Warhammer 40k: Horus Rising Part III

by RedwallFan42

For the Emperor's dream to unite humanity to be accomplished, he hands over the reins of power to his son, the Warmaster, Horus Lupercal, and heads back to Terra. But is Horus strong enough to control his fellow commanders and continue the Emperor's grand design, or will such incredible power corrupt him?

SCENE XIII – EMBARKATION DECK OF THE VENGEFUL SPIRIT – DAY

On the embarkation deck of the Vengeful Spirit, are seven remembrancer's in a group.

This is an immense space, a long, echoing tunnel dominated by the launch ramps and delivery trackways running its length. At the far end, half a kilometer away, open space is visible through the shimmer of integrity fields.

The group preparing for a surface deployment, includes: EUPHRATI KEELER, another imagist called SIMAN SARK, a painter called FRANSISKO TWELL, a symphonic composer called TOLEMEW VAN KRASTEN, and two documentarists called AVRIUS CARNIS and BORODIN FLORA.

Acting as a de-facto leader is the iterator EMONT is a sallow man with a beautiful speaking voice.

EMONT

Stay close, please, No one wander away from the group, and no one make any record beyond written notes without prior permission. Is that clear?

They all answered yes.

EMONT (CONT'D)

We have been granted ten minutes, and that limit will be strictly observed. This is a real privilege. This is also a hazardous place. A place of war. Watch your step, and be aware of where you are.

He turns and leads them down the concourse to the massive blast hatch.

The rattle of machine tools echoes out to them.

Carnis and Flora start bickering about 'themes and approaches'.

All of the remembrancers wear durable clothing appropriate for bad weather, and all carry KIT BAGS.

At the head of the party, Emont comes to a sudden halt before the two fully armoured Sons of Horus standing watch at the hatch, and shows them the group's credentials.

EMONT

Approved by the Maloghurst.

In his beige robes, Emont is a fragile figure compared to the two armoured giants.

He lifts his head to look up at them.

The Astartes study the paperwork, make comments to one another in brief clicks of inter-suit vox, and then nod them through.

The noise is punishing. Motorized tools hammer and ratchet, hoists whine, loading units trundle and rattle, hatches slam, and reactive engines whoop and flare as they are tested.

There is activity everywhere: deck crews hurry into position, fitters and artificers make final checks and adjustments, servitors unlock fuel lines.

Munition carts hum past in long sausage-chains.

The air stinks of heat, oil and exhaust fumes.

Six STORMBRIDS sit on launch carriages before them. They are heavy, armored delivery vehicles. Space capable, they are also honed and sleek for atmospheric work.

They sit in two rows of three, wings extended, like hawks waiting to be thrown to the lure.

They are painted dark green, and show the Eye of Horus icon on their hulls.

As if continuing a lecture.

EMONT

…known as Stormbirds, the actual pattern type is Warhawk VI. Most expedition forces are now reliant on the smaller, standard construct Thunderhawk pattern, examples of which you can see under covers to our left in the hardstand area, but the Legion has made an effort to keep these old, heavy-duty machines in service. They have been delivering the Luna Wolves into war since the start of the Great Crusade, since before that, actually. They were manufactured on Terra by the Yndonesic Bloc for use against the Panpacific tribes during the Unification Wars. A dozen will be employed in this venture today. Six from this deck, six from Aft Embarkation 2.

Keeler raises her PICTER and takes several quick shots of the line of Stormbirds ahead.

For the last, she crouches down to get a low, an impressive angle down the row of their flared wings.

Hurrying to her.

EMONT (CONT'D)

(Snapping)

I said no records!

KEELER

(Smoothly)

I didn't think for a moment you were serious.

Looking flustered.

EMONT

We've got ten minutes. I'm an imagist. What the hell did you think I was going to do?

He is about to say something when he noticed that Carnis and Flora are wandering astray, locked in some petty squabble.

Hurrying to shepherd them back.

EMONT

Stay with the group!

SARK

Get anything good?

KEELER

Please, it's me. What do you think?

He laughs, and takes out a picter of his own from his rucksack.

SARK

I didn't have the balls, but you're right. What the hell are we doing here if not our job?

He takes a few shots.

Ignoring the iterator's instructions, she moves away from the group, and chasing images with her picter.

The Sons of Horus emblem stenciled on an erect braking flap; two servitors glisten with lubricant as they struggled to fix a faulty feed; deck crew pant and wipe sweat from their brows beside a munition trolley they had just loaded; the bare-metal snout of an underwing cannon.

Catching up with her.

EMONT

(Annoyed)

Are you trying to get me replaced?

KEELER

No.

EMONT

I really must ask you to keep in line, madam, I know you're in favor, but there is a limit. After that business on the surface…

KEELER

What business?

EMONT

A couple of days ago, surely you heard?

KEELER

No.

EMONT

Some remembrancer gave his minders the slip during a surface visit and got into a deal of trouble. Quite a scandal. It's annoyed the higher-ups. The Primary Iterator had to wrangle hard to prevent the remembrancer contingent being suspended from activity. It was some idiot named Karkasy.

Keeler winces at the name.

KEELER

Was it that bad?

EMONT

I don't know the details. Please, for me, stay in line.

KEELER

(Slightly sarcastically)

You have a very lovely voice. You could ask me to do anything. Of course I will.

Emont blushed.

EMONT

Let's just continue with the visit.

He turns, she took another picture, capturing the scruffy iterator, head down, against a backdrop of bustling crewmen and threatening ships.

KEELER

Iterator? Have we been granted permission to accompany the drop?

EMONT

(Sadly)

I don't believe so, I'm sorry. I've not been told.

A fanfare booms out across the vast deck.

There's a beat like a heavy drum, like a war hammer striking again and again against metal.

trying to gather the group on the edge of the deck space.

EMONT

(Anxiously)

Come to one side. Now! To one side!

The drumming grows closer and louder.

It's the sound of marching feet steel-shod feet marching across decking.

Three hundred Astartes, in full armor and march perfectly in step, and advance onto the embarkation deck between the waiting Stormbirds.

At the front of them, a standard bearer carries the great banner of the Tenth Company.

Keeler gasps at the sight of them.

She raises her picter with trembling hands and began to take pictures.

The Space Marines are giants in dark green metal, assembling for war, uniform and identical, precise and composed.

Orders fly out, and the Astartes came to a halt with a crashing din of heels.

They become statues, as equerries hurry through their files, directing and assigning men to their carriers.

Smoothly, units turn in fluid sequence, and file onto the waiting vessels.

EMONT

(Whispering)

They will have already taken their oaths of moment.

VAN KRASTEN

Explain.

Emont nods.

EMONT

Every soldier of the Imperium is sworn to uphold his loyalty to the Emperor at the start of his commission, and the Astartes are no exception. No one doubts their continued devotion to the pledge, but before individual missions, the Astartes choose to swear an immediate oath, an "oath of moment", that binds them specifically to the matter at hand. They pledge to uphold the particular concerns of the enterprise before them. You may think of it as a reaffirmation, I suppose. It is a ritual re-pledging. The Astartes do love their rituals.

Shaking his head.

VAN KRASTEN

I don't understand. They are already sworn but–

EMONT

To uphold the truth of the Imperium and the light of the Emperor, but, as the name suggests, an oath of moment applies to an individual action. It is specific and precise.

Van Krasten nods.

Pointing towards Captain Loken, a senior Astartes, a captain by his cloak, walking past the lines of warriors as they streamed neatly onto the drop-ships.

TWELL

Who's that?

EMONT

That's Loken.

Keeler raises her picter.

Loken's comb-crested helm is off.

His fair, cropped hair frames his pale, freckled face. His grey eyes seem immense.

Keeler snaps pictures of him speaking to a subordinate, and again, of waving servitors clear of a landing ramp.

He dominated every frame.

Loken turns away, his men all but boarded.

He speaks with the standard bearer, and touches the hem of the banner with affection.

Keeler snaps another fine shot.

Then he swung round to face five armoured figures approaching across the suddenly empty deck.

EMONT

(Whispering)

This is…this is quite something. I hope you all understand you're lucky to see this.

SARK

See what?

EMONT

The captain takes his oath of moment last of all. It will be heard and sworn to by two of his fellow captains, but, oh my goodness, the rest of the Mournival have come to hear him pledge.

Still snapping pictures.

KEELER

That's the Mournival?

Afraid of raising his voice.

EMONT

First Captain Abaddon, Captain Torgaddon, Captain Aximand, and with them Captains Sedirae and Targost.

KEELER

Which one is Abaddon?

INT. EMBARKATION DECK ONBOARD THE VENGEFUL SPIRIT - DAY

Loken kneels.

SEDIRAE

There was no need–

TARGOST

We wanted to do this right. Luc?

LUC SEDIRAE takes out the seal paper on which the oath of moment was written.

SEDIRAE

I am sent to hear you.

TARGOST

And I am here to witness it.

TORGADDON

And we are here to keep you cheerful.

Abaddon and Little Horus chuckle.

Neither TARGOST nor SEDIRAE are Sons of Horus.

Targost, Captain of the Seventh, is a blunt-faced man with a deep scar across his brow.

Luc Sedirae, champion of so many wars, was a smiling rogue, blond and handsome, his eyes blue and bright, his mouth permanently half-open as if about to bite something.

Sedirae raises the scrap of parchment.

SEDIRAE

Do you, Garviel Loken, accept your role in this? Do you promise to lead your men into the zone of war, and conduct them to glory, no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe? Do you swear to crush the insurgents of Sixty-Three Nineteen, despite all they might throw at you? Do you pledge to do honour to the 16th Legion and the Emperor?

Loken places his hand on the bolter Targost holds out.

LOKEN

On this matter and by this weapon, I swear.

Sedirae nods and hands the oath paper to Loken.

SEDIRAE

Kill for the living, brother, and kill for the dead.

He turns to walk away.

Targost holsters his bolter, makes the sign of the aquila, then follows him.

Loken rises to his feet, securing his oath paper to the rim of his right shoulder guard.

ABADDON

Do this right, Garviel.

LOKEN

I'm glad you told me that, I'd been considering making a mess of it.

Abaddon hesitated, wrong-footed.

Torgaddon and Aximand laugh.

AXIMAND

He's growing that thick skin already, Ezekyle.

TORGADDON

You walked into that.

ABADDON

(Snapping)

I know, I know.

Glaring at Loken.

ABADDON

Don't let the commander down.

LOKEN

Would I ever?

He turns away and walks to his Stormbird.

FADE TO BLACK.

SCENE XIV – INT. EMBARKATION DECK ONBOARD THE VENGEFUL SPIRIT – DAY

EMONT

Our time's up.

The STORMBIRD ENGINES get louder behind them.

The embarkation deck trembles as they fired up in a pre-launch test.

The roaring dulls away as the group of remembrances walk down the long access tunnel.

Hatches close one by one after them.

INT. OBSERVATION DECK ONBOARD THE VENGEFUL SPIRIT – EARLY EVENING

The observation deck is a long chamber, one side of which is a frame of armoured glass. The deck's internal lighting is low making the darkness outside more visible.

It is an impressive view.

The deck overlooks the yawning maw of the embarkation deck, a colossal hatch is ringed with winking guide lights. The bulk of the flagship rises away above them, like a crenellated Gothic city.

Beyond, lies the black void itself.

Small service craft and cargo landers flitter past, some on local business, some heading out to other ships of the expedition fleet.

Five of these other ships are seen from the observation deck, sleek monsters at high anchor several kilometers away. They are virtual silhouettes, but the distant sun catches them obliquely, and giving them hard, golden outlines along their ribbed upper hulls.

Below lies the world they orbit, Sixty-Three Nineteen.

They are above its nightside, but there is a smoky grey crescent of radiance where the terminator line creeps forward. In the dark mass, there is a faint light-glow of cities speckling the sleeping surface.

SINDERMANN

May I see?

Keeler looks up and has to peer in the deck's gloom to identify the speaker.

Rising to her feet and holding the picter to Sindermann so he could see the images.

KEELER

Of course.

They sift through them individually.

Sindermann cranes his head forward, curious.

SINDERMANN

(Friendly)

You have a wonderful eye, Mistress Keeler. Oh, that one is particularly fine! The crew working so hard. I find it striking because it is so natural, candid, I suppose. So very much of our pictorial record is arch and formally posed.

KEELER

I like to get people when they're not aware of me.

SINDERMANN

This one is simply magnificent. You've captured Garviel perfectly there.

KEELER

You know him personally, sir?

SINDERMANN

Why do you ask?

KEELER

You called him by his forename, not by any honorific or rank.

Sindermann smiles at her.

SINDERMANN

I think Captain Loken might be considered a friend of mine. I'd like to think so, anyway. You never can tell with an Astartes. They form relationships with mortals in a curious way, but we spend time together and discuss certain matters.

KEELER

You're his mentor?

SINDERMANN

His tutor. There is a great difference. I know things he does not, so I am able to expand his knowledge, but I do not presume to have influence over him. Oh, Mistress Keeler! This one is superb! The best, I should say.

KEELER

I thought so. I was very pleased with it.

SINDERMANN

All of them together like that, and Garviel kneeling so humbly, and the way you've framed them against the company standard.

KEELER

That was just happenstance.

SINDERMANN

They chose what they were standing beside.

Sindermann places his hand gently upon hers.

SINDERMANN (CONT'D)

(Grateful)

That pict alone will become famous, I have no doubt. It will be reproduced in history texts for as long as the Imperium endures.

KEELER

(Chiding)

It's just a pict.

SINDERMANN

It is a witness. It is a perfect example of what the remembrancers can do. I have been reviewing some of the material produced by the remembrancers thus far, the material that's been added to the expedition's collective archive. Some of it is…patchy, shall I say? Ideal ammunition for those who claim the remembrancer project is a waste of time, funds and ship space, but some is outstanding, and I would class your work amongst that.

Blushing slightly.

KEELER

You're very kind.

SINDERMANN

I am honest, mistress. And I believe that if mankind does not properly document and witness his achievements, then only half of this undertaking has been made. Speaking of honest, come with me.

He leads her back to the main group by the window. Another figure had joined them on the observation deck, and stood talking to Van Karsten.

It is Maloghurst.

He turns as they approach.

MALOGHURST

Kyril, do you want to tell them?

SINDERMANN

You arranged it, equerry. The pleasure's yours.

Maloghurst nods.

MALOGHURST

After some negotiation with the expedition seniors, it has been agreed that the six of you can follow the strike force to the surface and observe the venture. You will travel down with one of the ancillary support vessels.

The remembrancers chorus their delight.

Holding a hand up for silence.

SINDERMANN

There's been a lot of debate about allowing remembrancers to become embedded in the layers of military activity, particularly concerning the issue of civilian welfare in a warzone. There is also, if I may be quite frank, some concern about what you will see. The Astartes in war is a shocking, savage sight. Many believe that such images are not for public distribution, as they might paint a negative picture of the crusade.

MALOGHURST

We both believe otherwise, the truth can't be wrong, even if it is ugly or shocking. We need to be clear about what we are doing, and how we are doing it, and allow persons such as yourselves to respond to it. That is the honesty on which a mature culture must be based. We also need to celebrate, and how can you celebrate the courage of the Astartes if you don't see it? I believe in the strength of positive propaganda, thanks, in no small part, to Mistress Keeler here and her documenting of my own plight. There is a rallying power in images and reports of both Imperial victory and Imperial suffering. It communicates a common cause to bind and uplift our society.

SINDERMANN

It helps, that this is a low-key action. An unusual use of the Astartes in a policing role. It should be over in a day or so, with little collateral risk. However, I wish to emphasize that this is still dangerous. You will observe instruction at all times, and never stray from your protection detail. I am to accompany you – this was one of the stipulations made by the Warmaster. Listen to me and do as I say at all times.

FLORA

(Exclaiming)

Look!

They all turn.

The Stormbirds launch.

Like giant steel darts they shoot from the deck mouth, the sunlight catches their armoured flanks.

Majestically, they turn in the darkness as they fall away, burners lighting up like blue coals as they drop in formation towards the planet.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. LEAD STORMBIRD ONROUTE TO SIXTY-THREE NINETEEN - DAY

Loken braces himself against the low, overhead handrails, as he moves down the spinal aisle of the lead Stormbird.

Sons of Horus, impassive behind their visors, their weapons locked and stowed, sit in the rear-facing cage-seats either side of him.

The bird rocks and shudders as it cut its steep path through the upper atmosphere.

Loken reaches the cockpit section and wrenches open the hatch to enter.

Two flight officers sit back to back, facing wall panel consoles, and beyond them two pilot servitors are hardwired into forward-facing helm positions in the cone.

The cockpit is dark, apart from the colored glow of the instrumentation and the sheen of light coming in through the forward slit-ports.

Turning and looking up at Loken.

SENIOR FLIGHT OFFICER

Captain?

LOKEN

What's the problem with the vox? I've had several reports of comm faults from the men. Ghosting and chatter.

Hands playing over his controls.

SENIOR FLIGHT OFFICER

We're getting that too, sir, and I'm hearing similar reports from the other birds. We think it's atmospherics.

LOKEN

Disruption?

SENIOR FLIGHT OFFICER

Yes, sir. I've checked with the flagship, and they haven't picked up on it. It's probably an acoustic echo from the surface.

LOKEN

It seems to be getting worse.

He adjusted his helm and tries his link again.

Static hisses fill his ears, but now it some semblance in it, like muffled words.

LOKEN

Is that language?

The senior flight officer shakes his head.

SENIOR FLIGHT OFFICER

Can't tell, sir. It's just reading as general interference. Perhaps we're bouncing up broadcasts from one of the southern cities. Or maybe even army traffic.

LOKEN

We need clean vox, do something.

The officer shrugs and adjusts several dials.

SENIOR FLIGHT OFFICER

I can try purging the signal. I can wash it through the signal buffers. Maybe that will tidy up the channels…

Suddenly there is a sudden, seething rush of static, and then things became quieter suddenly.

LOKEN

(Grumbling)

Better.

Then he pauses.

The hiss is gone, but he could hear the voice.

It is tiny, distant, impossibly quiet, but it is speaking proper words.

UNKNOWN VOICE (V.O.)

…only name you'll hear…

LOKEN

What is that?

He strains to hear.

The voice sounds very far away, like a rustle of silk.

The senior flight officer cranes his neck, listening to his own headphones.

He makes minute adjustments to his dials.

SENIOR FLIGHT OFFICER

I might be able to…

A touch of his hand suddenly cleans the signal to audibility.

SENIOR FLIGHT OFFICER (CONT'D)

What in the name of Terra is that?

Loken listens.

The voice has a new sound, like a gust of dry, desert wind.

UNKNOWN VOICE (V.O.)

Samus. That's the only name you'll hear. Samus. It means the end and the death. Samus. I am Samus. Samus is all around you. Samus is the man beside you. Samus will gnaw upon your bones. Beware! Samus is here.

The voice fades.

The channel goes dead and quiet, except for an occasional echo pop.

The flight officer takes off his headset and looks at Loken.

His face is wide-eyed and fearful.

Loken recoils slightly.

SENIOR FLIGHT OFFICER

(Terrified)

I d-don't know what that was.

LOKEN

I do, our enemy is trying to scare us.

FADE TO BLACK.

SCENE XV – OUTSIDE THE CAVE OF THE WHISPERHEADS – DAY

Streaks of fire cross the sky, as the Stormbirds enter the atmosphere.

Below them lie scattered villages located in the foothills.

The Stormbirds set down, and their engines scream loudly, on a plateau of dry, white lava-rock five thousand meters below the caps of the highest peaks where the rebel stronghold is.

They whirl up clouds of pumice and grit from their jets as they crunch in.

The sky is white, and the peaks are also white against them, while white cloud softens the air.

A series of precipitous rifts and ice canyons drop away behind the plateau.

They are wreathed in smoke, and the lower peaks gleam in the rising light.

The Tenth Company clatters out into the sparse, chilly air, weapons ready. They come to martial order, and disembark smoothly.

But the vox is still disturbed.

Loken calls the senior squad leaders to him as soon as he had landed: VIPUS OF LOCASTA, JUBAL OF HELLEBORE, RASSEK OF THE TERMINATOR SQUAD, TALONUS OF PITHRAES, KAIRUS OF WALKURE, and eight more.

All group around, showing deference to Xavyer Jubal.

Barking out orders.

LOKEN

(Deftly)

The Terminators have the lead here. Rassek?

RASSEK

My squad is ready to serve, captain.

The TERMINATORS wear armor designed for heavy assault. Thickly plated and consequently exaggerated in its dimensions, a Terminator suit turns an Astartes warrior into a slow, cumbersome, but entirely unstoppable humanoid tank. An Astartes clad in Terminator plate gives up all speed, dexterity, agility and range of movement for the ability to shrug off almost any ballistic attack.

Rassek towers over them in his armor, dwarfing them as a primarch dwarfs Astartes, or an Astartes dwarfs mortal men. Massive weapons systems are built into his shoulders, arms and gauntlets.

LOKEN

Lead off to the bridges and clear the way.

He paused.

LOKEN

Jubal, I want Hellebore to follow the Terminators in as the weight of the first strike.

Jubal nods, evidently pleased.

Vipus smiles in understanding.

LOKEN (CONT'D)

(Shouting)

Let's go to it! Lupercal!

OFFICERS

Lupercal!

They clamp their helms into place.

Portions of the company began to move ahead towards the natural rock bridges and causeways that link the plateau to the higher terrain.

Army regiments, swaddled in heavy coats and rebreathers against the cold, thin air, move up onto the plateau to meet them from one of the towns in the lower gorge.

In a voice muffled by his mask.

His breathing pained and ragged.

ARMY OFFICER

The town of Kasheri is at compliance, sir. The enemy has withdrawn to the high fortress.'

Loken nods, gazing up at the bright crags looming in the white light.

LOKEN

We'll take it from here.

ARMY OFFICER

They're well armed, sir. Every time we've pushed to take the rock bridges, they've killed us with heavy cannon. We don't think they have much in the way of numerical weight, but they have the advantage of position. It's a slaughter ground, sir, and they have the cross-draw on us. We understand the insurgents are being led by an Invisible called Rykus or Ryker. We–

LOKEN

(Insisting)

We'll take it from here, I don't need to know the name of the enemy before I kill him.

He turns.

LOKEN (CONT'D)

Jubal. Vipus. Form up and move ahead!

ARMY OFFICER

(Sourly)

Just like that? Six weeks we've been here, slogging it out, the body toll like you wouldn't believe, and you–

LOKEN

We're Astartes, and you are relieved.

The officer shakes his head with a sad laugh.

He mutters something under his breath.

Loken turns back and takes a step towards the man, causing him to start in alarm.

Facing the Army Officer.

LOKEN

(Sternly)

What did you say?

ARMY OFFICER

I…I…nothing, sir.

LOKEN

(Demanding)

What did you say?

ARMY OFFICER

I said…"and the place is haunted", sir.

LOKEN

If you believe this place is haunted, my friend, then you are admitting to a belief in spirits and daemons.

ARMY OFFICER

I'm not, sir! I'm really not!

LOKEN

I should think not. We're not barbarians.

Face flushed and sweaty behind his breather mask.

ARMY OFFICER

(Breathlessly0

All I mean, is that there's something about this place. These mountains. They're called the Whisperheads, and I've spoken to some of the locals in Katheri. The name's old, sir. Really old. The locals believe that a man might hear voices out here, calling to him, when there's no one around. It's an old tale.

LOKEN

Superstition. We know this world has temples and fanes. They are dark-age in their beliefs. Bringing light to that ignorance is part of why we're here.

ARMY OFFICER

So what are the voices, sir?

LOKEN

What?

ARMY OFFICER

Since we've been here, fighting our way up the valley, we've all heard them. I've heard them. Whispers. In the night, and sometimes in the bold brightness of day when there's no one about, and on the vox too. Samus has been talking.

Loken stares at the man.

The oath of moment fixed to his shoulder plate flutters in the mountain wind.

LOKEN

Who is Samus?

Shrugging.

ARMY OFFICER

Damned if I know, all I know for certain is the whole vox-net has been loopy these past few days. Voices on the line, all saying the same thing. A threat.

LOKEN

They're trying to scare us.

ARMY OFFICER

Well, it worked then, didn't it?

Loken walks out across the plateau in the biting wind, between the parked Stormbirds.

Some of the Sons of Horus around him are standing still, listening to the mutter over the Vox in their helm sets.

LOKEN

Ignore it, it's just a game. Let's move in.

Rassek's lumbering Terminators approaches the rock bridges, arches of granite and lava that linked the plateau to the fierce verticality of the peaks.

These are natural spans left behind by the action of ancient glaciers. Corpses, some of them reduced to desiccated mummies by the altitude, littered the plateau shelf and the rock bridges.

Hundreds of army troopers lay dead across in the open. The field of fire had been so intense, their comrades had not been able even to retrieve their bodies.

LOKEN

(Ordering)

Advance!

Raising their storm bolters, the Terminator squad begins to crunch out across the rock bridges, dislodging white bone and rotten tunics with their immense feet.

Gunfire greets them immediately, blistering down from invisible positions up in the crags.

The shots spank and whine off the specialized armor.

Heads set, the Terminators walk into it, shrugging it away, like men walking into a gale wind.

What had kept the army at bay for weeks, and cost them dearly, merely tickles the Legion warriors.

The front ranks of the Terminator squad, halfway across the bridges, begin to fire.

Bolters and inbuilt heavy weapon systems unload across the abyss, blitzing las shots and storms of explosive munitions at the upper slopes.

Hidden positions and fortifications explode, and limp, tangled bodies tumble away into the chasm below in flurries of rock and ice.

UNKNOWN VOICE (V.O.)

Samus, Samus. That's the only name you'll hear. Samus. It means the end and the death. Samus. I am Samus. Samus is all around you. Samus is the man beside you. Samus will gnaw upon your bones. Look out! Samus is here.

LOKEN

(Shouting)

Advance! and please, someone, shut that bastard up!

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. TOWN OF KASHERI - DAY

FLORA

And who's Samus?

The remembrancers, with an escort of army troopers and servitors, are disembarking from their lander into the bitter cold of a township called Kasheri.

The cold mountains swoop up beyond them into the mist.

The area is securely occupied by Varvaras's troopers and war machines.

The party steps into the light, all of them giddy and breathless from the altitude.

Keeler is calibrating her picter against the harsh glare, trying to slow her desperate breath-rate.

She is clearly annoyed.

The town is a bleak outcrop of longhouses in a lower gorge below the peaks. It looks like it hadn't changed much in centuries.

A light rain begins to tattoo against the roofs of the buildings.

Some of the servitors carry the remembrancers' bags, but the rest are fighting to keep parasol canopies upright over the heads of the party in the crosswind.

The party looks like a idle gang of aristocrats on a grand tour, exposing themselves not to risk but to some vague, stage-managed version of danger.

KEELER

Where are the Astartes? When do we approach the war zone?

Interrupting.

FLORA

Never mind that, who is Samus?

SINDERMANN

(Puzzled)

Samus?

He had walked a short distance ahead from the group beside the lander into a scrubby stretch of white grass and sand, from where he could overlook the misty depth of a rainswept gorge.

He looks small, as if he is about to address the canyon as an audience.

Following Sindermann.

FLORA

(Insisting)

I keep hearing it.

Flora is was having trouble catching a breath. He wears an earplug so he could listen in to the military's vox traffic.

BODY GUARD 1

I heard it too.

BODY GUARD 2

The vox has been playing up.

ARMY OFFICER 2

All the way down to the surface. Ignore it, it's only interference.

VAN KRASTEN

I've been told it's been happening for days here.

SINDERMANN

It's nothing.

He looks pale and fragile, as if he might be about to faint from the airlessness.

BODY GUARD 1

The captain says it's scare tactics.

SINDERMANN

(Comfortingly)

The captain is surely right.

He takes out his DATA-SLATE, and connects it to the fleet archive base.

As an afterthought, he uncouples his REBREATHER MASK and sets it to his face, sucking in oxygen from a compact tank strapped to his hip.

After a few moments' consultation.

SINDERMANN

Oh, that's interesting.

KEELER

What is?

SINDERMANN

(Dismissively)

Nothing. It's nothing. The captain is right. Spread yourselves out, please, and look around. The soldiers here will be happy to answer any questions and feel free to inspect the war machines.

The remembrancers glance at one another and then begin to disperse.

Each one is followed by an obedient servitor with a parasol and a couple of grumpy soldiers.

KEELER

(Grumpily)

We might as well not have come.

SARK

(Cheerfully)

The mountains are splendid.

KEELER

Bugger the mountains. Other worlds have mountains. Listen.

They listen.

A deep, distant booming rolls down the gorge to them.

The sound of a war is happening somewhere else.

Keeler nods in the direction of the noise.

KEELER

That's where we ought to be. I'm going to ask the iterator why we're stuck here.

SARK

Best of luck.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. TOWN OF KASHERI – DAY

Sindermann walks away from the group to stand under the eaves of one of the mountain town's crude longhouse dwellings.

He continues to study his slate.

The mountain wind nods tusks of dry grass sprouting from the white sand around his feet.

Rain patters down.

Keeler walks over to him.

Two soldiers and a servitor with a parasol began to follow her.

She turns to face them.

KEELER

Don't bother.

They stop in their tracks and allow her to walk away, alone.

By the time she reaches the iterator, she is sucking on her own oxygen supply.

Sindermann is entirely occupied with his data-slate.

She holds off with her complaint for a moment, curious.

KEELER

(Quietly)

There's something wrong, isn't there?

SINDERMANN

No, not at all.

KEELER

You've found out what Samus is, haven't you?

He looks at her and smiles.

SINDERMANN

Yes. You're very tenacious, Euphrati.

KEELER

Born that way. What is it, sir?

Sindermann shrugs.

Showing her the screen of the data-slate.

SINDERMANN

It's silly, really the background history we've already been able to absorb from this world features the name Samus, and the Whisper-heads. It seems this is a sacred place to the people of Sixty-Three Nineteen. A holy, haunted place, where the alleged barrier between reality and the spirit world is at its most permeable. This is intriguing. I am endlessly fascinated by the belief systems and superstitions of primitive worlds.

KEELER

What does your slate tell you, sir?

SINDERMANN

It says…this is quite funny. I suppose it would be scary, if one actually believed in such things. It says that the Whisperheads are the one place on this world where the spirits walk and speak. It mentions Samus as chief of those spirits. Local, and very ancient, legend, tells how one of the emperors battled and restrained a nightmarish force of devilry here. The devil was called Samus. It is here in their myths, you see? We had one of our own, in the very antique days, called Seytan, Tearmat or Satan. Samus is the equivalent.

KEELER

(Whispering)

Samus is a spirit, then?

SINDERMANN

Yes. Why do you ask?

KEELER

Because, I've heard him hissing at me since the moment we touched down. And I don't have a vox.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. FORTRESS OF THE WHISPERHEADS – DAY

Beyond the rock bridges, the insurgents are shield walls of stone and metal.

They have heavy cannons covering the gully approaches to their fortress, wired munition charges in the narrow defiles, electrified razor wire, bolted storm-doors, barricades of rockcrete blocks and heavy iron poles. They have a few AUTOMATED SENTRY DEVICES, and the advantage of the sheer drop and unscalable ice all around.

But they stand no chance whatsoever.

Nothing the defenders do even delays the advance of the Sons of Horus.

Shrugging off cannon rounds and the backwash of explosives, the Terminators wrench their way through the shield walls, and blasted down the storm-doors.

They crushed the spark of electric life out of the SENTRY DRONES with their mighty claws, and push down the heaped barricades with their shoulders.

The company floods in behind them, firing their weapons into the rising smoke.

The fortress itself is built into the mountain peak.

Some sections of roof and battlement are visible from outside, but most of the structure is within, thickly armored by hundreds of meters of rock.

The Sons of Horus pour in through the fortified gates.

Assault squads race up the mountain face on JUMP PACKS and settle like flocks of white birds on the exposed roofs, ripping them apart to gain entry and drop in from above.

Explosions rip out the interior chambers of the fortress, opening them to the air, and sending rafts of dislodged ice and rock crashing down into the gorge.

INT. FORTRESS OF THE WHISPERHEADS - DAY

The interior is a maze of wet-black rock tunnels and old tile work, through which the wind funnels so sharply it seems to be hyperventilating.

The bodies of the dead are everywhere, slumped and twisted, sprawled and broken.

Terrible human screams echo down the windy rock tunnels, punctuated by the door-slam bangs of bolter fire.

Gunfire pinks off Loken's armour, he turns, and without really thinking, cuts down his assailants.

Two desperate men in mail shirts disintegrate under his fire and spatter across a wall.

LOKEN

(Ordering)

That way.

A squad moves up past him into the next series of chambers.

As he follows them, a body on the floor at his feet stirs and moans.

The insurgent, smeared in his own blood and gravely wounded, looks up at Loken with glassy eyes.

He whispers something.

Loken kneels down and cradled his enemy's head in one massive hand.

LOKEN

What did you say?

INSURGENT

(Whispering)

Bless me…

LOKEN

I can't.

INSURGENT

Please, say a prayer and commend me to the gods.

LOKEN

I can't. There are no gods.

INSURGENT

Please…the otherworld will shun me if I die without a prayer.

LOKEN

I'm sorry, you're dying. That's all there is.

INSURGENT

(Gasping)

Help me…

LOKEN

Gladly.

He drew his COMBAT BLADE, the standard-issue short, stabbing sword, and activated the power cell.

The grey blade glowed with force.

Loken cuts down and sharply back up again in the mercy stroke, then gently set the man's detached head on the ground.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. CAVE OF THE WHISPERHEADS - DAY

The next chamber is vast and irregular.

Meltwater trickles down from the black ceiling, and forms spurs of glistening mineral, like silver whiskers, on the rocks it ran over.

A pool is cut in the center of the chamber floor to collect the meltwater, probably as one of the fortress's primary water reserves.

A Space Marine squad comes to a halt.

LOKEN

Report.

ARTORIUS REX

What is this, captain?

Loken steps forward to join them.

A great number of bottles and glass flasks is set around the pool, many of them in the path of the trickling feed from above.

There were other items too: coins, brooches, strange doll-like figures of clay and the head bones of small mammals and lizards.

The spattering water falls across them, and had done so for some time.

Many of the bottles and other items are gleaming and distorted with mineral deposits.

On the overhang of rock above the pool, ancient, eroded script had been chiseled.

LOKEN

It's a fane, you know what these locals are like. They believe in spirits, and these are offerings.

The men glance at one another, not really understanding.

ARTORIUS REX

They believe in things that aren't real?

LOKEN

They've been deceived, that's why we're here.

Pausing.

LOKEN (CONT'D)

(Ordering)

Destroy this shrine.

He turns away.

The squad proceeds to demolish everything.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. FORTRESS OF THE WHISPERHEADS – DAY

The fortress is a smoking ruin, many sections of it blown wide to the fierce sunlight and mountain air.

VIPUS

(Cheerfully)

That didn't take too long.

Loken smiles, he hadn't seen Vipus throughout the duration of the assault.

LOKEN

Did you time it?

Grinning.

VIPUS

Always.

LOKEN

And?

VIPUS

Sixty-eight minutes from start to finish.

Loken nods in acknowledgement.

LOKEN

We did well.

VIPUS

Of course we did! Glory to the Tenth!

Loken smiles again.

LOKEN

Casualty report.

VIPUS

Not a single brother lost in the engagement.

LOKEN

Enemy casualties?

VIPUS

Not a single insurgent made it out alive.

Loken nods again.

LOKEN

We did good work here today.

Turning to Rassek who is standing beside him.

LOKEN (CONT'D)

Do we have an exact count?

RASSEK

They're still counting bodies, captain. As it stands, nine hundred and seventy-two.

LOKEN

And the shrines?

Looking down at a data-slate in his hand.

VIPUS

About…thirty of the meltwater fanes were discovered and all we've found so far have been destroyed. I suppose they were guarding the last outpost of their faith.

LOKEN

I suppose so.

VIPUS

(Whispering)

You don't like it, do you, Garvi?

Pausing.

LOKEN

I hate to see men die for no reason. I hate to see men give their lives like this, for nothing. For a belief in nothing. It sickens me. This is what we were once, Nero. Zealots, spiritualists, believers in lies we'd made up ourselves. The Emperor showed us the path out of that madness.

VIPUS

So be happy that we took it and, though we spill their blood, be phlegmatic that we're at last bringing truth to our lost brothers here.

Loken nods.

LOKEN

I just…feel sorry for them, they must be so scared.

VIPUS

Of us?

LOKEN

Yes, of course, but that's not what I mean. Scared of the truth we bring. We're trying to teach them that there are no greater forces at work in the galaxy than light, gravity and human will. No wonder they cling to their gods and spirits. We're removing every last crutch of their ignorance. They felt safe until we came. Safe in the custody of the spirits that they believed watched over them. Safe in the ideal that there was an afterlife, an otherworld. They thought they would be immortal, beyond flesh.

Nodding in understanding.

VIPUS

Now they have met real immortals. It's a hard lesson, but they'll be better for it in the long run.

Loken shrugs.

LOKEN

I just empathize, I suppose. Their lives were comforted by mysteries, and we've taken that comfort away. All we can show them is a hard and unforgiving reality in which their lives are brief and without higher purpose.

VIPUS

Speaking of higher purpose, you should signal the fleet and tell them we're done. The iterators have voxed us. They request permission to bring the observers up to the site here.

LOKEN

Grant it. I'll signal the fleet and give them the good news.

Vipus turns away, then halts.

VIPUS

At least that voice finally shut up.

Loken nods.

Loken's INTERVOX crackles.

JUBAL (V.O.)

Captain?

LOKEN

Jubal? Go ahead.

JUBAL (V.O.)

Captain, I'm…

LOKEN

What? You're what? Say again, Jubal.

JUBAL (V.O.)

Sorry, captain. I need you to see this. I'm… I mean, I need you to see this. It's Samus.

Annoyed.

LOKEN

What? Jubal, where are you?

JUBAL (V.O.)

Follow my locator sir, I've found something. I'm… I've found something. Samus. It means the end and the death.

LOKEN

What have you found, Jubal?

JUBAL (V.O.)

I'm…I've found…Captain, Samus is here.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. CAVE OF THE WHISPERHEADS - DAY

Loken leaves Vipus to orchestrate the clean-up, and descends into the bowels of the fastness with Seventh Squad, following the pip of Jubal's locator.

Seventh Squad, BRAKESPUR TACTICAL SQUAD, is commanded by SERGEANT UDON, one of Loken's most reliable warriors.

The locator leads them down to a massive stone well in the very basement of the fortress, deep in the heart of the mountain.

They gain access to it via a corroded iron gate built into a niche in the dark stone.

The dank chamber beyond the gate is a natural, vertical split in the mountain rock, a slanting cavern that overlooked a deep fault where only blackness could be detected.

A pier of old stone steps arced out over the abyss, which dropped away into the very bottom of the mountain.

Meltwater sprinkles down the glistening walls of the cavern well.

The wind whines through invisible fissures and vents.

Xavyer Jubal is alone at the edge of the drop.

Loken and Seventh Squad approach.

The rest of Hellebore squad isn't anywhere to be seen.

Hesitatingly.

LOKEN

Xavyer?

Jubal looks around.

JUBAL

Captain, I've found something wonderful.

LOKEN

What?

Jubal points at a calcified buttress of rock.

JUBAL

(Excitedly)

See? See the words?

Loken stares where Jubal is pointing.

The only thing visible is water streaming down a calcified buttress of rock.

LOKEN

No. What words?

JUBAL

(Excitedly)

There! There!

LOKEN

(Bluntly)

I see only water. Falling water.

JUBAL

(Exasperatedly)

Yes, yes! It's written in the water! In the falling water! There and gone, there and gone, You see? It makes words and they stream away, but the words come back.

Pausing.

Cocking his head to one side.

LOKEN

(Concerned)

Xavyer? Are you well? I'm concerned that–

JUBAL

Look, Garviel! Look at the words! Can't you hear the water speaking?

LOKEN

(Stoically)

Speaking?

JUBAL

Drip, drip, drop. One name. Samus. That's the only name you'll hear.

LOKEN

Samus?

JUBAL

Samus. It means the end and the death. I'm…

Loken looked at Udon and the men.

LOKEN

(Quietly)

Restrain him.

Udon nods.

He and four of his men sling their bolters and step forward.

JUBAL

(Laughing)

What are you doing? Are you threatening me? For Terra's sake, Garviel, can't you see? Samus is all around you!

LOKEN

(Snapping

Where's Hellebore, Jubal? Where's the rest of your squad?

Jubal shrug.

Glancing towards the edge of the precipice.

JUBAL

They didn't see it either, they couldn't see, I suppose. It's so clear to me. Samus is the man beside you.

Nodding.

LOKEN

Udon.

Udon moves towards Jubal.

UDON

(Kindly)

Let's go, brother.

Jubal's bolter comes up very suddenly.

There is no warning.

He shoots Udon in the face, blowing gore and pulverized skull fragments out through the back of his exploded helmet.

Udon falls on his face.

Two of his men lunge forward, and the bolter roars again, punching holes in their chest plates and throwing them over onto their backs.

Jubal's visor swings to look at Loken.

JUBAL

(Chuckling)

I'm Samus, look out! Samus is here.

FADE TO BLACK.

SCENE XVII – THE CAVE OF THE WHISPERHEADS - DAY

Time slows to a pin point on which it seems all the gravity in the cosmos is pressing.

Loken appears to be lead-heavy, slow, out of joint, unable to frame a lucid response, or even begin to deal with what he was seeing.

Sergeant Udon's helmet, a deformed ring of bloody ceramite, lies at his feet.

Beside him sprawls two other battle-brothers, shot point-blank through the hearts, if not dead then fatally damaged.

Before him is Jubal, a BOLTER in his hand.

For the first time in their history an Astartes had turned upon Astartes.

LOKEN

(Shocked)

Jubal? What have you done?

In a dry giggle.

JUBAL

Not Jubal. Samus. I am Samus. Samus is all around you. Samus is the man beside you.

Loken sees he is about to fire again.

The rest of Udon's squad, quite as aghast as Loken, stumbles forward, but none raise their bolters.

Loken throws his bolter aside and leaps at Jubal.

Jubal starts firing before Loken reaches him.

Bolt rounds screech out across the chamber and strike into the hesitating squad behind Loken.

Another helmet explodes in a welter of blood, bone chips and armor fragments.

Another battle-brother crashes to the cave floor.

Two more are knocked down beside him as bolt rounds detonate against their torso armor.

Loken smashes into Jubal, who staggers him backwards, trying to pin his arms.

Jubal thrashes with sudden fury in his limbs.

JUBAL

(Yelling)

Samus! It means the end and the death! Samus will gnaw upon your bones!

They crashed together against a rock wall together with numbing force, splintering the stone.

Jubal won't relinquish his grip on the murder weapon.

Loken drives him backwards against the rock, the drizzle of meltwater spraying down across them both.

LOKEN

(Bellowing)

Jubal!

Loken throws a punch that would have decapitated a mortal man.

His fist cracks against Jubal's helmet and he repeats the action, driving his fist four or five times against the other's face and chest.

The ceramite visor chips.

Another punch, Loken's full weight behind it, and Jubal stumbles.

Each stroke of Loken's fist resounds like a smith's hammer in the echoing chamber, steel against steel.

As Jubal stumbles, Loken grabs his bolter and rips it out of his hand.

He hurls it away across the deep stone well.

But Jubal seizes Loken and slams him sideways into the rock wall.

Lumps of stone fly out from the jarring impact.

Jubal slams him again, swinging Loken bodily into the rock, like a man swinging a heavy sack.

Pain flares through Loken's head and blood gets in his mouth.

He tries to pull away, but Jubal is throwing punches that plough into Loken's visor and bounce the back of his head off the wall repeatedly.

The other men leap upon them now, shouting and grappling to separate them.

LOKEN

(Yelling)

Hold him! Hold him down!

But even though they are Space Marines, they can't do as Loken ordered.

Jubal lashes out with a free fist and knocks one of them clean off his feet.

Two of the remaining three cling to his back like wrestlers, like human cloaks, trying to pull him down, but he hoists them up and twists, throwing them off him with unthinkable strength.

Jubal turns on the remaining brother, who launches himself forward to tackle the madman.

With a cackling scream.

JUBAL

Look out! Samus is here!

Jubal lances his right hand met the brother head on striking with an open hand, fingers extended, they drive clean in through the battle-brother's gorget as surely as any speartip.

Blood squirts out from the man's throat, through the puncture in the armor.

Jubal rips his hand out, and the brother collapses to his knees, choking and gurgling, blood pumping in profuse, pulsing surges from his ruptured throat.

Loken hurls himself at Jubal, who turns and smacks him away with a mighty back-hand slap.

The power of the blow is stupendous, far beyond anything even an Astartes should have been able to wield, so great that the armor of Jubal's gauntlet fractures as did the plating of Loken's shoulder, which takes the brunt of the hit.

LOKEN'S POV - Loken blacks out for a split-second, then he notices he is flying across the stone well and out over the abyssal fault.

Loken smacks into the arching pier of stone steps.

He almost bounces off it, but he manages to grab on, his fingers gouging the ancient stone, his feet swinging above the drop.

Meltwater pours down in a thin rain across him, making the steps slick and oily with mineral wash.

Loken's fingers begin to slide.

He snarls in frustrated rage.

Fury and intense passion pulls him up.

He hauls himself upright on to the pier.

It's narrow, no wider than a single path where men could not pass if they met.

The gulf, black as the outer void, yawns below him.

His limbs are shaking with effort.

He sees Jubal.

Jubal again is charging forward across the cavern to the foot of the steps, drawing his combat blade.

The sword glows as it powers into life.

Loken wrenches out his own sword.

Falling meltwater hisses and sparks as it touches the active metal of the short, stabbing blade.

Jubal bounds up the steps to meet him, slashing with his sword.

He is raving still, in a voice that was in no way his own any longer.

He stabs wildly at Loken, who hops back up the steps, and then begins to deflect the strikes with his own weapon.

Sparks flash, and the blades strike one another like the tolling of a discordant bell.

Loken has to hunch low to maintain his guard.

Jubal hacks with his sword like an axe, forcing Loken to defend.

Their blades cut falling water as they scythe, sizzling and billowing steam into the air.

Jubal attacks Loken like a maniac, in a frenzy of savage cuts and blows. Loken was likewise forced to dispense with much of his skill in an effort to block and parry.

Three times, Loken manage to drive Jubal back down the pier a few steps, but always the other man retaliates and forces Loken higher up the arch.

Loken has to leap to avoid a low slice, and barely regains his footing as he lands.

In the silver downpour, the steps are treacherous, and it's as much a fight to keep balance as to resist Jubal's constant assault.

It ends suddenly, like a jolt.

Jubal passes Loken's guard and sinks the full edge of his blade into Loken's left shoulder plate.

Elated.

JUBAL

(Shouting)

Samus is here!

His blade, though flaring with power, is wedged tight.

LOKEN

(Matter-of-factly)

Samus is done.

He drives the tip of his sword into Jubal's exposed chest.

The sword punches clean through, and the tip emerges through Jubal's back.

Jubal wavers, letting go of his own weapon, which remains transfixed through Loken's shoulder guard.

With half-open, shuddering hands, he reaches at Loken's face, not violently, but gently, as if imploring some mercy or even aid.

Water splashes off them and streams down their white plating.

JUBAL

(Gasping)

Samus…

Loken wrenches his sword out.

Jubal staggers and sways, the blood leaks out of the gash in his chest plate, diluting as soon as it appears and mixes with the drizzle, covering his belly plate and thigh armour with a pink stain.

He topples backwards, crashing over and over down the steps in a windmill of heavy, loose limbs.

Five meters from the base of the pier, his headlong career bounces him half-off the steps, and he comes to a sudden halt, legs dangling, partly hanging over the chasm, gradually sliding backwards under his own weight.

There is the slow squeal of armor scraping against slick stone.

Loken leaps down the flight to reach Jubal's side.

He gets there just moments before Jubal slides away into oblivion.

Loken grabs Jubal by the edge of his left shoulder plate and slowly begins to heave him back onto the pier.

It's almost impossible, Jubal seems to weigh a billion tonnes.

The three surviving members of Brakespur squad stand at the foot of the steps, watching him struggle.

LOKEN

(Exasperated)

Help me!

FLAVIUS AETIUS

To save him?

AMON TENDEL

Why? Why would you want to?

LOKEN

(Snarling)

Help me!

They don't move.

In desperation, Loken raises his sword and stabs it down, spearing Jubal's right shoulder to the steps.

So pinned, his slide halts.

Loken hauls his body back onto the pier.

Panting, Loken drags off his battered helm and spits out a mouthful of blood.

Ordering.

LOKEN

(Angry)

Get Vipus, get him now.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. – OUTSIDE THE CAVE OF THE WHISPERHEADS – LATE AFTERNOON

Euphrati takes a few random shots of the parked Stormbirds and the cone of smoke lifting off the broken crag.

The area about them seems drab and lifeless.

Even the vista of the mountains around them is insipid.

Turning to Sindermann.

KEELER

Can we see the combat area?

SINDERMANN

We've been told to wait.

KEELER

Is there a problem?

He shakes his head in an 'I don't know' kind of shake.

He is strapped into his rebreather, but looks frail and tired.

It is eerily quiet.

Groups of Sons of Horus trudge back to the Stormbirds from the fortress, and army troops secure the plateau itself.

SARK

Carnis wants to interview some of the returning warriors, and he's asked me to pict them while he does. Would that be permissible?

Sighing.

SINDERMANN

I should think so. You there, officer.

An Imperial Army officer jobs to Sindermann.

ARMY OFFICER 2

Sir?

SINDERMANN

Take Carnis and Sark to the Astartes.

ARMY OFFICER 2

Yes, sir.

He nods, and then gestures to Carnis and Sark to follow him.

VAN KRASTEN

I think, that a tone poem would be most appropriate. Full symphonic composition would overwhelm the atmosphere, I feel.

Euphrati nods, not really understanding.

VAN KRASTEN (CONT'D)

A minor key, I think. E, or A perhaps. I'm taken with the title "The Spirits of the Whisperheads", or perhaps, "The Voice of Samus". What do you think?

She stares at him in shock.

KEELER

You can't be serious.

With a sad smile.

VAN KRASTEN

I'm joking, I have no idea what I am supposed to respond to here, or how. It all seems so dour.

He turns away and gazes mournfully up at the smoking peak of the Whisperheads.

Keeler seizes the moment and raises her picter.

Upon hearing the click.

VAN KRASTEN

Did you just take my likeness?

She nods.

KEELER

Do you mind? You looking at the peak like that seemed to sum up how we all feel.

VAN KRASTEN

But I'm a remembrancer, should I be in your record?

KEELER

We're all in this. Witnesses or not, we're all here. I take what I see. Who knows? Maybe you can return the favor? A little refrain of flutes in your next overture that represents Euphrati Keeler?

They both laugh.

A Son of Horus approaches the huddle of them.

He stops and then makes the sign of the aquila across his chest plate.

VIPUS

Nero Vipus, Captain Loken presents his respects and wishes the attention of Master Sindermann at once.

SINDERMANN

(Hurriedly)

I'm Sindermann. Is there some problem, sir?

VIPUS

I've been asked to conduct you to the captain, that is all.

(Pausing)

This way, please.

The pair of them move away, Sindermann scurries to keep up with Vipus's great strides.

VAN KRASTEN

(Hushed)

What is going on?

KEELER

I don't know. Let's find out.

VAN KRASTEN

Follow them? Oh, I don't think so.

FLORA

I'm game. We haven't actually been told to stay here.

They look round.

Twell sits beside the prow landing strut of a Stormbird and sketches with charcoal sticks on a small pad.

Carnis and Sark are busy elsewhere.

KEELER

Come on.

EXT. OUTSIDE THE CAVE OF THE WHISPERHEADS – LATE AFTERNOON

Vipus leads Sindermann up into the ruined fortress.

The wind moans and whistles through the grim tunnels and chambers.

Army troopers are clearing the dead from the entry halls and piling them into the gorge, but still Vipus steers the iterator past many crumpled, exploded corpses.

VIPUS

I'm sorry you had to see that, sir.

(Pausing)

Look away to spare your sensibilities.

Sindermann can't look away.

The sights appall him.

The stench of blood and ordure assail him.

Human forms are burst, brutalized, and burned beyond any measure imagined possible.

Walls are sticky with blood and brain-matter, fragments of exploded bone weeping marrow, body parts litter the blood-soaked floors.

Repeating.

SINDERMANN

(Aghast)

Terra, alive.

INT. CAVE OF THE WHISPERHEADS – LATE AFTERNOON

Loken, is waiting for him in one of the fortress's upper in a wide, dark chamber beside some sort of pool.

Water gurgles down one of the black-wet walls and the air smells of damp and oxides.

A dozen solemn Sons of Horus attend Loken, including one giant fellow in glowering Terminator armor, but Loken himself is bareheaded.

His face is smudged with bruises.

He'd removes his left shoulder guard, which is beside him on the ground, stuck through with a short sword.

They soon stand next to Loken.

In a small voice.

SINDERMANN

You have done such a thing, I don't think I'd quite understood what you Astartes were capable of, but now I–

LOKEN

(Bluntly)

Quiet.

He looks at the Sons of Horus around him and dismisses them with a nod.

They filed out past Sindermann, ignoring him.

LOKEN (CONT'D)

Stay close, Nero.

Stepping out through the chamber door, Vipus nods.

Now the room is almost empty.

A body is beside the pool.

It's the body of Xavyer Jubal, limp and dead, his helmet off, his dark green armor mottled with blood.

His arms are lashed to his trunk with climbing cable.

SINDERMANN

I don't…I don't understand, captain. I was told there had been no losses.

Loken nods slowly.

LOKEN

That's what we're going to say. That will be the official line. The Tenth took this fortress in a clean strike, with no losses, and that's true enough. None of the insurgents scored any kills. Not even a wounding. We took a thousand of them to their deaths.

SINDERMANN

But this man…?

Loken looks at Sindermann.

His face is troubled, more troubled than ever before.

SINDERMANN (CONT'D)

(Concerned)

What is it, Garviel?

LOKEN

Something has happened. Something so… so unthinkable that I…

He pauses and looks at Jubal's bound corpse.

LOKEN (CONT'D)

I have to make a report, but I don't know what to say. I have no frame of reference. I'm glad you are here, Kyril, you of all people. You have steered me well over the years.' 'I like to think that…I need your counsel now.

Sindermann steps forward and places his hand on the giant warrior's arm.

SINDERMANN

(Comfortingly)

You may trust me with any matter, Garviel. I'm here to serve.

Loken looks down at him.

LOKEN

(Serious)

This is confidential. Utterly confidential. Do you understand?

SINDERMANN

I do.

Pausing.

LOKEN

There have been deaths today. Six brothers of Brakespur squad, including Udon. Another barely clinging to life. And Hellebore… Hellebore has vanished, and I fear they are dead too.

SINDERMANN

(Shocked)

This can't be. The insurgents couldn't have–

LOKEN

They did nothing. This is Xavyer Jubal.

Pointing towards the body on the floor.

LOKEN (CONT'D)

He killed them.

Sindermann rocks back as if slapped.

He blinks.

SINDERMANN

(Shocked)

He what? I'm sorry, Garviel, I thought for a moment you said he–

LOKEN

He killed the men. Jubal killed the men. He took his bolter and his fists and he killed six of Brakespur right in front of my eyes, and he would have killed me too, if I hadn't run him through.

Sindermann's legs tremble.

He finds a nearby rock and sits down abruptly.

SINDERMANN

(Gasping)

Terra.

Nodding.

LOKEN

Astartes do not fight Astartes. Astartes do not kill their own. It is against all the rules of nature and man. It is counter to the very gene-code the Emperor fused into us when he wrought us.

SINDERMANN

(Dazed)

There must be some mistake.

LOKEN

No mistake. I saw him do it. He was a madman. He was possessed.

Looking up sharply.

Pointing a finger like a lecturer.

SINDERMANN

What? Steady, now. You look to old terms, Garviel. Possession is a spiritualist word that–

LOKEN

(Insisting)

He was possessed. He claimed he was Samus.

SINDERMANN

Oh.

LOKEN

You've heard the name, then?

SINDERMANN

I've heard the whisper. That was just enemy propaganda, wasn't it? We were told to dismiss it as scare tactics.

Loken touches the bruises on his face, feeling the ache of them.

LOKEN

So I thought. Iterator, I'm going to ask you this once. Are spirits real?

SINDERMANN

No, sir. Absolutely not.

LOKEN

So we are taught and thus we are liberated, but could they exist? This world is lousy with superstition and temple-fanes. Could they exist here?

More firmly.

SINDERMANN

No, there are no spirits, no daemons, no ghosts in the dark edges of the cosmos. Truth has shown us this.

LOKEN

Is that really the truth Kyril? Or is it merely what we only wish to believe? I've studied the archive, Kyril, Samus was the name the people of this world gave to their arch-fiend. He was imprisoned in these mountains, so their legends say.

SINDERMANN

(Insisting)

Legends, Garviel. Only legends. Myths. We have learned much during our time amongst the stars, and the most pertinent of those things is that there is always a rational explanation, even for the most mysterious events.

LOKEN

An Astartes draws his weapon and kills his own, whilst claiming to be a daemon from hell? Rationalize that, sir.

Sindermann rises.

SINDERMANN

Calm yourself, Garviel, and I will.

Loken doesn't reply.

Sindermann walks over to Jubal's body and stares at it.

Jubal's open, staring eyes rolled back in his skull and utterly bloodshot.

The flesh of his face is drawn and shriveled, as if he had aged ten thousand years.

Strange patterns, like clusters of blemishes or moles, are visible on the painfully stretched skin.

SINDERMANN

These marks, these vile signs of wasting. Could they be the traces of disease or infection?

LOKEN

What?

SINDERMANN

A virus, perhaps? A reaction to toxicity? A plague?

LOKEN

Astartes are resistant.

SINDERMANN

To most things, but not to everything. I think this could be some contagion. Something so virulent that it destroyed Jubal's mind along with his body. Plagues can drive men insane, and corrupt their flesh.

LOKEN

Then why only him?

Sindermann shrugs.

SINDERMANN

Perhaps some tiny flaw in his gene-code?

Only emphasizing the word 'possessed'.

LOKEN

But he behaved as if possessed.

SINDERMANN

We've all been exposed to the enemy's propaganda. If Jubal's mind was deranged by fever, he might simply have been repeating the words he'd heard.

Loken thinks for a moment.

LOKEN

You speak a lot of sense, Kyril.

SINDERMANN

Always.

LOKEN

A plague then, it's a sound explanation.

Pausing.

Looking warmly at Loken.

SINDERMANN

(Comfortingly)

You've suffered a tragedy today, Garviel, but spirits and daemons played no part in it. Now get to work. You need to lock down this area in quarantine and get a medicae task force here. There may yet be further outbreaks. Non-Astartes, such as myself, might be less resistant, and poor Jubal's corpse may yet be a vector for disease.

Sindermann looks back down at the body.

SINDERMANN (CONT'D)

Great Terra, he has been so ravaged. I weep to see this waste.

Suddenly with a creak of dried sinew, Jubal raises his head and stares up at Sindermann with blood-red eyes.

JUBAL

(Wheezing)

Look out!

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. OUTSIDE THE CAVE OF THE WHISPERHEADS – LATE AFTERNOON

Keeler stows away her picter.

Shaking and upset.

VAN KRASTEN

I want to go back now. There is no music here. I am sick to my stomach.

Euphrati nods.

In a muffled, steely voice.

Making an effort not to vomit.

FLORA

No, we must see it all. We are chosen remembrancers. This is our duty.

Smoke fumes in the wind along the narrow tunnels, the piles of scattered, spent shell cases litter the black-flecked ground.

Teams of army troopers move past them, lugging bodies away for disposal. Some looked at the three of them curiously.

ARMY TROOPER

Are you lost?

FLORA

Not at all. We're allowed to be here.

ARMY TROOPER

Why would you want to be?

Euphrati takes a series of long shots of troopers, almost in silhouette, gathering up body parts at a tunnel junction.

It's a chilling sight.

VAN KRASTEN

I want to go back.

KEELER

(Warning)

Don't stray, or you'll get lost.

VAN KRASTEN

(Admitting)

I think I might be sick.

He is about to vomit.

Suddenly a shrill, harrowing scream echoed down the tunnels.

Snapping her head in the direction of the scream.

KEELER

What the hell was that?

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. OUTSIDE THE CAVE OF THE WHISPERHEADS – DAY

Jubal rises.

The ropes binding him shear and split, releasing his arms.

He screams, and then screams again.

His frantic wails soar and echo around the chamber.

Sindermann stumbles backwards in total panic.

Loken runs forward and tries to restrain the reanimating madman.

Jubal strikes out with one thrashing fist and catches Loken in the chest.

Loken flies backwards into the pool with a crash of water.

Jubal turns, hunched.

Saliva dangles from his slack mouth, and his bloodshot eyes spin like compasses at true north.

Backing away.

SINDERMANN

(Begging)

Please, oh please…

JUBAL

Look. Out.

The words crawl sluggishly out of Jubal's drooling mouth.

He lumbers forward.

Something is happening to him, something malign and catastrophic.

He is bulging, expanding so furiously that his armor starts to crack and shatter.

Sections of broken plate split and fall away from him, exposing thick arms swollen with gangrene and fibrous growths.

His taut flesh is pallid and blue.

His face is distorted, puffy and livid, and his long and serpentine tongue flops out of his rotting mouth.

He raised meaty, distended hands triumphantly, exposing finger-nails grown into dark hooks and psoriatic claws.

JUBAL

(Drawling)

Samus is here!

Sindermann falls on his knees before the misshapen brute.

Jubal reeks of corruption and sore wounds.

He shambles forward.

His form flickers and dances with blurry yellow light, as if he is not quite in phase with the present.

A bolter round smashes him in the right shoulder and detonates against the rindy integument his skin had become.

Shreds of meat and gobbets of pus spray in all directions.

In the chamber doorway, Nero Vipus takes aim again.

The thing that had once been Xavyer Jubal grabs Sindermann and throws him at Vipus.

The pair of them crash backwards against the wall, Vipus drops his weapon in an effort to catch and cushion Sindermann and spare the frail bones of the elderly iterator.

The Jubal-thing shuffles past them into the tunnel, leaving a noxious trail of dripped blood and wretched, discolored fluid in its wake.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. THE CAVE OF THE WHISPER HEADS – LATE AFTERNOON

Euphrati sees the thing coming for them and tries to decide whether to scream or raise her picter.

In the end, she does both.

Van Krasten loses control of his bodily functions, and falls to the floor in a puddle of his own urine and waste.

Borodin Flora backs away, his mouth moving silently.

The Jubal-thing advances down the tunnel towards them.

It's gross and distorted, skin stretched by humps and swellings and so gigantic that what little remains of its dark green armor drags behind it like metal rags.

Strange puncta and moles mark its flesh.

Jubal's face is contorted into a dog snout, wherein his human teeth stuck out like stray ivory markers, displaced by thin, transparent crops of needle fangs that now invest his mouth.

There are so many fangs that his mouth can no longer close.

His eyes are blood pools.

Jerky, spasmodic flashes of yellow light surround him, making vague shapes and patterns.

They caused Jubal's movements to seem wrong, as if he is a digital image, badly cut and running slightly too fast.

He snatches up Van Krasten and dashes him like a toy against the walls of the tunnel, back and forth, with a huge, slamming, splattering effect, so that when he lets go, little of Van Krasten still exists above the sternum.

Vomiting violently.

KEELER

(Screaming)

Oh Terra!

Borodin Flora steps past her to confront the monster, and makes the defiant sign of the aquila.

FLORA

(Declaring)

Begone! Begone!

The Jubal-thing leans forward, and without hesitating, opens its mouth to a hitherto unimaginable width, revealing an unguessable number of needle teeth, and bites off Borodin Flora's head and upper body.

The remainder of his form crumples to the floor, ejecting blood like a pressure hose.

Euphrati Keeler sinks to her knees.

Terror renders her powerless to run.

She begins to feint.

KEELER POV – Her vision starts to blur, and then go black.

Loken and Nero Vipus deftly aim their bolter and shoot it right in the head, killing it instantly.

FADE TO BLACK.