Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 328
A short warp transit took them back to the stellar system where Serpens Rex dwelt. A three-day hop through the roiling currents, as easy a voyage as one could wish for in these turbulent times. The Revenge and Quaesitor Eruditio entered the Warp together, but arrived separately. According to the fickle nature of those treacherous tides the ships lost sight of each other and sailed alone. When the smaller strike cruiser broke back into the Materium she found herself alone, with no sign of the larger craft. Her big sister could have arrived days earlier, or may not emerge for weeks or months, even years if the Warp was cruel. With no other recourse Quaesitor Eruditio set her bow for a nearby asteroid belt and lit her drives.
Deep within Strike-Captain Reddam busied himself over his task. An older Marine, his cropped hair was shot through with iron-grey and his face scarred. One of the Old Seventeen, a hysterically inaccurate misnomer since they had begun to die off. He wore power armour with the casual ease born from centuries of use. His armour was plain but he bore the snake and goblet icon proudly, and he polished his plate to perfection. The Amber Vipers had never favoured gaudy campaign badges and gleaming marks of rank, they didn't need them. Reddam was known to all, as Strike-Captain of Secundus he stood among the highest in the Chapter.
Currently Reddam was scowling over a sand tray, laid upon a table. Delicately he picked up a brush and traced the tip through the coarse grains. Three long marks at precise angles, then three short ones, making a rune. His scowl deepened as he shoved his fist into the tray and scattered the image. Then he tried again, and again. Over and over till he had perfected the delicate hand needed.
Satisfied Reddam turned and picked up a different brush. This one was wet with red paint and he applied it to a long scroll, waiting for his imprint. Repeating the motions he had perfected Reddam drew the mark again, more than a word, an idea encapsulated in runic form. The action was perfect, and Reddam stepped back before his brush could drip, spoiling hours of meticulous work.
Proud of himself Reddam made to put the brush down but suddenly a loud banging on his door announced visitors. Reddam sighed loudly as he set the brush down and moved to the door. Outside he found Joffel and Tebes, one grinning and the other dour as usual.
Reddam was nonplussed to see them and groaned, "What do you want?"
Joffel dodged the question, "What are you doing?"
"None of your business!" Reddam barked.
"Come on sergeant... I mean Captain."
Reddam rolled his eyes, "It's been a year and a half, you should have got it by now."
"I'll get it when you tell me what you are doing."
Reddam knew they would persist and stepped back, "If you must know, I was practising calligraphy." The Captain's quarters were as large as a squad billet, with a bed, desk and armour stand. Cabinets lined the walls, but they were empty, this ship was not his, and he had no time to decorate. The only personal items were his ink sets and his spear, resting upon a weapon rack.
Tebes leaned in and remarked, "Calligraphy, that's one of Maru's lessons isn't it?"
"It is," Reddam conceded.
"Doesn't each rune mark a word?"
"A concept, in its entirety."
"What's that one?"
"Atonement," Reddam breathed.
The pair frowned as Joffel asked, "What would you possibly have to atone for?"
Reddam's eyes glanced to his spear, with the hacked out mark of a lightning bolt through a band of gold, "All men have their regrets."
Joffel didn't understand, "Hard to imagine a Captain getting into Maru's sort of thing."
Reddam glared, "First: I'm not Ferrac, so don't compare us. Second it improves hand-eye coordination and precision. Third, I am a Captain, so stop thinking you can backtalk me."
Tebes bowed his head, "We are sorry, Strike-Captain."
"I'm not," Joffel grinned.
Tebes continued, "We all need our interests."
Reddam sighed, "When I became a Captain I thought I would only have to worry about Secundus, and that's true from a logistics and training point of view. But single-cohort missions are cumbersome. I have to despatch squads to serve under Ferrac and Thaddis, as well as manage Primus and Tertius squads that come with me. Frankly commanding a single ship, and nobody save you louts, is a sorely needed break."
Tebes replied, "I hate to break your peace, but we're in auspex range of the Nest."
"What?!" Reddam yelped, "Why didn't you tell me earlier, never mind, let's go!"
Reddam grabbed his spear and set out at jog. The Captain's billet was near the bridge and they covered the ground in less than a minute. They emerged into a large chamber, smaller than the bridge of a Battlebarge but still roomy enough to house hundreds. Chattels worked consoles and servitors mindlessly chattered, tending the ship's spirit. The far wall boasted a broad Oculus, and it was open to the stars. The Serpens Rex was not visible to the naked eye, smaller than a grain of sand at this range, but the Hololith-sphere dominating the room pinged to reveal the surveyors had sighted their home.
Reddam jumped onto the Command Dais and ordered, "Hail the Nest."
"I've already done it, I'm not stupid," Larus called from among the crew, "We have clearance to close and dock at the widdershins pier."
"Home soon," Kazao recited from further along.
Reddam glanced at the pair in annoyance. Kazao had been growing terse as the years ground past, withdrawing into solemn silence most days. The Marine kept his helm on at all times, for he was afflicted with mutated gene-seed, an Aberrant most foul to Imperial eyes. Larus however was more concerning, always sour and possessive, he'd been getting snide as time went past. Reddam blamed that bolter he carried, Chrysoar, a relic trophy taken in battle. Larus' pride had been stoked by his prize, and he never let it stray far from his hand. His haughtiness had been getting annoying, but Reddam forbore stoically.
The Strike-Captain ordered, "Implore the Machine Spirits for a detailed scan, and push it into the Hololith."
"Feeling nostalgic?" Larus snorted.
"Just do it," Reddam barked testily.
The Hololith dissolved into static as Tebes mused, "I wonder how long we've been gone?"
"Wasn't a long warp transit," Joffel sniffed, "A few weeks in realspace, a couple of months tops."
Reddam concurred, "Temporal distortion is always an issue, but you're probably right. I want to see how much progress they've made."
The Hololith reformed into an image, a Starfort drifting against a shoal of asteroids in the outer reaches of the Tobara system. The Serpens Rex, a derelict Ramillies-class, claimed by the Amber Vipers. For many a year they had established their base among its shattered spars and broken templums, raising generations of recruits amid magnificent desolation. Reddam had grown used to seeing its holed superstructure and the forests of sundered towers at its heart, but finally that had changed.
The Serpens Rex was alive with lights, repair teams crawling over the broken bones of the base. Industrial welders blazed by the thousand, as Tech-Priests directed Servitors to make good the base's wounds. Rubble was cleared by vac-suited Enginseers, as crushing machines ground the pebbles to dust in their jaws. New armour was laid upon the bones, fresh plasma-conduits installed and tens of thousands of kilometres of wire and pipes were slotted into place. The results were a marvel, the outer docks had been made fit to house fleets, and the four great drydocks that divided the quadrants were airtight once more. Armoured bastions arose in place of rotten hollows, layers of void shields were being test-fired and macroweapons were carefully aligned. The solitary tower at the hub was lonely no more, a rump of half-finished skyscrapers jostled for space at its feet, climbing ever higher as stories were added at a frenetic pace.
The source of this renaissance were a pair of Forge-Tenders hanging over the base. Mechanicus workshops and spaceborne factories, building fresh components by the hour. One could have restored a fleet, two could have raised a feral world into a productive, if rude, mining planet. Streams of worker shuttles flew back and forth, carrying arcane machinery to the docks, or dragging larger beams in pairs to the outer surface of the Starfort. More shuttles flew into the asteroid belt, seeking metal-rich bodies. Any worth harvesting were towed back, to be processed in smelteries and factorums that never slept.
The Serpens Rex was slowly becoming what it should always have been, a mighty bastion set loose to drift among the stars. Regimental barracks large enough to house armies stood ready, docks wide enough to hold fleets awaited ships and storehouses deep enough to support a planetary invasion waited for victuals. A single Ramillies-class could act as the forward base for an Imperial campaign, each redeployment shortening wars by decades. With the asteroid processors working, and agri-farms complete, the Serpens Rex would soon be able to support the Amber Vipers indefinitely. The long-cherished dream of freedom from sordid pacts with venal governors was almost within reach.
All this was thanks to one Magos, Belisarius Cawl. Though none of them had ever met him the infamous adept had pacted with the Amber Vipers to rebuild their base. In exchange for an STC the Amber Vipers found he had despatched this worker-fleet, to restore their base and gifted tens of thousands of indentured-hands to crew their ships. It was bounty beyond imagination, the greatest boon the Chapter had ever known, which made more than a few souls suspicious.
"Doesn't look like home anymore," Larus grumbled.
"You liked living in rubble?" Joffel laughed.
"I liked our independence," Larus hissed, "Cawl has given us much, too much."
"The defences improve daily, our manufacturing capacity has never been greater," Tebes argued.
"And that makes us beholden to him. Bad enough the Regent has us on a leash, we should not accept the yoke of a mad Archmagos."
"We are a part of the Imperium, not above it."
"We always fought for the Emperor our own way, why change what's worked so far?"
Reddam cut through the debate, "The Tech-Priests work wonders to restore primary systems, but that's all. There are countless broken areas they will not touch: memorials, Cathedrums, training grounds and triumphal avenues. They care only for the function of the Machine Spirits, not for the aesthetics of the grounds. The Serpens Rex will still look shabby to the eye, long after we are all dead."
Larus scowled, "I still wonder what inspires such generosity."
"I have a theory," Joffel announced.
"I thought you might," Tebes groaned.
Joffel explained, "I think Cawl's after the remains of Apophis... you remember, that rogue Abominable Intelligence that nearly stole the Nest out from under us. He'd be drooling over the prospect of a Machine Mind to study."
"Nice idea, but not feasible," Tebes argued, "The cogitators were toast, nothing remained. Even an Archmagos can't find a use for that."
"Even the bones could reveal powerful secrets."
"The secrets of the Dark Age of Technology are best left buried. Apophis was mad, a megalomaniacal tyrant, the unbridled greed of the ancients given form. The Cerberii stand vigil against such horrors arising, let that be a warning."
Joffel snapped, "You suggest an idea then!"
"I choose not to speculate," Tebes sniffed, "We do not know the mind of Belisarius Cawl, none of us has met him."
"Then we may as well give up guessing!"
Tebes let slip a rare smile, "At last, wisdom from your lips."
Reddam was distracted as a reading pipped up in the Hololith, "The Revenge is berthed in her drydock, looks like they beat us back."
"But we're faster!" Joffel exclaimed.
"Never try to understand the workings of the Warp, it is surprise incarnate."
"Speaking of which," Larus announced, "Incoming signal."
"Another mass-conveyor, filled with ratings and spare parts," Reddam read from various consoles, "What's that, a dozen in the last year?"
"She's not alone," Larus added, "A frigate runs alongside... her signal-pennants declare she's one of ours."
Reddam blinked, "One of ours, that's strange... one of the Crusader Host perhaps?"
"No, not those vagrant scavengers," Larus declared, "It's the Sparrowhawk."
"But... but that's Kerubim's ship!"
"Who?" Kazao asked bewildered.
Reddam scowled, "You remember, he was that tech-prentice, sent out to study the secrets of the Machine Cult. We haven't heard from him in years. He took off with the last Silica Animus, after that whole Apophis debacle."
"Oh," Kazao breathed, "I forgot."
Joffel snorted, "For a Marine with an eidetic memory you can't half be thick sometimes!"
"Don't blame him," Reddam admonished, "I thought Kerubim dead, we all did, but he's back at last.
Tebes mused, "I wonder where he has been, what adventures he has lived through?"
Larus muttered, "I wonder if he managed to dispose of the Abominable Intelligence."
Reddam concurred, "We shall soon find out. Helm, get us to the docking pier at once. I want to be there to greet our missing Brother when he sets foot on the Serpens Rex. Kerubim is coming home and deserves a heroes' welcome!"
