Chapter Seventeen
"Coming up on warp transition, brother-captain."
Esceriel nodded. Ahead of them, the scans showed Eternal Wrath in position. He looked through the observation windows. The battle-barge almost glowed in the light of its Geller fields. He smiled slightly and turned back to the command bridge. Astropath Den Graz gave the signal and he felt the hairs on his skin prickle as the warp generators opened the gate for them to return to realspace.
They slipped through behind their companion, and he started to relax. It was always preferable to be in realspace rather than the warp. No matter how many times he had travelled the ethereal, he could never rid himself of the desire to escape it.
"Incoming signal from Baal Secundus control, brother-captain. We are cleared to dock."
"Take us in, then. The Lord Commander will want to come aboard once we are secure. Once we are powered down, I want everyone on parade in the main entrance hall, port side."
"By your command, brother-captain."
Esceriel nodded and left the bridge, headed for the armouries where his company had better be getting ready for the Lord Commander's inspection.
Dante watched as the ship's ramp extended. The strike destroyer was side-on to the great station and more than a few interested observers had watched as Esceriel brought her in for a precise dock. The extension of the ship's grapples at the bow had put more than just him in mind of a great predator's claws, and he grimaced as he imagined what it must have been like to be in a ship grasped in those huge clamps and seeing hundreds of insane chaos renegades swarming towards you. Everything about Eyes of the Phoenix made him wary and it was with inner relief that he saw the Third Company waiting in parade formation as he walked up the broad gleaming metal.
He returned Esceriel's immaculate salute and walked with him along the polished ranks. Not a speck of dust, not a movement out of place. A credit to the astartes in general and to the Chapter in particular. Even the half-dozen non-astartes crew were as close to perfect as he'd seen in a long time. It was almost as if they were trying to reassure themselves that they remained Blood Angels.
As for the ship itself, it was as plain inside as it was outside, internal surfaces almost devoid of decoration. Only the huge aquila on the wall indicated it was – or had been – an Imperial warship. He walked with Esceriel and Mephiston through the double doors that led to the ship's processional, Third Company marines behind them stationing themselves silently in pairs at hundred-metre intervals along the long corridor.
Dante noted the decorations every ten metres, the open doors and empty rooms. It was a ghost ship, uncaring of the mortals that walked its corridors, but at the same time he found himself feeling almost welcome. He looked at his Chief Librarian who bore a faint smile.
"I think, Lord Commander, the ship is pleased to have Blood Angels walking its corridors once more."
At the end of the processional, in front of two massive polished wooden doors, stood a small group. All but two of the group wore power armour; Garth's squad of Blood Angels assault marines and the skull-masked figure of chaplain Caliel. The other two were both small by comparison, but both snapped to the same attention as the rest when Caliel gave the order. Interesting.
He gave the same inspection to the squad as he had done earlier; sergeant Garth had done his usual superlative job. The two females were likewise neatly turned out; the girl in a soft flowing white dress and (a defiance?) what had to be an Emperor's Children over-robe, the woman in all black, a tight-fitting jacket and trousers with a black and silver cloak – and a Black Templars purity seal. Neither was visibly armed.
He nodded. "Captain Tarken. A pleasure to meet you at last."
"The pleasure is mine, Lord Commander. It is an honour to welcome you aboard my ship. Might I present my daughter Janey. She is also my scan and comms tech."
My ship. So it was like that was it? He inclined his head to the child. "Sera." He looked at the doors. "So this is the famous chapel? May I?" Not as if they were going to stop him, but politeness cost nothing.
Sara Tarken smiled briefly, as if recognising the polite order for what it was and gently pushed the doors open. A white light spilled out into the corridor. Dante walked with his escorts through the entrance.
It was just as Esceriel had described. He looked at the woman, indicating the great golden wall-covering with its long long lists. "Are you sure of those names?"
She nodded. "We found the drop lists. We removed only one name from them, and added First Captain Saul Tarvitz in its place."
"You removed a name?"
She nodded again. "Captain Lucius of the Emperor's Children 13th Company. He turned his coat during the fighting. The first of a long long list of heinous acts."
Dante looked at her. "The Lucius? The heretic called 'eternal'?"
"Yes. All the others stood against Horus and died for their Emperor."
"Stood against? I thought they were bombed from orbit without warning?"
"That is the accepted tale, Lord Commander. However Sedreth's information is understandably more accurate. First Captain Tarvitz got wind of the betrayal and took a Thunderhawk to the surface with a warning. Most of the force got to underground bunkers in time to survive the virus-bombs. They held out for more than three months."
"The arch-heretic did not simply bombard them from orbit?"
"He could not. Angron was apparently furious that some had escaped and landed with, we think, about fifty companies of his World Eaters. According to Sedreth, Mortarion's ego could not accept that, so he landed too. The Lord Commander of the Emperor's Children, one Eidolon, likewise felt obliged to join the action, and Horus was effectively forced to follow suit. It became a ground war which cost the traitors nearly sixty thousand marines."
"And where was Sedreth during all this?"
"With his Primarch, talking to the Iron Hands. They had to fight their way out after Ferrus Mannus refused to join Horus. By the time they got back to Isstvan it was over." The girl's voice was soft but clear.
Dante looked at the pair and nodded slowly. "If this is the true list of the Emperor's loyal astartes, they deserve to be remembered. I would see the evidence you have, first, however."
The girl's smile lit the room. Tarken nodded, with a slight smile of her own. "Of course, Lord Commander."
Dante turned and looked along the long aisle of alcoves and banners. "This is where the Fallen are remembered?"
"Yes, Lord Commander. Every astartes of the 79th century who fell in the Great Crusade is named here, as are the astartes of companion Legions who died beside them."
"Three thousand and sixty-four, according to brother-captain Esceriel."
The girl nodded. "Yes, Lord Commander. And my daddy."
"Your father?"
She led him towards a small plaque near the front. "He was in the Guard. His unit was attacked by Night Lords. Daddy was on sentry duty."
Dante looked at the plaque. Just a name and dates. "Smitsen?"
She nodded. "The nasty lady from the Sisters was going to arrest us, so Mr Morgan sent us to the ship, and we changed our name so she wouldn't find us again."
He looked at her for a long second.
Esceriel cleared his throat. "Lord Commander, if I may? The portrait you wished to see?"
He followed his captain to the huge painted canvas. "By the Throne! It is..immense."
Tarken gave him a brief smile. "Sedreth tells us it is a good likeness, and I have to agree."
"Agree? How would you know?"
She smiled more broadly. "Evidence, Lord Commander. If you would care to come with me?"
Bemused, Dante indicated she should lead. How could she know what the Angel truly looked like?
She took them up to the bridge and knelt by the name-plate, placing a hand on it. "What is your duty?"
"Service to the emperor's will." The girl, a soft smile on her face. They knew the catechism?
"What is the Emperor's will?"
"That we fight and die." More than just the girl; the reflex of centuries had the Blood Angels responding.
"What is death?"
"Death is our duty." There was a soft click and the name-plate rose a centimetre or so. Tarken lifted it gently and removed a small purple and gold cloth, carefully folded around something.
A dataspool. She fed it in, then turned.
"With your permission, the rest of your astartes might wish to see this also. Though it is not entirely comfortable viewing."
Dante looked at Mephiston, who nodded. "I sense no deception here, Lord Commander."
He nodded his approval and the screen came to life. A man, a sergeant-astartes, in Emperor's Children armour. He listened, appalled, at the words that proved betrayal. Then the list, long long rolls of names, ordered by unit. He saw suspiciously bright eyes amongst his escort.
And then, the Emperor. The Angel Himself.
"Who are the others?" He didn't have to say which others.
"Fulgrim, Magnus the Red, and Horus Lupercal. The ship was dedicated nearly a hundred years before the Heresy."
He nodded silently, watching the Emperor walk and talk and laugh. He was kneeling without any volition of his own. My Emperor. My Primarch. When the massed ranks of Emperor's Children marines bellowed the catechism he felt a tear running down his cheek.
Eventually, it ended. Dante slowly rose to his feet and watched the last message of a dead man. You will be avenged, brother. My word on it.
He reached for the vid link and spoke into the pick-up to address his marines. "Brothers, today we have seen our Emperor as He was. Never forget it. Never forget either that He is as He is today because of the traitor heretics. We have fought for ten thousand years in the Primarch's name and the Emperor's. We still do. But now we have been given yet another reason. Those brave warriors who died, betrayed by their Primarchs, their own genefathers, demand vengeance. We shall give them vengeance. If it takes another ten thousand years, we shall visit vengeance on their betrayers. In the Emperor's Glorious Name."
The answering roars came through the pick-up like a thunderstorm.
Tarken took the dataspool and rewrapped it reverently. She knelt by the ships' name-plate and carefully re-inserted it in its place. The golden plate sealed with a click.
"There's a copy in the files, if you want to take one. But the original stays here."
None disagreed. Dante himself looked at her and wondered. This woman and her child had, alone amongst all the uncounted millions of humanity, seen the Emperor as He had been. No wonder they both spoke of Him as a beloved patriarch. There were a lot of questions to be asked of Morgan Sedreth.
"Captain, you companion remains gravely ill. It will be, at best, some months before he is fully recovered. I regret that you are obliged to remain at Baal for a time."
She nodded. "By your command, Lord Commander. I'm sure we can find something to occupy ourselves until Sedreth is better."
He nodded, satisfied but still troubled. "My apothecaries inform me that Morgan Sedreth will be bedridden for another three weeks or so, although he is occasionally conscious. He is very weak, however, and he is not to receive visitors for a while. I shall arrange accommodation for the two of you in guest quarters. In light of captain Esceriel's report, we will ensure you have access to training areas. Naturally you will retain access to your vessel at all times. Our techmarines, however, will require access to understand how the ship was automated so completely."
"You are very generous, Lord Commander. We are honoured to accept."
Sedreth woke slowly and painfully, as he'd done for too long. This time, though, he remained conscious. The medical servitor immediately, as it had for several days, it must be, bustled over to run various diagnostics. Well, he assumed they were diagnostics anyway. After a few moments a black-clad apothecary walked up to check the servitor's displays. The man looked down at him.
"How's the chest, marine?"
He winced as he answered. "Painful."
"Good. Painful means the pectoral nerves are healing. Strange as it might seem, astartes, you are going to survive and heal back to full fitness." The man grinned briefly. "You'll have a hell of a scar to show recruits though."
Sedreth managed a weak smile. There would be no recruits; the Legion, the real Legion not the chaos one, had no geneseed. His own implants had been removed by Fabius Bile forty centuries ago, and it wasn't as if there were thousands of Emperor's Children astartes with untainted geneseed out there, even if he'd be stupid enough to take the implants from the followers of Slaanesh in the first place. And he doubted Fabius, in the unlikely event they met again, would be willing to part with any of his own store – assuming he still had one.
"How long am I stuck here?"
The apothecary smiled slightly. "You're healing well. Another couple of weeks and you'll be able to stand. After that it's up to you how quickly you get back to full combat fitness."
Two more weeks. "How long have I been here?"
"Seven weeks. Plus the transit time back to Baal. Call it three months."
"Three months?"
The man gave him the familiar look of medical personnel faced with formerly active but bedridden patients. "Marine, you should be dead. I've never seen anyone come that close to death and not end up in a dreadnought. Your armour's irreparable, and you almost were too. So rest, and let your body recover."
"Thank you. Why are you healing me?"
"Orders from the Lord Commander. He wants to talk to you. And you saved the lives of Blood Angels, Morgan Sedreth. Whatever you may have done in the past, that at least deserves the chance to heal and explain yourself."
Sedreth nodded weakly. "I understand. I shall sleep now." He closed his eyes and let the darkness of sleep claim him again. The apothecary moved away to check on his other patients.
"How is our guest?"
"He will recover, brother-captain. Though it will be weeks before he can stand unaided and months before he is fit to dress for battle."
"How long before he can hold a conversation?"
"A couple of days, no more."
"Good. Keep me informed."
"By your command, brother-captain."
"Oof!" The scout grunted as he landed on his face, but rolled out of the follow-up fast and was back on his feet quickly, a warier expression on his face, the blood trickle from his broken nose almost instantly staunched by the astartes clotting agents. Sara silently cursed. He wouldn't underestimate her again. She moved in for a second attack, choosing a pattern Sedreth said had been going out of fashion before the Rebellion. The man blocked swiftly, one, two, three, and threw the expected response; she tugged his wrist and kicked him in the ribcage, but he managed to twist his arm and grab her in turn, ignoring the impact. She dropped, scissoring his legs, and he fell on top of her, driving an elbow painfully into her gut, but her free hand was under his chin, fingers at his throat.
"Match. Brother Adris, your elbow strike is incorrectly placed. She is only crippled. See where her hand is? You are dead. The strike would tear your throat out." Sergeant Reterius' face was grim. He turned to face the scout squads. "What was Adris' error? Anyone?"
A marine stepped forward. "He underestimated his opponent, brother-sergeant."
Reterius shook his head. "He did, but that was not his only error. Anyone else?"
A second scout marine stepped forward. "He forgot to take advantage of his physical attributes, sergeant. He had the advantage of reach and power, and forgive me, sera, but you are not astartes, likely stamina as well. He should have been more cautious than to let sera Tarken close when he did not know her abilities. Keeping her at range for a few passes would have given him the opportunity to spot any weakness."
Reterius nodded. "Good, Garel. A cogent analysis. Let's see if you can fight as well as you analyse others."
The young marine stepped onto the mat and took position. Sara stepped to guard. Keep her at a distance would he? There were problems with that approach. 'You can run, my friend, but you can't hide,' she thought, smiling at her opponent. Damn, her stomach hurt.
Sandros watched as Reterius put the scouts through their paces. A clever idea to have them fight the woman; none of them had seen her before and they did not give her the respect an unknown opponent was due. That was a mistake that had been the end of too many promising young astartes. Adris would not forget the lesson. Nor, he suspected as Garel landed on his back with an audible impact, would any of the others.
"Not bad, Garel. However, as I trust you have all noted, reach and power are not everything. Sera, that was a neat trick. Thank you for your assistance."
"An honour, brother-sergeant." She bowed formally and walked back to the dressing room she'd been allocated. Brother-captain Sandros moved to intercept, and she paused, waiting for him.
"An interesting demonstration. I have not seen the sequence you used against scout Adris before."
She nodded. "Sedreth told me that it was going out of fashion even before the Heresy. It is very difficult in armour; the suit tends to keep your centre of gravity too high."
He thought for a second, thinking it through. "I can see that it might. A useful sequence to know though, if only to defend against it. Adris was pulled right into a dangerous strike."
"Yes. That is the intention. If you don't try and follow the opening, it's defensible, but there is a secondary sequence which flows from it which can gain an attacker great advantage, if you're good enough."
"And Sedreth is good enough."
She smiled slightly, walking alongside him. "Sedreth is probably as good as anyone you'll ever have the misfortune to meet. He's been fighting for a hundred centuries after all."
"It goes against the grain to agree with that, sera. But you are correct. Brother-sergeant Quinn said he'd never seen anyone fight like he did."
"Sergeant Quinn is very generous. He and his Terminators are a credit to the very ideals of astartes. If you'll forgive me for saying so. It is a tremendous honour to have been allowed to walk amongst the Blood Angels. Janey and I will remember it always."
Sandros smiled in his turn, a polite smile, formal and only barely touching his single human eye. "You may have further such opportunity. The Lord Commander might decide to keep your ship for our own battle-fleet."
She shook her head. "He will not. We have something to do, although I do not know yet what it is. It will cost Sedreth his life though."
"Does that disturb you?"
"Yes. But I think he will be pleased to die for his Emperor. He regrets very much having been told off as his Primarch's honour squad."
"Oh?" Sandros, unlike others, had not heard this before.
"Yes. Had he and his brothers not been, they probably would have dropped with the Betrayed, and died clean. Instead..." she shrugged, a sad lift of the shoulder. "Well, you know."
"Indeed."
She tilted her head slightly, almost amused. "You are not convinced."
"No. Nor are you."
"No. Morgan followed his Primarch into damnation. He saw his genefather lose his very soul to a daemon's possession and instead of turning from the same path he embraced it in despair. He became one of the most dangerous killers in a Legion of thirty thousand expert, depraved, and sadistic killers. Does he regret it? Oh, yes. Deeply and sincerely. Do I acquit him for his misdeeds because of that regret? No. I cannot. I like him. I truly believe he cares deeply for both myself and my daughter, but I cannot forget who and what he was." She smiled suddenly. "And do you know something? Neither can he."
Sandros nodded thoughtfully. "You think he intended to die on the hulk?"
She stopped and hesitated for a long moment. "No. But I think he was prepared to. Whether he expects to die or not, Sedreth will not go quietly from the galaxy, but with sword and bolter in his hand and a battle-cry on his lips. It is what he is; he could no more surrender or give up in combat than you could. Than any astartes could. You might retreat if absolutely forced to, or for tactical advantage, but you could no more give up than you could fly unaided."
Sandros' scarred face flickered into a tiny smile, this time genuine amusement. "Is that how you read us?"
"Is it not true?" she countered. "The space marines are a tiny fraction of a fraction of all the millions of warriors under arms in the galaxy. Yet you are feared, or amongst species which know no fear, respected, far beyond your numbers, far beyond any other military force. That is not merely a function of good martial skills. I suppose it is difficult for you to comprehend, but I am not so long removed from the ordinary citizens of the Imperium that I do not. The very names of the Chapters are words of awe, as even an army does not awe. How many times has a single squad of space marines fought alongside entire regiments, even armies, of the Imperial Guard and rallied them from impossible odds? You are worthy of your legends, Blood Angel, worthy of every single one of them."
Sandros looked at her, unused to the praise. She grinned. "And I shall always remember the day I beat a Blood Angel in a match."
He couldn't help himself. He had to laugh, for all that it might destroy a long-earned reputation. "You think you beat a Blood Angel, captain Tarken? I tell you truth, a space marine scout is only the shadow of the astartes he will one day become. Would you care to try a real Blood Angel?"
She laughed too. "Is that a challenge, brother-captain? Then I accept. Blades?"
Sandros nodded. "Blades and full armour, captain, if you will."
"Very well, brother-captain. Half an hour? I shall have to fetch my armour from my ship."
"I shall send an escort for you in twenty minutes, captain."
She inclined her head and smiled again. "Twenty minutes, brother-captain."
'Oh, Sara, what have you got yourself into now?' she thought as another flashing attack whipped millimetres past her visor. Sandros was clearly not holding back very much if at all, and she could tell she was outclassed against the assault marine captain. She tongued the adrenal boost up a notch; maybe she might be able to match him for a while.
Sandros felt the familiar pull of combat as another of his attacks was parried. The riposte would have disembowelled a lesser warrior and he grinned inwardly as he realised she was going all out – from necessity rather than any desire to injure him. She was good, but not as good, or as experienced, as he was, not to mention her physical disadvantages. He saw an opening and smashed his chainsword onto her shoulder-plate with a clash of sparks.
She leapt back and saluted the contact, coming en garde again. Fair enough; in armour it wasn't any sort of crippling blow. He moved in again, this time to be parried hard enough that he felt the shock right to his gut. He blade went fractionally wide and her swift follow-up drew a screech against his hastily turned hip. He swung hard and she rolled under the blow, diving into him and bringing them both down. Clever bitch; he thrust upwards with his knees and sent her past him in a clatter of power armour. Both of them rolled upwards and came back to face each other.
Dante watched from the observation balcony. The woman was good. She used her mind in combat to counter the disadvantages of facing a space marine. Still, Sandros was better; a second impact on her armour, then a third and a fourth glancing blow before a blinding riposte slammed into his left arm with a brutal crack. The assault marine jumped back and pulled her in for a follow-up; her strike was clearly faster than he'd expected and it and his return connected simultaneously.
"Match." Esceriel's voice was clear. And the two stepped apart. They both took off their helmets: Sandros barely looked warmed up; Tarken was sweating freely, her hair plastered to her forehead despite the armour's cooling systems. It had clearly taken everything she had just to lose without being humiliated. Still, it was an impressive performance; Sandros had not made assault marine captain by chance.
Sara looked up at the towering assault marine. "I am glad I am not an enemy, brother-captain. I would not want to face you if you were going full out."
Sandros nodded politely. "You are very skilled, captain. Brother-captain Esceriel did not overstate your abilities." He had no intention of letting her, or anyone else, realise how little he had been holding back.
She smiled slightly and bowed briefly. "My abilities, such as they are, clearly do not match the Ninth astartes. It is much easier to understand a hundred centuries of unbroken victory now that I have had the honour of facing a Blood Angel."
Sandros bowed slightly in his turn. "Does that satisfy the demands of politeness, captain?"
She grinned as they stepped away from the practice cages. "I hope so. The bruises you've left will, anyway. I will be sore for many days."
He took her forearm in the warrior's grip, a rare honour indeed for any non-astartes. "You broke my forearm."
"My apologies; I did not expect you to parry with it."
"Indeed. The parry, though, gave me an opening. In real combat it would have killed you."
"Several times, I think. Might I have a copy of the vid record?"
"Of course. A warrior should always keep learning."
Neither of them noticed the Lord Commander walk quietly away.
Marneus Calgar was not the sort of man who received personal calls often. Not, given that he was the Lord Commander of the legendary Ultramarines Chapter Astartes, that he had many friends who might place personal calls in the first place. So it was with a certain sense of anticipation that he accepted the coded person-to-person call from the other side of the galaxy.
Lord Commander Dante, at over ten centuries the oldest living astartes Chapter head, was a galaxy-wide legend on the same level as Calgar himself. But even for a Lord Commander, a person-to-person real-time call was an exceptional use of resources. Whatever it was had to be important.
"Dante, old friend. It is good to see your face again. The Emperor's Grace on you."
"Hello, Calgar. I see He still keeps you safe in His service. I have a report for you which I'd rather not courier. This transmission is as secure as I can make it. Can you receive?"
Calgar nodded and pressed the control to accept the coded burst transmission and glanced at its header. "I presume that there is more? You would not call me halfway across the galaxy for a combat report, even one on a space hulk encounter."
The gold-armoured Blood Angel gave a savage grin. "You're still too damned smart for your own good. Yes, there is something else. What do you know about a rogue trader named Tarken?"
"Oh. That."
"Yes. That. You let an Emperor's Children space marine loose, Marneus. What in the Emperor's name possessed you?"
Calgar nodded grimly. "I was not possessed, old friend. I was ordered."
"Ordered? By whom? Come on, Marneus, quit beating about. This call is expensive. There is no-one who has the authority to order you on this sort of thing."
"Not, precisely, accurate. Lord Guilleman could. So could his father."
Dante blinked at him. "What?"
"The Emperor Himself gave the order. You have heard of the 'Miracle' here four and a half years ago?"
"Yeees." Dante's tone was questioning. "Something about the Throne of the Primarch shining and a child's prayer being answered? Since you didn't officially report it, I discounted it."
"I didn't report it because it was real. You've met the Child."
"The Child? The girl? Tarken's daughter had a prayer answered by the Emperor in person?"
Calgar nodded silently. "There's more, not generally reported. The Emperor spoke through all the Chapter's librarians at once. And He raised a dead man."
A short silence.
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"Very. If you ever run into brother-captain Abdiel of the Black Templars, you can ask him how it felt. He was the dead man in question."
"You're certain he was dead?"
"Oh, yes. He had a hole in his chest you could drop a bolter into, courtesy of a tyranid carnifex. He was very very dead. Two of my marines were standing vigil and they saw the hole heal, leaving just a scar, then he woke up."
"You're sure it wasn't some sort of chaos trick?"
"I'm sure. The Astronomicon burned brighter than it has in centuries; I presume you noticed."
Dante grimaced. "We noticed. My astropaths and Librarians thought it was the Emperor sending a warning against the tyranid hive fleets."
Calgar smiled slowly. "He did. Then He sent us. We annihilated a spur of hive fleet Behemoth. I think the tyranids noticed."
"Good. Let them know fear." He paused, then went on. "Back to Tarken and Sedreth, though. Am I to conclude that they're not your agents then?"
"No. If anything, they're the Emperor's agents. How did you meet them?"
"They reported that hulk. The marine Sedreth almost got himself killed teleporting aboard with additional weapons and ammunition for some of my Terminators who'd been cut off. He went hand-to-hand with 'stealers in Mark IV plate."
Calgar's eyebrows rose. "He should be dead."
"He should be. But he's not. And there's another thing. His... pinion."
"I saw it. It's real then? I didn't contact you in case it wasn't."
"It's real. It sings to us, Marneus. Sings to the Blood Angels. Of war and death and love and honour. Did you see their chapel?"
"No. I was told it was quite dusty, as if unused for a long time, then seemed to re-light itself when Abdiel was healed."
"Yes, well, that means you didn't see the plaque. They found the drop lists, Calgar. The names of every space marine virus-bombed from orbit at the beginning of the Heresy. Thirty-seven thousand loyal astartes. I appended it to the report you have. I want your support on adding them to the official lists of Imperial Martyrs, Marneus. They fought to the last man."
"You have it, old friend. No question."
"Do you know what this mysterious 'task' is they're supposed to do?"
"No. But it's important enough that the Emperor in person commanded it done."
Dante sighed. "Very well. Thanks, Marneus. His Grace and Light on you and your Ultramarines."
"May His Strength and Wisdom be with the Blood Angels, Dante. Ask the girl what her prayer was. Good hunting, old friend."
"And to you. Take care of yourself, whelp." Dante grinned suddenly, looking centuries younger. "Dante out." He cut the connection.
Calgar looked at the vid. 'Whelp' indeed. He chuckled, relieved that Dante's sardonic humour remained intact. He ran the report, watching it carefully and sitting in silence long after the list of dead names had scrolled past. Then he pressed the comms unit. "Mikel, can you have the chaplains assemble in the main chapel? I shall meet them there."
Janey was at her exercises in Phoenix's practice room. Brother-sergeant Quinn and his squad were with her today. She liked them. They were sort of quiet and confident, which reminded her of Mr Morgan. She'd been allowed to see him yesterday, but he'd been asleep. It was nice to know he was getting better though.
She took three running steps and flipped into a series of flic-flacs that took her across the mat, then rolled to her feet and down again into an unsupported handstand, holding it for a count of five. Then she slowly lowered herself, keeping her body and legs vertical until her arms were bent at a right angle and her forehead almost touched the mat. Then up again. Then down again, repeating the vertical press-up, then three more, by which point her arms were trembling. She lowered her legs into a pike, then shoved backwards and landed on her feet, giving the watching marines a quick grin before launching herself at the obstacle course Mr Morgan had set up for him and mummy to train on. It was quite hard, 'cos the obstacles were all grown-up sized, but it was fun too.
Quinn watched the girl as she assaulted – there was no other word for such a display of energy and enthusiasm – the obstacles. She was clearly in superlative physical condition, and used to pushing her still-developing physique to a much greater degree than most children. Or most adults for that matter. Not that he could not do better; he could, much. But he was an enhanced superhuman who had trained every day of his life for nigh on two hundred years, not a ten-year-old – eleven-year-old, it had been her birthday last month – child.
He glanced at the other members of the squad; they were watching as closely as he was. She was exceptionally agile and used her agility well.
A movement caught his eye on the observation balcony and he glanced upwards to see a tall man watching, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches. It took him a second or so to recognise the still drawn features of Morgan Sedreth, looking very much the worse for wear. He met the man's eye briefly and nodded. The girl, dodging automatic blows and thrusts, ran swiftly along a rail and vaulted to the ground, slipping a suddenly out-thrust spike with almost casual ease and driving the heel of her hand into the target marker. The machine switched off. She turned and grinned, triumphant, then spotted the big space marine. With a squeal of joy she vaulted up onto the obstacles, and then the top of the machine, before leaping to the balcony rail and running full-tilt along it, throwing herself at the big man.
"Mr Morgan! You're better."
He caught her one-armed, a strangely gentle look in his care-worn eyes. Quinn realised abruptly that the man was devoted to the child. It was almost shocking to realise that an astartes could be devoted to anything but the Emperor; the Lord of Mankind was the fulcrum of Quinn's existence, and of all of his brothers and all the other space marines he had fought alongside. He met his brothers' eyes and indicated with his head that they should leave the two to get reacquainted. The Blood Angels slipped quietly out of the practice room.
"Come in, sera." Lord Commander Dante's voice was soft. The room was deep in the fortress-monastery of the Blood Angels; Janey wasn't sure she could find her way out again without sergeant Deneth to guide her. She walked in hesitantly. The stone-flagged floor bore a huge winged teardrop picked out in red and black stone – the legendary symbol of the Blood Angels, but slightly different, less stylised. Older, she realised. From the high vaulted ceiling hung a dozen banners, stained and torn but unfaded and bright still. The walls were panelled in wood, dark and deep with the polish of thousands of years.
Dante stood in front of a fireplace, huge and age-blackened, its marble inlays patterned like the dappled wings of the Lord Sanguinius in the picture in the chapel. He gestured easily to a huge chair – sized for space marines – with carved decorations and time-worn gilts.
"Please, take a seat." He smiled slightly; it looked sort of wrong. The Lord Commander of the Blood Angels didn't smile much. He seated himself opposite her, in a similar chair, and leaned back.
"Do you know where you are?"
She shook her head nervously.
"This is my private audience chamber. Every Lord Commander has used the same rooms I do; all conversations are automatically recorded and stored to archives. Normally, no non-astartes is allowed here." He paused to let her think for a second or so. "So you are no doubt wondering why you are here."
She nodded, wondering what she might have done.
"I spoke with Lord Commander Calgar a few days ago. He spoke about the Emperor."
She nodded again, though she'd not spoken with Lord Calgar. She would have definitely remembered that.
"Sera, what did you pray for that the Lord of Mankind would answer you?"
She flushed. "Uhm. For His son."
The dark eyes demanded more and she hesitated then went on. "'Cos Mr Morgan told me and mummy how he'd seen him, when he killed Ferrus Manus. How he'd reversed his sword to kill himself then stopped, like he heard someone's voice. Then he sort of gave up, an' then the daemon took him. Mr Morgan tol' us how he saw pure evil look out from his Primarch's eyes. An' it's had him for ten thousand years. An' I thought, no-one deserves that, no matter what they did. Maybe the Emperor would forgive him, or maybe help him somehow. So I prayed for the soul of His son, Fulgrim."
The Lord Commander sat silently for a few seconds; she couldn't tell if he was angry or what. Finally he spoke again. "And what happened?"
Janey thought back to that day. "He heard. All the bells started ringing, and the shrine we were at started to shine, bright bright blue an' sort-of white at the same time. An', and, the Emperor spoke in my mind. I'll never forget it. He said, 'Cease! Marneus Calgar, in thou am I well pleased. Thou shalt lead My Ultramarines into battle on Caltenis, and thou shalt be Triumphant. Morgan Sedreth, thy task is not yet ended. Thy penance shall be great and thy life the cost of it, yet am I merciful. Thou shalt abide here until My fleet does return Victorious. Ready thyself, for I shall test thee and thine. Know, My Ultramarines, that though he now sleeps, My Son Robouté shalt restored be to Me. AND THE CHILD'S PRAYER IS ANSWERÉD!' And I could see all the world, then all the worlds, all covered in little fires, all different colours, all across the galaxy and all the stars moving and then I sort of moved to look at just one light far far away. It was all soft and nearly gone out and sort of wrapped in a sort of horrid purpley-blue. And Mr Morgan was crying inside and he said 'My Primarch', and he loved him so much. And the Emperor, He shone so bright, like a huge column of fire across the universe, and that little dying light suddenly got stronger, huge and bright and sort of defiant again."
Dante looked at her with a strange expression. Then he spoke again. "Thank you for telling me, sera. You have given me much to think about."
She managed a smile. "Sorry, Lord Commander."
"There is nothing to apologise for, sera. I serve the Emperor in all things. He has tasked you, and Morgan Sedreth, and your mother. The Emperor's rule is iron to the Blood Angels, as it is for all loyal astartes. There is one thing I would ask of you, however."
She looked up at his grim still-handsome face. The Blood Angels tended to be handsome, she thought. "What is it?"
"Sedreth wears the pinion of our Primarch on his armour. My Librarians say he – and you – will need its protection. But, when you have done whatever it is you must do, will you return it to us?"
She nodded. "Yes. If any of us live through, whatever it is, we'll bring it back to you."
He smiled. A more real-looking smile than the earlier one. He pressed a gold button on his chair. "Deneth, is captain Tarken here yet?"
"Lord Commander, she approaches now, with brother-captains Esceriel and Matthias, tech-captain Vivane and Lord Librarian Mephiston."
"Show them in, and ensure we are not disturbed."
"By your command, Lord Commander."
A few moments later there was a brief knock, and Deneth showed in mummy and the four Blood Angels. They were all in full armour, even mummy. Only she and Lord Commander Dante were not wearing battle-gear. Janey tried hard not to stare at tech-captain Vivane, whose armour had all sorts of extra limbs and tentacle-y probe things on it. The man also had an artifical eye and hand. He caught her eye and nodded politely. "Sera."
"Hello, brother-tech-captain. It's an honour to meet you."
His voice was a bit raspy, and she realised he had a vodor in his throat. "I am likewise pleased to meet you at last, sera. I have heard much about you. You mother informed me that you fitted her armour by hand?"
She nodded. "I've got the smallest fingers, so Mr Morgan told me what to do to make all the adjustments."
"Indeed. A good job, sera. Captain Tarken was good enough to allow me to examine her suit. It is a remarkable creation. An adaptation of Mks IV and VI armour is it not?"
"Yes, sir. Me and Mr Morgan worked on it for a long time, "
"Ahem." Lord Commander Dante cleared his throat. "Fascinating as the subject is, perhaps it can wait?"
She blushed and nodded, ducking her head in embarrassment. Esceriel chuckled.
"You don't change, Vivane."
The techmarine replied with a faint twinkle in his eye. "And you want me to, old friend? My apologies, Lord Commander."
Lord Dante was pouring goblets of some dark red liquid. "Have you completed your work, Vivane?"
"Yes, Lord Commander. We have been able to complete everything. The vessel is fully munitioned and we have been able to find sufficient focussing crystals to bring her lances up to full power."
"And the other?"
"That too, Lord Commander. Captain Tarken has been most helpful in allowing my techmarines access to the armoury. All the repairs have been made." He smiled grimly. "All we need now is a company of Morgan Sedreths to wear them."
Mummy shook her head. "There will be none. Morgan has no geneseed. And I don't think he wants to recruit new space marines anyway. It's not what we have to do."
"What do you have to do?" asked Matthias curiously.
"I don't know. We'll know when we do it, I suppose. The Emperor will guide us as He wills."
"Well said, captain," said Lord Mephiston. "The Emperor moves as He designs."
Lord Dante nodded and handed round the filled goblets. Janey was given one too, with only a small amount in it. She sniffed despite herself; it smelled funny.
"It is a tradition, amongst the Blood Angels to toast the success of any truly dangerous enterprise. Thus we toasted the success of our recent destruction of the space hulk you found, and asked the Angel's blessing on our efforts. Captain, you and your daughter are about to embark on a mission for the Emperor Himself, trusting to His protection in the warp, and to the loyalty of a marine who fell from his loyalty once before." He held up a strong hand. "No, I know you believe in Morgan Sedreth's honour and loyalty. But it does no harm to ask for the Primarch's guidance and strength."
He raised his glass and spoke formally. "Lord Primarch, father of us all, we pray that you look down upon these allies of your lineage and lend them your strength and wisdom as they carry out the task our Emperor has assigned them." He drank from the glittering crystal.
One by one the others drank too. Janey lifted her glass and swallowed the dark crimson stuff. It tasted funny too. Abruptly the room was gone and she felt a warm light. A whisper of feathers sounded in her ears and she felt something – someone – touch her face with gentle fingers. Then she was back in the room, blinking. Mummy was on the floor and she jumped out of her chair. Captain Esceriel caught her.
"Be easy, child. She is unharmed."
Sure enough, mummy was standing up, looking shaken. She was shivering, and holding her chest. "His claws. I can still feel them in my chest."
Lord Mephiston looked suddenly worried. "What do you remember, captain?"
"A sword. I had a crimson sword, slick with black blood. And he was all in black, Terminator armour with lightning claws. I couldn't hurt him no matter how hard I hit him. I felt my wings break." Her voice seemed to change, to become deeper even than Mr Morgan's, full of sorrow and pain and achingly beautiful. "Oh, my poor brother, how could you be so blind?" Captain Matthias was flung away as mummy came to her feet and swung at someone only she could see. "Horus! This is not you! Horus!" Mummy roared, a huge sound that couldn't possibly come from a woman's throat, then lunged, as if she held a sword. Then she bellowed in pain, fell again and lay still. Janey struggled futilely against Esceriel's strong grasp.
Lord Mephiston knelt beside mummy. He touched her head and looked up slowly. "It was a true vision. She shared it all." His eyes were dark, like they'd changed colour. He looked at her; there was something funny about that look.
"What happened?" she asked. "Why did mummy fight?"
"The wine contains a tiny fraction of the blood of the Primarch. Just one drop in the entire making of it. It appears to have affected your mother as ,.." He paused and looked at Lord Dante who nodded permission. "Sometimes, on the eve of battle, our ancestry speaks to us, to the Blood Angels, and we share our Primarch's last moments. Blood Angels who do that go berserk with rage and are placed in a special unit, so that they can fight and die honourably in battle rather than have to be restrained for their own and others' safety. Those few that survive the battle tend to go insane. I am sorry."
He turned back to mummy, a glow rising in his Librarian's hood.
Mummy's eyes opened with a groan and she slowly sat up, shaking her head. "I am not insane, Lord Mephiston. But I am truly sorry for your loss. And I think I broke my hand." She smiled slowly at her, and Janey ran into a hug. She was still mummy. They both looked round at the huge men.
Lord Mephiston reached out and touched mummy's temple again. Then nodded, like he was satisfied. "You are most fortunate, captain. Were you one of us, you would probably be unable to distinguish the vision from reality right now."
Mummy nodded. "I shall not forget it."
"Lord Dante," said Janey. "I saw something too. A bright light, and a whisper of wings. He loves his Blood Angels." She didn't have to say who 'he' was.
Matthias suddenly chuckled, breaking the tension. "Well, at least now we know why the wine is never given to ordinary citizens." He grinned. "You hit hard, captain Tarken. I shall bear the bruises for a small while I think."
Esceriel smiled briefly. "She had the strength of the Primarch, in part, brother. If it wasn't for that armour you would have more than bruises."
"And here was me thinking I was getting soft."
"The day you get soft, Matthias, I shall retire and hand over command of the chapter to a civilian." Lord Dante's deep voice held amusement. He looked at mummy. "I did not realise you would be so affected, captain. My apologies."
Mummy suddenly smiled, a very serious, very genuine smile. "Lord Commander, I am honoured above any woman I can think of. Neither myself nor Janey shall ever speak of this, but if we can ever assist the Angel's sons, in any way, you have but to ask."
Janey wondered how on earth the two or them – three with Mr Morgan – could possibly do anything a whole Chapter of space marines – of Blood Angels – couldn't do, but stayed quiet and nodded. Lord Commander Dante nodded seriously. "We shall remember that, captain. But it is time to say farewell. You will be putting out tomorrow."
"By your command, Lord Dante," said mummy. Captain Esceriel showed them both to the door, where sergeant Deneth waited.