The Oncoming Storm
"Sergeant Merrick?"
Merrick and Hurst looked up to see the young man waiting at the end of the table, holding a letter. He was one of the liaisons between the Adeptus Arbites and the Vendolanders, marked by his service badge denoting him as military police.
"Yeah, what is it?" asked Merrick.
The aide handed him the note. "Message for you, sir. It is from Captain Talros, 12th Spire Precinct. He said he wanted to speak with you and Sergeant Hurst immediately. He didn't say what for, only that it was vital that he contact you. I wouldn't keep him waiting."
Hurst and Merrick shared a glance. What could the Arbites want with them? Merrick was just out of confinement, it wasn't as if they wanted to drag him back in. Getting up to leave, Merrick tossed a throne at the runner. "Here, have one on me."
"Thank you sir."
"Let's see what he wants, Waddy," said Merrick. Hurst pocketed his book and joined Merrick, venturing out from the warm confines of the pub to the cold, snow swept streets. It was a fifteen minute walk to the monorail terminal. Once they arrived, they could get some answers.
The Arbites Precinct was a massive, black slab that towered over the low residential habs surrounding it. Stepping off the monorail transport, Hurst and Merrick were immediately accosted by a servo-skull, laden with scanning devices and recording software. Once the biometric scan was complete, and the two Guardsmen's identities stored in the skull's databanks, the optic cluster turned green, allowing them to pass.
The Adeptus Arbites were the enforcers of Imperial Law, the galaxy spanning organization devoted to upholding the rules and regulations of the Imperium in every system under its control. They were an army unto themselves, far more suited to waging ground wars against rioting political activists and coup attempts than investigating domestic crimes. Meridian's Blue Watch police forces covered lesser crimes and local affairs, allowing the Arbites to work within the higher echelons of the Imperium.
Passing through the muster yard in front of the Precinct, Merrick noted each Arbiter's kit. They were clad in large black cloaks over a full body carapace. Only the lower half of their face was exposed from the armor, the mouth fixed in a perpetual scowl. Each carried a large riot shield, emblazoned with the Arbites symbol: a fist holding a balance scale embedded in a pillar. Not one said a word as they headed for the doors, the only sounds being the whine of patrol speeders and the buzz of wheeled vehicles in the distance. But they were being watched, not just by servo skulls. Merrick was sure of it. Better to be suspicious and right, then ignorant and dead.
The main lobby met the two with a warm gust of air, melting the snow that flecked their coats and bit at their skin. An entire bank of servitors awaited at the end of the room. Merrick and Hurst were pointed towards the building transit system. The tram traveled through the precinct, passing holding cells filled with malcontents. Merrick was reminded of his confinement. Compared to the conditions of the people in these cells, he realized that he had gotten off easy. They were little more than cages, packed with offenders awaiting the Judges' trials. If the Inquisition was the unseen will of the Imperium, then the Arbites were the public face. The crimes of heretics and malcontents were broadcast to the world for all to see, instilling fear into those who might emulate their crimes.
Talros's office overlooked the southern ends of Capitol Spire. Through the window, the still smoking ruins of Spire Legis could be seen, a radioactive pit all that remained. Captain Talros wore a black office uniform with red trim. His face appeared to have earned several more scars since the last time Merrick had seen him, back when the Hounds had infiltrated the Administratum complex. Food riots were still a concern, even in peacetime.
"Have a seat," said the Captain. Settling down in his own chair, Talros clasped his hands, looking darkly at the two Guardsmen. "Can I get you anything to drink?"
"No, thank you," said Hurst. "You wanted to see us, Captain?"
"Yes, I did." Talros presented a stack of paperwork before Hurst. "I have been assigned to investigate the incident regarding the friendly fire between the Adeptus Mechanicus and Imperial Guard forces three months prior. Normally, this would be a military matter settled within the Munitorium department, but Judge Percetus wanted his own report. When I saw your names on the file, I knew I had to speak with you.
"However, there was a slight complication, as I'm sure you are both aware. You, Merrick, were imprisoned, and Hurst was in an emergency ward for two months. I needed to speak to you both, hence why I've brought you here today."
"You have our medical records too?" asked Merrick skeptically.
Talros glared at him. "We are very thorough, Sergeant Major."
Hurst cut Merrick off before he could spit out a retort. "What do you need our help with, Officer?"
"Several things in this report do not add up in this report, particularly with regards to the Mechanicus's motivations. Think about it. By mere chance, you encounter a smuggling ring. It's not uncommon, but what it lead to is what troubles me. A sudden firefight between Mechanicus troops and Imperial Guard is reason enough for concern, but to end it all with a nuclear strike against a nearby Spire? And then Angel Forge, miraculously, starts working again. Nothing happens without a reason, and I know better than to assume these events are random coincidences. I want you to help me find the truth."
"You suspect that the Mechanicus is hiding something," surmised Wadden.
"I could have told you that," muttered Merrick.
"Indeed I do, Hurst," said Talros, pouring himself another cup. "Which is why I have enlisted your aid. You will help me in my investigation to uncover the truth behind these events. I can smell the corruption behind this incident, and I need proof."
"You can't seriously expect me to leave our squad for this," scoffed Merrick. "I'm a soldier, not a private investigator."
"Which you have made abundantly clear," snapped Talros. "I have already cleared your temporary transfer with your Regimental Command. Besides, you were not due back to active duty for another three weeks. Which gives you plenty of time to aid in my search."
"How the hell do you know when I am supposed to be back on duty?" growled Merrick. "I don't like secrets being kept from me. That usually ends with somebody dying on my watch."
"Like I said, we are very thorough. Your position as guardsmen gives me the advantage I need. There are still troops billeted at Angel Forge. If I go undercover with you two, then I stand a better chance of finding the proof we are looking for. I will garner less attention this way. It wouldn't look good to have an Arbitrator breaking down doors in broad daylight. A delicate touch is needed."
"When do we begin?" said Hurst, doing his best to make up for Merrick's abrasive attitude.
"Immediately. I will obtain supplies from the armory, meet me at landing pad C for departure in thirty minutes."
Talros stood up and left the room. In the hallway, Merrick voiced his displeasure. "This is ridiculous, Waddy. Why should we help this guy?"
"We don't seem to have much choice Merrick. He said it himself, it's already been cleared with Command. He's our new boss for the time being."
"I don't like getting thrown around from assignment to assignment like this," said Merrick bitterly.
"Well then you shouldn't have joined the Guard," said Hurst. "Look, Kippler can take care of the squad. I'm no good in a fight until my back is healed, so I might as well do something. Books can only take up so much time. You may not like it, but we're stuck in this, so stop complaining."
"Fine," said Merrick, folding his arms. "But I don't have to like it. I don't trust these guys."
"Nobody is asking you to. Come on, let's go."
The arrival of Raynis Moran and the Cadians marked an unprecedented turnout among the Command staff. Officers from every regiment in the Hive, trailing hundreds of aides and scribes, convened at the Strategic Headquarters. Whatever Moran had told General Derim, it was serious enough to warrant this grand meeting. There was an air of anticipation, tinged with dread among the congregation.
The circular room was dominated by hololithic charts mapping the entirety of Angel Hive, as well as the neighboring regions. From the speaker's dais, Colonel Moran's voice was projected throughout the hall, each chart updating to his new information. "Gentlemen, though I am thankful for the warm welcome my men and I have received, I fear that I must bring grave news. An Ork Rok is heading for Meridian as we speak."
Shock rippled through the room, people muttering to each other in hushed tones. They quickly silenced themselves as Moran continued. "Upon arrival in the Subsector, the naval convoy we were assigned to came under attack by a number of Ork vessels. Three supply ships were to follow us here. They never arrived at the second rendevous point. Before we made the Warp Jump, the ship's astropath sensed the presence of a massive anomaly. Sensor picts confirmed it to be an Ork Rok, matching our heading. We were followed."
Moran looked at Vice Admiral Zaritz, silently staring at the charts showing the disposition of Imperial Naval units operating in the Subsector. "Frankly admiral, this region of space has become a minefield for raiders, Xenos, and heretics," said Moran. "The Ork Rok could arrive at any time, and I am not confident in your ships' power to stop it from arriving."
"Do you honestly expect me to believe the word of an Astropath on such flimsy evidence?" scoffed the vice admiral. "This subsector is inundated enough with Naval ships as it is, we are more than capable of keeping our supply routes to the hinterland regions open."
Raynis didn't budge at Zaritz sleight. "I am simply giving you all this warning. The Greenskins are coming, make no mistake. A worst case scenario places their arrival here in four days. If luck and the Emperor's grace are on our side, it will be later. But we must use ever y second we can to prepare for an assault. Meridian is a prime target for the Orks, not just Angel Hive. When the Orks arrive, the entire planet will be consumed if we do not stand our ground."
"What of the Astartes?" asked one of the Corinthians. "Will the Blood Ravens aid us?"
"We cannot rely on the Astartes to turn the tide," said Tullassar, taking control of the conversation. "We are the Hammer of the Emperor, and we must trust in our own to blunt this invasion. The Space Marines have their own concerns, no doubt. If we cannot stand against the tide, then the Blood Ravens will do so alone. I am not about to make that gamble."
"The Orks are not to be underestimated, gentlemen," said Colonel Crassus of the Vendoland. Beside him stood several of his most trusted officers, including Captain Uther. Commissar Connor watched from the shadows alongside a cadre of other Commissariat officers. "The local infestations will undoubtedly join forces with this new Warboss. With their knowledge of city layouts, our fight will be that much harder."
"I concur with Crassus," said General Derim. "The Vendoland regiments have been here longer than any other. Their expertise on the layouts of the Hive will be a valuable asset in countering the Greenskins."
"Perhaps," said Crassus. " if we had not taken the brunt of our losses during that time. Less than a third of the Vendoland soldiers originally deployed here are still alive. Two regiments are in shambles, and my 85th Vendoland is dangerously undermanned. As forward scouts and reconnaissance, we can only help so much. We're line infantry at heart, sir. Our talents are wasted elsewhere."
Moran looked from Crassus to Tullassar. "The Colonel makes a strong point, General. If there was a way to consolidate the Vendoland regiments, they could form an effective spearhead unit."
"I agree," persisted Crassus. "As a heavy division, we would have enough staying power to lead an assault. Additionally, collecting our men under a unified banner would be good for morale. It would take some getting used to at first, but we fight more effectively together than split up between other units."
Tullassar stroked his chin, his face deep in thought. "The only thing that concerns me, Colonel, is the stance of the Munitorium on this endeavor. There is a reason that our regimental structure exists. If one regiment decides to go rogue, it will lack the means to effectively mount a rebellion against their former allies. What you are suggesting could potentially place too much power in the hands of the Vendolanders.
"In which case, I and others will be on hand to root out such heretical schemes in their infancy," said Connor sharply, stepping forward from the crowd. "I support this decision, if only for the fact that it will allow my charges to rebuild their squads. Too many units are at half strength, undermanned and outgunned. The Vendolanders need this. We are little more than cannon fodder otherwise."
"Then make the arrangements," said Moran. "We will need every able bodied man and woman ready to face this threat. I suggest we begin immediately."
"I'm telling you, Lenham, he has you beat. Give it up before you lose another one."
Kippler grinned at his friend's growing frustration. Remer and McTavish's contest was swinging further into the Cadian's favour with every new challenge. The night's current event was a game of darts, played with throwing knives. The bearded man flung another blade at the target board, the knife point sinking deep into the cork panel, further pinning it to the wooden wall. McTavish had landed three hits on the inner ring, while Remer had only achieved one hit, about an inch above the dart board. With the latest hit, Remer took another swig of ale, his seventh of the night.
"What I don't understand," said McTavish, "Is your lads' obsession with nicknaming everything. Dead Zone, the Gorge? Isn't it just as easy to call the Gorge a starport?"
Remer lurched over to the burly man, trying his best to look intimidating to someone a head taller than him. He prodded Grahm's barrel chest. His speech was slurred, "You want to know why we call 'em that? It's because it's fun! Why else would we do it? 'sssthe same reason why you have a motto for a regiment. Cos' iss' fun, that's why."
"And are you having fun yet, 'Lenny'"? teased Grahm. Remer was leaning into him, more for support now than pride.
"No! I'm gonna drink my week's pay away at this rate. An' don't call me Lenny. 'snot my name, an' it's not fun."
McTavish glanced over at Kippler. Soras just shrugged. With an unspoken agreement, they headed over to their booth overlooking the fighting pits. Several other Cadians had taken to the pits, carving out a slice of the competition and quickly beating down the local contenders.
The Artemians champion, "Mad Dog" Manrey, was still managing to hold his own, his maligned shape proving to be too slippery to catch. He would slide under an opponent's swing and grab a hold of his arm, pulling the man into range of his feet. Manrey fought more like an ape than a man, wild and untamed. Everything was fair game in the pits, and Manrey had practically invented a book's worth of underhanded tactics on his own.
The fighting pits were barely tolerated by Command. The arguments for stress relief and skills honing had narrowly eked out the detractors, claiming the violence promoted inter-service rivalries and grudge matches. Kippler didn't care much for the fights himself, but he wasn't about to force his opinions on the rest of the squad.
"So I expect you've seen a lot of combat," said Kippler, trying to strike up a conversation.
"Aye," said McTavish. "It's been a few years now since we were transferred off Cadia. I've lost track of how many fights we've been in. Ever hear of the Hrud?"
"No," siad Kippler, shaking his head.
"Exactly. Nobody here will remember them after what we did to those inhuman buggers. I can't wait to get my claws into the next xeno that decides he can tangle with a Baneblade."
Kippler glanced around the crowded floor. "Well, if the reports coming in from Typhon Primaris are accurate, that's shaping up to be the next big theater in the subsector. Orks, Eldar, Tyranids, you name it, they're on that planet. Makes me shiver thinking about it."
A hungry grin crossed McTavish's face. "Sounds perfect."
The night dragged on. McTavish and Remer finished their contest at thirteen drinks. Or rather, he collapsed upon finishing the thirteenth, and had to be dragged out of the center by Vornas and Alek. Kippler stayed behind to help clean up the mess Remer had left behind, and managed to skirt out into the streets just before the Blue Watch patrols started rounding up people out after curfew. His quarters were a warm welcome to the blistering cold swept streets.
Soras slept soundly that night. For once, the heady visions in his slumber were not flashes of violence, or apathy. He found comfort for a change. He didn't know why, but he embraced the calmness that had swept over him. For tonight, at least, Kippler slept in peace.
That peace would fade by the next day, when the call came.
Author's note: Apologies for the late update. I'd had this chapter 90% finished for quite a while, but as Exams came on, they took priority. So here it is.