Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 397
Kerubim had never set foot on Brennia before, but it struck him as a bleak place. He stepped onto the ramp of the Angantyr on a cold morning, the horizon golden in the rays of a rising sun. The moorland underfoot was soaked with dew, staining landing struts along their pads. Birdsong pricked his ear, even over the noise of landing thrusters, and his nose was filled with the scent of crunched bracken. It would have been a vision of perfection, an unsullied world pristine in all regards, save for the lurid swathe of purple cutting the sky in half: the Cicatrix Maledictum.
Kerubim turned his attention to the soaring peaks nearby, snow-capped mountains that brushed the heavens with their majesty. The Amber Vipers were landing in their foothills, across sharp moors and bleak slopes that ringed their feet. It was necessary, for the poor soil kept the Tanglethorn forests at bay. An endless green ocean spreading across continents, with upland sanctuaries left as isolated island chains. Kerubim didn't care much for organic matters, and the dark bowers looked distressingly biological, with strange movements concealed in the darkness and an itching feeling of predatory eyes watching tingled the base of the spine.
Kerubim's briefing notes had told that humanity lingered in the narrow strips of land between soaring peak and haunted bower. Protected by impassable mountains on one side, and hard-scrabble loam to the other. The reports had told of high-walled castles and terrace-farms carved into the mountainsides, a world where humanity clung on by the fingernails, surrounded by danger and deprivation on all sides. Kerubim didn't see why the Amber Vipers had bothered to recruit here, the total population of the planet couldn't be more than fifty million, a drop in the galactic bucket.
A rumble drew his attention as he saw earth-moving machines set their dozer blades to the moorland. Growling engines pushed caterpillar tracks, forcing the blades deep. With a bellow of exhaust they set to, levelling the slope with laser-precision, while Ferrocrete pouring Servitor-trucks followed after. Behind them waited teams of Chattels, hauling cables and piping, to be laid in the still wet Ferrocrete, and after them would follow prefab buildings. It was a sight to make any Imperial proud, humanity stamping its mark into the virgin soil, enforcing its will upon a random and untamed universe.
Kerubim drew in a breath and prayed, "Omnissiah, look upon our works and see our devotion made plain. Unto your glory we dedicate this land, and rebuild it according to your sacred design. May the raw matter of this world be shaped into a form pleasing unto you, and in turn anoint us with your favour. May the Sacred Cog ever turn."
Benediction complete Kerubim checked his weapons, a plasma-sabre on his hip and a square-barrelled Adrathic rifle. That gun was a treasured relic, and the last example of its kind he knew of. Rumour had it that while he was away training the Adeptus Custodes had visited and invoked the Emperor's authority to confiscate all Adrathic weapons. Kerubim was amused to know they'd missed one, but he was sure if they learned of it they'd come back. A journey of ten thousand lightyears, to claim one rifle, was nothing if it was so commanded by the Emperor's decree.
"Frak, I told you to wait!" a hoarse voice cried.
"I didn't know it was still wet!" a protest arose.
"Well now it's stuck," the first snapped.
"Don't just stand there, heave!"
Kerubim turned his eyes and saw a pair of Secundus Brothers had alighted too early. They'd rolled their bikes out of the drop ship straight into wet Ferrocrete and got stuck. Kerubim was annoyed, that piece of land would have to be smoothed over again, but more so by the affront to the Machine Spirits. Wet Ferrocrete would gum up an engine like nothing else, if those steeds weren't freed immediately they'd have to be sent back to the Forge for consecration.
"You!" Kerubim snapped, "Get those bikes free now!"
"Aberrants don't tell me what to do," the younger Viper snapped back.
"I am no Aberrant and if you don't want to feel my worth you will do as I say!"
The other youth looked concerned, "Ulto, I think we…"
"Shut it Morau, I didn't sweat through Tertius to be bossed about by some Aberrant in red."
Kerubim loomed over the pair and growled, "You speak from ignorance, the Omnissiah is offended by such lack of insight. I have knelt before the Altars of Knowledge, I have learned the mysteries of circuit and Motive Force. I have walked across ancient lands you cannot imagine, battled technomantic horrors that devoured whole worlds. The Holy Oil of the Machine God has anointed my hands, his engrams are carved upon my hearts. You will show due respect to a Techmarine, or I will take you apart one slice at a time."
Ulto must have been smarter than he looked for he hurriedly backed down, "Oh… you're that Amber Viper. I offer contrition."
"I told you to shut up," Morau grunted.
"I will address your disrespect later," Kerubim snapped, "For now grab a fender and heave!"
Hurriedly the trio laid hands upon the rear bike and pulled hard. Quick-setting Ferrocrete sucked hard, trying to restrain the bike, but three Space Marines strength was superior and it came free with a wet slurp. The other was more problematic, the ground was hardening fast and their first attempt sent up wet flecks. Kerubim gritted his teeth and wrapped his bare arm around the seat, then they heaved again. This time the bike ripped free with a jerk, but Kerubim stumbled, catching his bare forearm on an exhaust and ripping the silver skin. Red blood oozed from the cut, quickly setting as Larraman cells flooded the wound.
"You're bleeding," called a voice of Reddam from the dropship.
"This steed has a vicious spirit," Kerubim allowed as he pushed the bike up the ramp.
"You two idiots made this mess?" Reddam pressed.
"Aye," Morau confessed as he lowered his eyes.
"Well get those bikes up here and scrubbed clean. I want all that Ferrocrete freed before it sets."
"But…"
"A Marine who disrespects his wargear is asking to be thrown from the seat! Get to it, spit and polish, now!"
The pair pushed their bikes back up the ramp and disappeared into the yawning hold. Reddam shook his head, but Kerubim was distracted by the need to summon Servitors to smooth over the mess of the surface and make good the pad. He estimated it would take five minutes, delaying the establishment of their base camp. An already torturously slow process, made longer.
"Three hours, seventeen minutes, sixty-three seconds," Kerubim muttered.
"What's that?" Reddam asked.
"Time to establish our forward operating base," Kerubim muttered.
"I know, it's still sub-par. An Astartes Chapter should be able to have a base up and running within one hour of the first Marine setting foot upon a world, but I find solace in the fact it's quicker than we used to do it."
"We are Astartes, excellence is not optional," Kerubim muttered.
Reddam shifted his spear, "What's got you riled up?"
"Nothing," Kerubim deflected.
"Ferrac lies better than you, and he's got less subtly than an Ork with a meatcleaver. Tell me what's troubling you."
Kerubim sighed, "Wulfe, I cannot believe it's him. I fought beside him, faced terrible dangers and looming death. He was always intransigent, uncompromising and relentless. He had no truck with Silica Animus, even when forced to fight alongside them. I cannot imagine him being involved with Maletek Incarna. What dark misfortunes turned his path towards this shameful affair?"
Reddam shook his head, "You think Cawl subverted him?"
"My former Master's role in this has yet to be determined. The Archmagos taught me all I know, but it was not all he knew. Secrets and lies surrounded him, nothing was beyond his grasping hands. I tried to be his conscience, to warn him of the worst pitfalls. It seems my efforts were wasted, Cawl was playing a far more subtle game than I ever suspected. I thought we parted on fairly good terms, but now I wonder if I was getting too close to a dark truth, and Cawl wished me absent."
A deep-throated roar cut them off. An orbital transporter was lowering itself over the base camp. In metal claws the width of a tall man's height was held an angular building. An Astartes Stronghold, a self-contained command post, with vox and auspex arrays to coordinate an entire warzone. Into the setting Ferrocrete it was placed, the central node around which the base would be constructed. Soon would follow plasma-reactors, Chapel-barracks, armouries and machine cult shrines, then would be ringed about razorwire and gun-servitors. Despite the sloth of construction the Amber Vipers at least had operational Astartes facilities.
Reddam glanced down at Kerubim's arm, "You still bleed red."
Kerubim sniffed, "My internal anatomy is unchanged, it's only my skin that was altered. Nanocytes course through my blood, but they do not rule me."
"I do not understand."
"Nobody understands Nanocytes anymore, not even the Archmagos."
"So Cawl didn't master everything then," Reddam smiled, "You know things he doesn't, I bet he found that frustrating."
Kerubim fell silent, not wanting to speak of that. Cawl's stumbling efforts to bridge the Rubicon Primaris had left Kerubim dead on the operating table. It had been Brontes who brought him back, with an infusion of Nanocytes. Kerubim made no effort to hide the side-effects, but what he hadn't told anyone was that the tiny machines coursing through his veins hadn't merely brought him back to life, they were keeping him alive. Every second they were rebuilding dying cells, rewiring mitochondria, reweaving bones. Nanocytes kept his heart beating, but they wouldn't do so forever. Kerubim's lifespan would be less than a century, his days were numbered.
Kerubim chose not to dwell upon that as he heard a rumble from behind. A silver tank floated off the deck, its prow bearing a proud Inquisitorial symbol. A Repulsor tank, one of the newer models, chariot of Inquisitor Markof. The man had not brought a retinue, but he had brought his own transport, servitor crewed and leashed to his will. Kerubim's eye noted the turret bore a familiar weapon, a Laser Destroyer, this was a Repulsor Executioner, the very latest mark to come into service.
"When will we have one of those?" Reddam sniffed.
"I am working on it," Kerubim grunted.
"We gave the Imperium the STC for that gun," Reddam noted.
"So I understand, a tally in favour of the Amber Vipers," Kerubim agreed.
"I only worry that Markof will forget to keep it pointed at the enemy," Reddam muttered.
"Be not concerned, we have brought the match for such a weapon,"
Reddam's face grew tense, "You don't mean… Bahamat."
Kerubim nodded, "I have determined bikes will be of limited use in these environs. We need heavier transport: Rhinos, the Mastadon, Predators and our Omega Sicaran. As Techmarine it is my right and duty to send them forth when needed."
Reddam looked queasy, "Bahamat has a dark spirit, its hungers are savage and its will untamed. Only once have we seen fit to unleash that tank, and the Omega wrought as much harm as good. It is a sword without a hilt, one that cannot be safely grasped."
Kerubim frowned, "There is no other way."
"Couldn't we fly over the forest in gunships?"
"Wulfe would be a fool not to have established anti-air defences, that is why we landed beyond the horizon and kept Serpens Rex below the planet's terminus. A ground approach is the only way."
"But Bahamat…"
"If you fear the tank's anima then I can assign another squad."
Reddam appeared insulted, "Send another to do my work for me, never. I will master this machine, or die in the attempt."
That put paid to that discussion and Kerubim was satisfied all was well. The Amber Vipers would force a passage through the Tanglethorn forest and assault the mountain fastness where the Heretics lay. The Techmarine worried though what they would face when they got there, Wulfe was no weakling, he would have prepared defences to withstand the hordes of Abaddon. That was why Kerubim had chosen to unleash the Amber Viper's tanks, he was certain they would need the firepower before this was over.