduced the occupant's speed and manoeuvrability, it was still only slow by Astartes' standards and Gottries turned in time to meet the attack from the rear. He threw the skull he was holding with enough force to stagger one of the two standing figures. The creature on all fours leapt for his throat but his powerfist flared as it smashed through the chest of the beast and shattered it's spine.
"Flayed ones." He growled in contempt and sent pinpoint bolts through the skulls of the other two before they could get in range. But as he looked round he could see another thirty wholly or partially above the ground. When they joined the attack on the defenders those on the gate would have to chose between fighting the enemy within or the enemy without. It was easy to see that the handful remaining would not be able to do both. Defeat was only a matter of moments away.
Tetran I
The arbites' flyer was cramped. An ancient Valkyrie variant where the comfort of the troops was secondary to keeping as much armour and weapons around them as possible. It also did not help that the arbites squad were trying to keep as much distance between themselves and the hooded figure sat at one end. The staff across its knees, even inert, seeming more threatening than the fully armed and armoured inquisitorial stormtroopers. Kryn sat between the two groups fuming silently. She had boarded the flyer to find that three of her hand-picked team had been removed to make space for the additions. While the stormtroopers would undoubtedly be at least as combat capable as the men they replaced and the Inquisition had the authority to make the substitution it still rankled. She looked again at the gloved hand holding the staff. Gloves. Ulrich had always worn power armour. Shocked she looked directly into the darkness of the hood, that now she registered concealed far more than it should have even in the dull lighting of the flyer's interior.
"You're not..." She began, but was cut off by a quick shake of the head from the figure. Eyes suddenly appeared out of the hooded darkness, electric blue, and winked at her.
"Marshal, the base is being less than cooperative. They may need your help in the cockpit." The voice was Ulrich's but listening closely there seemed to be an edge, like a vox system with a touch too much gain.
She nodded and swung to her feet, holding tight and almost swinging from one of leather straps that hung from the ceiling to the next. This close to the mountain turbulence or gravetic distortion was an ever present threat. She moved into the pilots compartment, the co-pilot turning and giving her a relieved look. Kryn tapped her helmet by her ear and the co-pilot quickly patched her into the flyer's comm system. She was dropped into the middle of what had obviously been a series of increasingly testy arguments with ground control. Patience stretched she cut in to the channel.
"This is Marshal Sodor. By the authority vested in me I demand accesses to PDF airspace. We will be landing at the given coordinates. Anyone who even thinks of obstructing us will spend a brief time in a penitential cell until we find time for an orderly execution."
"You are in no position to make threats. This is secure airspace" came the self-righteous response from the ground.
"That is not a threat, it is the consequence of crossing the Adeptus Arbites. A threat would be my voxing the support ships of the Imperial navy, declaring Zander Base to be a rogue bastion of heresy defying the rightful orders of the Emperor-appointed guardians of justice and demanding it be melted down to the bedrock from orbit. Which I will do if you do not clear a path right now."
There was vox silence for a moment, then the flight computer beeped an acknowledgement as their flight path was approved.
"Thank you for your cooperation." Kryn snarled, cutting the link.
"We still have a dozen weapons locked on to us, but nothing firing. Yet." grumbled the co-pilot. A pair of lighting fighters had taken up close escort and as they swept over the base's perimeter a dozen hydra turrets swung to follow their approach.
The flyer came down scant yards from the front of the main administration building. As the ramp dropped there were dozens of PDF troops scurrying into firing positions, but none of them seemed to be entirely sure what they should be doing and the ragged circle that formed would have been easy to break.
Kryn strode onto the rockcrete and headed towards the main entrance flanked by her squad of enforcers in combat formation, the inquisitorial party slotting into place behind, using the arbites as walking cover.
"Who's in charge here?" She demanded. When there was no immediate response she stalked up to the highest ranking officer visible. "You! Captain. Where is Prescot?"
The officer looked around, but seeing only confusion in the men around him shrugged. "In his office I assume."
"Take us there. Now!" The last delivered with the benefit of the vox amp in her helmet usually used to make officers heard over full scale riots. The Captain winced at the volume and hurriedly led the way inside. A frightened looking aide ran up followed by a pair of troopers.
"The Commander, he's barricaded himself in his office and won't come out. I heard... He was alone in there but I heard..." The young man shuddered.
"Heard what soldier."
"Screams, sounds of a struggle."
At a run they approached the office. A pair of bodyguards were hammering at the wooden door, but all they had succeeded in doing was cracking off the panelling to reveal the armour frame underneath
"He's locked it from inside!"
"Stand back." The hooded figure pulled off a glove and mecha-dendrites slid out of his wrist. By the side of the door was a gene-reader and the small mechanical arms slipped in the sides and began rewiring the electronics inside. There was a small flash and crack of electrical discharge. The door suddenly was hanging loosely from its hinges. Kryn stepped forwards and wrenched it open then stopped dead. Commander Prescot was dead, beyond question. The raw wound where his ribs used to be made that clear enough. But in the empty room there was no sign of his assailant.
Tetran III
"Gottries, Menalis, Xistos take the flayed ones. Baelin cover me." Syrano yelled, the terminator bringing his storm bolter round and taking down another pair of necron warriors. A second terminator stepped in close firing over his shoulder. The other three were running to engage the growing crop of monsters inside the fort. But while the feral creatures lacked the raw strength and armour of the marines they had numbers and speed on their side and the space was too open to stop them flanking their opponents. Tarik saw it all as if in slow motion and ground his teeth in frustration. Ulrich was still down, the mental effort of breaking the jamming leaving him drained, Totiem was trying to pin down the advancing warriors between dodging the return fire and there were now too few PDF left to provide enough weight of fire to matter. The handful still alive were mostly keeping their heads down or scrabbling over corpses trying to find power cells for their depleted weapons.
There was a roar of mingled anger and pain, Baelin had taken a shot to the arm that had torn through the terminator plate removed both his hand and everything else below the elbow. Oddly there was no blood, but Baelin still moved back into cover for a moment to recover his wits. Tarik looked for any way to stem the tide of xenos. One of the two defence towers was still standing, the crew sent there had never fired during the entire engagement. Tarik sprinted to the nearest set of steps and crouch ran along the barricade. The tower had a short enclosed spiral staircase. At the base was one of the PDF gun crew. If the las blasts he had taken to the chest had not proved fatal the fall down the stairs would have given the angle of his neck. Tarik paused. Las blasts. Not the gauss flayers that the Necrons were using. The difference was obvious. A las blast left a small, instantly cauterised wound with thermal shock causing most of the internal damage. Even a glancing blast from a gauss flayer would put a fist sized hole straight through armour as a bare minimum.
His pistol already in hand he swapped out the power pack for a fresh one and ran silently up the stairs, throwing himself into a roll at the top. He spun, taking in the second body this one shot in the back of the head from close range given the burns. The third trooper was cowering in a corner clutching his rifle as a child would clutch a comfort blanket.
"They're all going to die again..." he began, before Tarik shot him twice. That unpleasant task accomplished he scanned the room. The las cannon was disassembled in its transport state on the floor. Tripod set in place where the job of reassembly had started, but the power pack, barrel and stock were all laid out neatly. Tarik grimaced, he knew how to reassemble a lascannon but it was supposed to be a two man job which with a trained crew would still take a couple of minutes set-up time, minutes he did not have. He looked for another option and saw the grenade launcher by the outstretched hand of the corpse. The pistol went back into its holster and he grabbed a knife, cutting the bandolier from the grenadier.
The launcher was heavy, a stubby barrel and what looked like a revolver's cylinder but scaled up for a giant with hand grips both in front and behind. He flicked open the lock catch and flipped the handle and trigger mechanism up. 6 frag grenades were already loaded. He slammed the magazine shut, and slipped the lock back in place as he moved to the firing slit overlooking the interior of the fort. More of the flayed ones were tearing themselves free from the earth, thumb moving the selector switch from safety to semi-automatic he fired two grenades in quick succession the blasts sending the metal figures sprawling. The next four grenades were fired in a rough circle around the stand of the space marines. Their terminator armour was more than proof against the anti-personnel weapons but the explosions threw back several flayed ones who were rushing to join the melee and knocked those already in combat off balance. The marines needed no invitation to take advantage of the distraction, chain and power fists smashing those in reach, accurate storm bolter bursts ensuring those knocked down by the explosions stayed down.
Tarik opened the magazine again and began dropping in a new set of grenades hoping the heat from the recent firing wouldn't cause any to cook off. The reinforced metal of the cylinder was designed so that misfires would have the majority of the blast contained and directed away from the operator through the barrel, but that particular protection was of no help when the magazine was open.
"Grenades to the front. Now." The voice too low to be human as Syrano broke into the PDF comm-net, the unnatural static that had blocked communications now just a whisper.
Tarik switched fire slit and sent down a curtain of grenades, dropping the launcher and diving for the staircase before the first had even hit the ground. Gauss beams flickered behind him as the return fire tore the tower apart. The shielding built into his armour flared white as a gauss beam speared through the wall spraying across his back. Tarik hit the ground swearing at a searing pain between his shoulder blades. He scrabbled at the armour's release catches and dropped the torso section to the floor. The armour was undamaged by the weapon's fire, but the power pack for the shield had overheated. Ignoring the pain and leaving the amour where it lay Tarik scrambled back into the fight.
At the gate Baelin one-handedly picked off several more necron warriors who had been knocked down by the grenade spread making the most of the stationary targets. Storm bolters had a huge rate of fire, but replacing the ammunition was difficult under fire, more so with a single arm so Baelin was making every bolt count. The explosions might have caused the walking nightmares to pause, but few had suffered more than superficial wounds and those who had been near the centre of the blasts were gradually reforming, at least until well aimed bolts inflicted terminal damage. Syrano muttered to himself, rote words of warding and prayers of protection as he drew on the power of the warp. Lightning crackled around his psychic hood then great bolts shot out from his hands, they hit the nearest necron and it simply exploded then the bolts jumped to the next in line and the next. The first three were as comprehensively destroyed as the first, but as the bolts spread further the effect weakened. Maybe a dozen necrons were put out of action but those on the periphery simply froze, the massive jolt temporarily scrambling their systems. Totiem stood pistol in a double handed grip on the wall, he unhurriedly fired off a full clip, each shot smashing through the skull of a stunned necron. With his thumb he hit the magazine release, grabbing a new clip and slamming it home before the spent magazine had bounced to a halt on the floor. As he began firing again the fallen necrons glowed green, then vanished in a flash of light. Totiem waited a moment in case yet another wave would come shambling out of the mist, but there was nothing.
The flayed ones had not disappeared with the rest and the dozen or so that remained had focused their attention on the 3 terminators. One caught a xenos warrior cleanly, slicing through neck and removing the head.
"Memoriae Zanatas!" the marine cried in some sort of battle cry, but that momentary victory was not the whole story. The terminators were fighting a desperate battle, their armour scored and battered by the frenzied assault. The necron blades were quite capable of slicing through even the reinforced plate of tactical dreadnaught armour and the lack of manoeuvrability the suits allowed left the space marines at a disadvantage against the fast, feral foe. Only their years of training was allowing them to hold their own and that was barely enough to fend off the xenos. Tarik raced in with pistol and blade. The fixed focus of the flayed ones working against them as he moved in an inhumanly fast whirl. The powered blade he wielded hamstrung the more humanoid, and simply removed limbs from those on all fours. Close range pistol shots inflicted yet more damage. As a pair of the flayed ones turned to engage the new threat pinpoint shots began to take their toll. Totiem and the two other marines adding their fire to the melee. There was an unearthly electronic howl and the flayed ones disappeared as completely as the warriors outside the fort had. The remaining humans waited, breathing heavily, but it appeared they had won.
Tetran I
Kryn stood in the doorway, doing her best not to touch anything. Two of her arbiters were guarding the door the rest were interviewing aides, bodyguards and anyone else who might have any idea what had happened to their commander. Now the crowd had dispersed Cormack flipped back his hood and flashed an apologetic smile.
"Sorry about the deception Marshal, you weren't the target."
"Just as well. I wasn't deceived. Out of curiosity: you're taller than you were."
"Extensible callipers in my limbs. Many cultures in the Imperium respect height as a measure of authority, or see someone of small stature as being less of a threat. Both have their uses at appropriate times. And of course, with a little voice synthesis both help me do a passable imitation of other members of the Inquisitor's retinue."
Curiosity satisfied Kryn turned her attention back to the office. Aside from the body there was nothing obvious of interest. The desk was empty, the terminal locked. The one window was reinforced armourglass with steel bars on the outside and a fine metal grid on the inside to prevent the window shattering into shrapnel in the event of nearby explosion. It did not open and the only way into the room was through the door that they had forced earlier. There were no weapon strikes in the wall, no signs of a struggle. The Commander's side arm was still in its holster, though the strap that held it in place had been removed. There was the odd blood splatter, but less than she would have expected given the state of the body. Unable to put it off any longer Kryn removed her helmet, put it on the floor outside the room then walked over and squatted down beside Cormack to examine the corpse.
The hand that had presumably reached for the sidearm was missing the arm ending cleanly at the wrist. The other hand was intact but the nails were broken and bloodied. Below the waist and above the neck the body seemed entirely intact. In-between the torso was a mess. If it was not for the lack of shrapnel and blast damage in the room Kryn would have assumed a grenade had gone off next to the commander.
"Do you see anything?" she asked assuming Cormack would have a range of sensors and senses not available to her.
"Cut on the arm appears surgical, no organic matter in the wound, perfect edge, some type of blade, given the finesse of the slice could be powered weapon or a monomolecular edge. Not a lot of obvious blood so either the blade cauterised the wound or the cut was post mortem. I'm a little concerned at the whereabouts of the hand itself."
"Trophy? Maybe using the prints and blood to defeat a genelock?"
Cormack shrugged. "Both possible, Motive is more your area of expertise than mine. The fatal wound is..." he gestured vaguely taking in the whole torso. "...unclear. I have no clue what actually proved fatal, pattern matches animal feeding, particularly the breaking of the ribs to reach the organs underneath. Blood splatter suggests feeding began while the victim was still alive and trying to fight it off."
"Animal?"
"Maybe... but it tore through the flak-jacket and uniform as happily as the torso and nothing, hand excepted, seems to be missing." He indicated a pile of offal mixed with fabric. "Everything was chewed and then spat out."
"Not human. He may have been out of shape but Commander Prescot still rose to his rank through ability. He should have at least hit the door release and got his bodyguard in if attacked by an assassin."
Cormack flashed her a look.
"OK either your organisation or mine could have pulled off an assassination even on a hard target like Prescot but we didn't." Kryn accepted.
"Nor, to my knowledge did we. And I doubt either of us would have left such a mess if we had. It almost looks like an Eversor hit, but then there would have been much more collateral damage to the office, the bodyguard outside." He thought for a moment. "And probably to everything else in a five click radius. The other clades tend to be far neater –so I concur. Not an Imperial assassination."
Kryn tapped her teeth with a fingernail
No native predators with this kill pattern. Practically no native predators that would take on a human for that matter. So xenos or daemon, particularly as they seem to have teleported in and out. " Kryn thought back to the various briefings she had had over the years about the various xenos. "Too subtle for Orks, and the only other species that I can think of that commonly use teleportation would be Eldar or Necron."
"Seems logical. This does not feel like the aftermath of a chaotic attack, though you'd have to get Ulrich to confirm that there's no taint here."
"Any thoughts to which xenos?"
Cormack shrugged. "Doesn't seem to quite fit either. Dark Eldar have this level of savagery, but tend to hit cities or planets, not individual humans. They don't see us as being worth the effort. Eldar occasionally assassinate single targets their farseers pick out as posing some future threat. But they tend to be more... efficient. Necrons could get in and out but generally would use weapons rather than teeth, except the flayed ones but they tend to show up on battlefields rather than offices."
"Flayed ones?"
Cormack looked at her closely as if trying to judge where to begin.
"OK basic necron, metal skeleton, powerful gun and when shot tends to just heal over wounds."
"That was the briefing – very dangerous, if sighted call for the Inquisition and prepare for evacuation of high ranking personnel and valuable equipment. Which seemed unusually defeatist. Usually the briefing gives standard defensive techniques. "
"They can be fought. But it's hard. They can teleport in almost unlimited reinforcements, heal anything not instantly fatal. And worst: teleport out if a battle is going badly then teleport back later with massive reinforcements bypassing any fixed defences. All of which is classified – bad for morale." Cormack smiled sardonically indicating the mechanicum was beyond such things. "Anyway, the necrons do have various specialised warrior forms, but the so called 'flayed ones' are an odd case. They seem attracted to battle and appear when there is large scale bloodshed, more like carrion feeders than troops. They are vicious and deadly, but like a wild animal rather than a soldier."
"Why 'flayed ones'?"
"Because they like to skin their victims and wear them like a coat."
"Thanks for that graphic image. So you think this looks like a 'flayed one' could have carried out the attack, but a 'flayed one' would not carry out this sort of attack."
"Yes."
"Is it always like this working for the inquisition?"
"No. Sometimes it gets really confusing."
PDF Watch Station Tetran III
The remainder of the task force regrouped with the exception of Totiem who was setting up a sniper nest in the remains of one of the towers. The 5 Astartes reloaded their storm bolters, a complex process in the ancient battle plate and ran some basic field repairs on their damaged armour. Baelin was aided by the others. While his fighting effectiveness remained high, losing an arm was hampering him severely in other regards.
"Stop grumbling you should be used to it by now." Gottries mocked, slapping the damaged space marine on the back. Tarik looked over questioningly.
"Gottries..." Menalis began a warning tone in his voice.
"Forgemaster Kullen won't be pleased that I've damaged his creation." Baelin looked at the sparking remnants of the bionic arm. "Still I'm sure he'll be happy to create something greater to take its place when I get back to the Fortress."
"Aye brother." Xistos agreed, pity in his voice as he reloaded the wounded marine's storm bolter.
"Knock it off. We're ready Inquisitor." Syrano growled.
Tarik looked over at Ulrich. The tall psyker was standing, but gave the impression that his power armour had more to do with that than his muscles. Blood still dripped from his nose and his usually pale complexion was now chalk white. His dark hair beginning to plaster to his face as the fog from earlier turned into a persistent freezing drizzle. He shook his head slightly.
"If there are no objections Librarian Syrano I think I'll supervise up here."
Tarik looked at the few other survivors. One stormtrooper, too injured to be of assistance and 5 shattered looking PDF troops, one saw the look and threw a weak salute and made an attempt at standing to attention.
"OK you – Fogel isn't it?"
"Yes sir."
"You're acting corporal. Get yourselves rearmed as best you can. I want one man on the walls with Totiem as lookout, we have air support incoming but no sense in being complacent. By the time the relief get here I want the casualties by the gates along with all salvageable equipment. I also need as many dog-tags as you can find for the inquisitorial archive and after action report. Any questions?"
"No sir." The dazed look shifted a little as the men scattered searching for grenades and power cells.
"Archive?" Ulrich sent over a closed vox channel.
"They've been mauled. Let them think it was a worthy sacrifice that will be remembered."
"Wasn't it?"
Tarik shrugged and walked towards the central command bunker. He tapped in a code supplied by the PDF base back at Zander Plain. When nothing happened he pulled an inquisitorial signet from a pocket. A quick twist revealed a data port and he inserted it into the bunker's lock. The medium-security codes protecting the lock surrendered quickly to the authority of the inquisitorial access programs stored in the signet and the huge blast door swung open. As the air tight seal broke there was a hiss and Tarik found himself choking at a dry stale smell.
"Curious, atmosphere reads all nitrogen and only a trace oxygen content." Menalis volunteered his suit's sensors. "That will change now the door is open but could still be a problem for you." Tarik nodded and pulled a small rebreather unit from his combat webbing.
Gottries activated his power fist and strode forward to take point, Syrano and Menalis flanking him. Tarik had to half jog to keep up and as Baelin and Xistos took up the rear he looked rather like a child being escorted by adults. As they stepped into the gloomy interior emergency lighting flickered to life. Long unused batteries gave the last of their charge to spread a murky red light. There was a choking grind and the lights flickered brightly for a moment before subsiding back to the dull red. This repeated several times as they made their way inside.
"Generator – sounds like the restarts failing. Fuel's either decayed or run out." Xistos volunteered.
"Stay sharp, the necrons may have been trying to prevent our access, they might just return."
In the event it was something of an anticlimax. The facility was an STC construct and followed a typical pattern, a quick sweep of barracks and refectory revealed nothing but a thin layer of dust. Everything was in good order, equipment stowed, bunks stripped back. The lack of oxygen had prevented corrosion and the entire base could have been abandoned the previous day rather than having lain unused for centuries. Nothing was at all out of the ordinary. At least until they reached the command centre.
At first sight it seemed like the rest of the base. Ancillary equipment had been removed leaving just empty desks and a handful of cogitators. Blank tac-grids awaited battleplans and a large holographic table dominated the centre of the space. The surface grey with dust.
"What's that humming?" Asked Menalis.
A small cogitator was active, power light glowing green and a handful of indicators glowing brightly in the subdued emergency lighting.
"How does that have power?" Tarik wondered aloud as he inspected it. It was just a standard unit. Display and processor built into a wooden desk with an iron skull and cog icon on the front. A few traces of the anointing oils used in its activation rituals had dried to an iridescent residue but otherwise it could have been in use the previous day. Unlike the rest of the room there was no dust settled on it and as Tarik reached to touch it there was a sharp crack and small spark. He swore mildly and received another shock as he repeated the gesture. Ignoring it he tapped on the keyboard and was rewarded with a glowing command prompt.
"You know the rites of activation?" Asked Baelin
"Not really, Cormack taught me a few basics and I've picked up bits and pieces over the years." Tarik typed a few commands and a list of names and data started scrolling down the screen. He hit a key, then another but the list continued. "Hmmm. It's processing the data for all new recruits and sending them to an external system."
"That's a lot of data." Observed Menalis, "I would have expected a more substantial machine would be needed."
"Point." Tarik ducked down to look under the desk and hissed in alarm. The Astartes had maintained a combat overwatch but now snapped into a more alert formation, Menalis covering the cogitator the rest guarding the potential approaches. Tarik reappeared holding the power cable for the device. It should have been securely attached to the base's power supply, instead it ended in a black cylinder the length of a man's forearm. The cylinder was a glossy black split with evenly displaced depressions along its length that glowed a sickly green.
"Xenos." Growled Syrano. "Tech heresy."
"Agreed. But this is what we came for. I'll need you to bring it, and the cogitator."
The rigid terminator faceplate should have prevented Syrano's feelings from showing, but his thunderous scowl seemed to make itself known regardless. With disgust in every movement he gestured for Xistos and Menalis to bring the cogitator and stomped back towards the bunker entrance.
By the time they had exited a thunderhawk had landed in the fortress square. A small detachment of stormtroopers were securing the area. One of them wearing a sergeant's stripes saw the returning group and jogged over.
"Sir. Lord Ulrich is secured aboard the thunderhawk along with Guardsman Rains. Two shuttles are on route from the Legacy of Vengeance with additional technical personnel."
"The shuttles?"
"We detoured there first, no survivors among the flight crew but the ships themselves seem undamaged."
"Contact the nearest PDF flight base, get them to send over some pilots to recover them. "
"Are you going to supervise the recovery operation here."
Tarik looked around and shook his head.
"No I think we've probably got all we need. Secure the perimeter and we'll let the scanning crews do their job."
"What about the PDF survivors?"
"Bring them with you when you pull out. They've stood up well to a necron attack, run them through basic training. If any are up to scratch..." His sentence trailed off.
"We're going to take losses against necrons." The sergeant sighed. "Understood sir."
Arbites Command
Kryn had been expecting a summons. The Inquisitor's ship had docked a couple of hours previously and Cormack had raced away to examine some artefacts they had recovered. She did not blame him. Aside from a few hours sleep they had been analysing and reanalysing the limited data from Prescott's office. There was just nothing to find. Whatever had killed him had removed almost all trace of Prescott's activities. A thorough search of the office had turned up an unregistered comm-link but it had received black market modifications so it stored no numbers and kept no call logs. While circumstantial it suggested that Prescott really was the Goblin's PDF contact. Chasteners were interrogating several PDF officers but it seemed that Prescott had kept his sideline well hidden and those low level troopers he had used after protecting them from disciplinary measures knew nothing other than they were offered a large amount of extra credits for doing occasional off-base guard duty or looking the other way when on base duties. Fed up waiting she went to the rooms that had been set aside for the inquisitor's use. A tired looking stormtrooper she did not recognise was on guard duty.
"Marshal. Give me a moment." The trooper went to the nearest door and gave it a quick rap. "Marshal to see you sir."
"Enter." The voice was Tarik's rather than Ulrich.
She went in anyway. The stocky fighter was stripped to the waist rubbing some sort of ointment what looked like deep wounds. As she stepped closer Kryn reassessed her initial impression. From the rib cage up and disappearing under the golden torc he still wore was natural flesh but here and there on his body was tight pink skin. Kryn had seen enough injury to recognise old burns. The burns stopped abruptly at the shoulders and just above the belly button to be replaced again with smooth natural flesh, but between the two was a raw angry divide.
Tarik turned, shrugged and lifted his arms so she could make a full inspection.
"What happened."
"Daemon engine."
"That sounds like an interesting story."
Tarik shrugged and returned to massaging in the ointment between the old scars and the smoother skin. Now Kryn was closer that natural flesh seemed too smooth. Blemish free, none of the scars you would expect from a bodyguard.
"My old master Belash tracked down a heretic tech priest. By the time we caught up with him he'd built and activated it. The thing was about the size of a rhino transport. Shaped like giant crab with a weapons turret on top. We took it down. Just." Tarik's eyes unfocused slightly as he remembered. Then as if remembering his audience he smiled ruefully. "We had help, including Cormack who got the job of rebuilding me afterwards."
"How much of you is artificial?"
"Most." Tarik looked down and patted the scars. "Heart and one lung, though there's mechanical replacements for both, brainstem, most of the ribcage survived initially, though most of the ribs were armoured and replaced..." He looked over at the small washbasin in the bedroom where a series of medicine bottles were lined up. "There are compensations, but it comes at a cost."
Kryn took the look as an invitation and examined a few of the bottles, counter-septics, anti-rejection drugs, immuno-suppressants, antivirals, the list went on. The sale of counterfeit drugs, and occasional resale of controlled substances was a constant background in a hive so all Arbites picked up a little pharmacology. At least to the point of knowing the street and official prices of the more valuable drugs. The amount standing by the washbasin would have been enough to purchase a small aircar if you talked to the right fence.
"That's a lot of effort to go to just to keep a bodyguard alive."
"I'm very good at what I do."
"You must be irreplaceable, I've never met anyone outside the mechanicus with such extensive augmentation, and to make it that... that lifelike."
"That's more for Cormack's amusement than anything else. It's a personal quirk of his to blur the line between augmetic and natural." He stared at his nails and grinned. "I'm 83.6% his handiwork. Anyway I'm sure you didn't drop by to talk about my medical history."
"I was expecting Ulrich to want debriefing on what we discovered at the base."
"And no doubt wanted to find out what we found on Tetran III. Ulrich and Cormack are both on the ship still. They'll be down soon. You're right we do need everyone up to speed. Can you be in the sanctum with your senior command staff, at least those connected with this operation, at..." he glanced at his wristcron which was lying on the bed beside him. "17:00."
It was not a question and Kryn nodded as she left.