Venenum Filios Chapter 3
Space looked like a large bruise, a faint stain spread across the stars. This was the Serrati Stellas, the worst knot of gravitic anomalies, ionic interference and warp squalls in the sector. A perennial problem for the Saint Karyl Trail, for it was home to Orks, pirates, slavers and worse.
Persion could see it from where he was standing, mag-clamped onto the side of the Thunderchild's hull. The icy grip of space embraced him, held at bay by his armour's internal systems and his breath echoed in his ears. All around him Storm Heralds were waiting, each one lost in his own thoughts. There was no vox-chatter amongst them; they could not risk a stray signal penetrating the Reflex Shields.
It seemed strange to Persion that they were practically invisible; to him the operation of the stealth technology was undetectable. Those eldritch shields were definitely in place though; the fact that the starfort hadn't ripped them to shreds yet was all the proof they needed of that. Persion squinted as he sought the target but in space-terms the human eye was ridiculously inadequate.
Persion could see the small planetoid the target was orbiting, illuminated by the cool light of a white dwarf star. It was a barren husk, bereft of atmosphere, a dead rock in space. The Thunderchild was drifting closer to that planetoid, letting inertia carry it, unwilling to risk even the most minimal bursts of engine power.
Persion glanced at a countdown in his vision and reviewed the plan. The Thunderchild would drift close to the enemy starfort, then at the right moment the Space Marines would jump into the void and coast over. To facilitate this each marine had been equipped with a void harness, a tiny thruster to direct their course. This was slaved to the Machine Spirits, the jump had to be timed down to the picosecond, not even Transhumans could do that.
Persion was trying not to count the number of things that could go wrong but he was failing. They could be a fraction of a degree off course and miss entirely, they could hit the starfort at speeds that would liquefy them or they could let slip a stray emission and be blasted by a roused enemy. Persion had faced death countless times, it was what he was designed for, but he had always had a weapon in hand and a foe before him. He loathed placing his fate in the hands of random chance, better to fight destiny head-on than idly wait for the outcome.
He was distracted by a blinking light in his vision, the signal to move. Silently he disengaged his mag-clamps and drifted free of the hull, along with the rest of his Company. Over a hundred Space Marines hanging helplessly in the void like leaves on a pond. Then Persion felt a kick in the rear as his void harness fired.
As one the Storm Heralds shot forward, propelled away from the Thunderchild at a mathematically perfect vector. There were a few moments of tugging and pulling as the void harness corrected microscopic imperfections in its course and then it cut out, going still and cold. Persion felt himself become weightless, utterly still and calm. It felt like he wasn't moving but he knew that he was in fact soaring along at a remarkable clip.
There was a single blip in his vision and Persion began to inhale, sucking air from his armour's oxygen recycling system to fill his multi-lung. He could feel the organ expanding within his chest, pushing his additional implants up against his ceramic ribcage as it swelled. The third lung could hold a store of air within itself, allowing a Space Marine to hold his breath for an extraordinary length of time, but this jump would push it to the limit.
Barely had Persion finished when his armour shut down, cutting off life support, motive power, autosenses and vox systems. Only the barest pulse of heat bled into his limbs but otherwise he was encased in a dead suit. The void harness went dead too, there would no more course corrections, no braking thrust, either they hit their target perfectly or they drifted off into space never to be seen again.
Persion knew he was being crazy but he swore that he could feel his vat-grown teeth itch as he passed through the Thunderchild's Reflex Shields and out into open space. They were drifting freely now, their only protection their minuscule size and lack of power. Even now powerful auspex sweeps would be scouring the void, looking for dangers but they should appear to be nothing more than micro-meteors or void debris. If not then the first thing they would see would be the starfort's point defences letting rip and blasting them from the void.
For long minutes Persion coasted along, his multi-lung trickling oxygen into his bloodstream. Around him the crowd of Space Marines drifted apart, microscopic differences in their thrust translating into noticeable changes in direction. There was nothing to be done though, save trust in the Machine Spirits and carry on. As the minutes eked past and Persion's lungs began to itch he picked out a speck in the distance, the target at last closing into visual range. It grew swiftly in their sight, forming out into a large cross shape encapsulated in a ring of iron. Persion saw that the starfort was slightly off axis compared to them, making it seem as if they were dropping onto it from above, not that up or down meant anything here.
Details resolved as they closed, the sunlight illuminating stacked rows of gun decks, towering repair shops and rows of Vox and auspex arrays. There was also a ring of docks surrounding the starfort, easily able to berth a dozen of the largest Battleships. It was a wonder from a forgotten age yet for all its power this Starfort looked somewhat dilapidated. Whole sections were dark and cold, rents in the hull were unrepaired and much of it showed evidence of cosmic weathering from the solar winds. It really did look ten thousand years old and it carried every hour of that upon its hide.
Persion tensed as he saw that they were drifting down upon a saw-toothed battlement, a rampart in the spine of the Starfort. It was swelling and growing in his vision at a fantastic rate, creating the illusion that he was dropping onto a pointed mountain ridge. He desperately wanted to fire his void-harness and slow down but dared not, the smallest emission could give them all away.
Persion clamped his jaw shut and waited for impact, counting down the seconds. Then at the last possible instant he diverted power from his heating to motive systems, letting him move his limbs. The battlement rushed up at him and then he hit it, smashing into the crenulation in a silent crash. Persion almost gasped as the force of the impact reverberated through him, the rampart smashing into him like a freight train. Stars flashed before his eyes and he felt his bones creak from the strain as they took the full force of the collision. His internal organs moved within him as he felt his hearts impacting into his ribs and his eyeballs trying to break out of their sockets.
It was a dazing blow but it was not the worst danger, for he had hit the parapet at a forty-five degree angle and the blow had made him glance off to skitter across the surface. Persion fought the urge to engage his mag-boots and instead grasped at a passing railing as it hurtled past. His hand was too slow and it flew tantalisingly out of reach as he hurtled along. Next to him he saw a Brother bounce off a wall back into space, he didn't know who it was but they had just had their death sentence sealed, there would be no rescue for whoever it was.
Persion resisted the impulse to panic as he began to slide away, facing the prospect of a cold, slow death in the void. Then at the last moment he felt another impact as he crashed into a free-standing vox array, almost doubling him over. He hastily grabbed it with both hands and felt his shoulders scream as he transferred his velocity into the metal but then at last he was still.
Persion looked up, seeing the Company scattered across the battlement, their formation being lost in the drift. There was no way to tell if everybody had made it, no way to count how many had been lost to the void. It hardly mattered now, they were here but still in danger. In order to move they had sacrificed what little heat they had, it was now a race to see what killed them first. Suffocation or the ultimate cold of space.
Persion felt his limbs growing numb and his lungs itched to draw breath but he pushed the sensation down and began to move, racing hand over hand down the slope. The Company had to reach an airlock fast, before they succumbed to oxygen deprivation. Persion saw a red flash as Captain Toran made a hasty exit, pulling himself hand over hand down the flanks of the rampart.
In a swarm the Storm Heralds followed him, pouring down the fortification in a blue wave. Persion went along and as he did so he felt his lungs burning, his implants reaching the limits of tolerance. He ached to open his mouth and breathe but dared not, his armour was yet inert and the oxygen recycling systems were dead. To breathe would be to die and the numbing cold bit hard into his limbs. The temptation to awaken his armour was a constant nag but they dare not risk it, the surge of hundred plates powering up would be unmistakable.
Persion's vision was going grey and his head swam but he swiftly descended down the flanks of the rampart. If this base followed standard patterns there should be an airlock ahead, if not… well best not to dwell on that. Persion's eyes were watering now, his thoughts were coming sluggishly and the urge to breathe was burning his throat. A single breath his soul begged, just one, but he refused. He would not tolerate weakness and he would die before his will broke.
Suddenly Toran stopped, Persion peered around him and he was elated by what he saw: a maintenance airlock. As black spots flashed before his eyes he followed the Captain to the door and saw it slide invitingly open. Yet there was a problem, the airlock was tiny and slow, no way could they cycle a hundred Astartes through it before they suffocated. Toran stabbed a small knife into the outer door's runnels to keep it open as Persion moved inside. He grabbed the inner door with hands like blocks of ice and heaved, pulling for all he was worth. Unfortunately the airlock was not designed to open both doors at once and it resisted. Persion doubled his efforts, fighting his sluggish plate as much as the door but it would not budge. Persion wanted to scream in frustration, they couldn't have come all this way only to fail here.
Suddenly a large hand grabbed Persion and pulled him out the way, it was Furion and he wasted no time slipping inside. He braced himself into the airlock and then heaved. The door which had resisted Persion's best efforts was helpless to resist the Sergeant's immense strength and it slid open, blasting air out from within. Furion stood there, holding the hatch open as the first Brother slipped past him and then the rest in quick succession. Persion had enough honour not to be the first inside but he was far from the last. He pulled against the torrent of wind and hauled himself into a modest maintenance bay as the rest followed.
An eternity crawled by as the Company entered the base but then at last they were all inside. The door slipped shut as Furion fell forward and the wind ceased to blow. Persion desperately opened his helm's external vents and gasped as pure, blessed air filled his lungs. He lay there for long moments, coughing and wracking his chest, his implants struggling to restore him as his armour began the laborious task of waking up.
Slowly colour bled back into the world and he sat up. From afar he heard Novak spit, "I never want to do that again."
Persion wholeheartedly agreed but Captain Toran staggered up on wobbly legs and called, "What are you all lying about for, there's a battle to be won yet!"