Domus Discordia Chapter 48

The chains wrapped around his wrists, a snaking line of plasteel links encircling his forearms. They had been bonded link by link to his armour, so that they would not restrict movement nor catch in the heat of battle. In a way they were a masterful piece of work, intricate and skilfully made, yet their purpose was undeniable, none could look upon him and not recognise his shame. Memnos knew that he would never be able to hide his disgrace but he no longer wanted to. Memnos had come to a certain understanding; he had come to accept his penance. He knew that he would never be able to forget what he had done, so he would not try. He had sworn to always remember the suffering he had inflicted, he had sworn that their memory would become his drive serve others.

Memnos was currently walking through the bowels of the Fortress-Monastery, but he was not alone. With him were the Chapter's Captains, Toran, Hakulo, Nimodes and Cyvo, accompanying Chapter Master Phalros on his journey. The group were escorting the Apothecary to his destination, though to support him or condemn him was unclear.

As they walked Hakulo was talking, "So Cyvo, how do you enjoy being a Captain?"

Hesitantly Cyvo replied, "It is an immense honour, yet quite a challenge. There is so much to learn, it is almost overwhelming."

Hakulo mirthfully jested, "Don't fret, if we let Toran here do it, how hard can it be?"

Toran rolled his organic eye and poked back, "Are you talking about me… Fourth Captain?"

"Urgh, why did it have to be Fourth?" Hakulo spat, "That was wretched Jossat's number."

Toran smiled warmly and replied, "I am confident that you shall make it a symbol to be respected once more."

Nimodes sighed in exasperation and changed the subject, "How is Second Company shaping up?"

Cyvo explained, "It is a difficult change, losing Maxitio was hard. Yet my Initiates are eager to prove themselves, they just need some time to adapt to their new situation."

Nimodes looked thoughtful and said, "Perhaps you should give them something to unite behind, a symbol or a rallying cry."

"Heroes of the Second," Cyvo mused thoughtfully, "Hungry for war and hard to kill… it works."

At that point Phalros stated, "I shall be keeping the Second close until they are ready, yet we cannot linger long. Time does not favour us so Third and Fourth Companies must deploy as soon as possible. War rages across the stars, even the Saint Karyl Trail is not free from strife. Rebellions, Chaos incursions and Xenos attacks are everywhere. We must respond with full fury, it is our duty to keep this vital Warp Route open."

Thoughtfully Memnos pointed out, "Our numbers are badly depleted and the Scout Company can only train new initiates so fast. Even in the best case, it will be a century before we are back to full strength; we will be badly overstretched in the coming years."

Hakulo bristled at the Apothecary daring to speak but Toran jumped in to say, "We can't change that but we still have our strength and our weapons. We will meet the Emperor's enemies head-on and show them that we are yet a power to be reckoned with."

Hakulo grumbled, "We would be significantly more powerful had we not sent a Strike Cruiser away."

Phalros' face was stony as he responded, "Do you doubt the need?"

Hakulo paused for a second then lowered his eyes said, "No my lord, you made the right decision."

Phalros accepted the submission but did not rub it in as he explained, "We are still well-endowed with ships, I shall be scattering the fleet far and wide to hunt down raiders and pirates. Fourth Company shall take the Battlebarge Thunderlord to secure the mining worlds around Forgeworld Crux Lapis. The Tech-priests are reluctant to dispatch their forces while their own dominions are at risk. We can't allow that, the Imperium desperately needs their armies, especially the Legio Astraman and the Knights of San Grael. Meanwhile Third Company shall take the Thunderchild and begin a campaign to liberate embattled worlds. I shall be assigning First Company warriors to support you both; we have countless worlds to save and no time at all to do it."

Memnos dared to ask, "Then you intend to continue Gorgall's policy of cooperation?"

Phalros paused then said, "Not exactly, Gorgall was admirable in many ways but his flaw was his moderation. He tried too hard to satisfy everybody, to appease Lessall and Samect. Had he brooked no dissent in our ranks then maybe history would have been different. Henceforth I intend to suffer no hint of vacillation or diffidence in the performance of our duties. Under my rule the Storm Heralds shall become zealous and fanatical in our support of Terra, in executing the Living Primarch's will. We shall not hesitate to spill our last drop of blood, to serve our gene-father and Him on Terra."

Memnos stopped walking and said, "Then it is even more important that I do this."

Toran looked up, at the doors to the Primus-Apothecarion, before which they were stood and asked, "You are sure you don't want us to come with you?"

Memnos shook his head and explained, "It has to be me. My order does not understand the reasons for their punishment, they think that they did nothing wrong. Wrethan was right about one thing, if I do not force them to grasp the magnitude of their crimes then the rot will persist. A few centuries from now, somebody will whisper that they should try again, that the visionary project should be restarted. We cannot allow that, it must be stopped, here and now."

"How do you intend to proceed?" Hakulo inquired.

"With fire," Memnos answered grimly.

"It seems you have corrected your ways," Phalros stated, "We cannot forgive nor forget, but perhaps your future is not honourless after all."

At that Memnos bowed and took his leave, marching into the Primus-Apothecarion. He passed through the sterilising mists and emerged into the wide arena of the central laboratorium. Once inside he found himself confronted by a crowd of serf-medicaes as well as his fellow six Apothecaries.

These warrior-healers were clad in their white armour, each adorned with the Chains of Shame but otherwise they could not have looked more different to Memnos. Their unhelmed faces bore no trace of humility or contrition, their heads were held high and their expressions were filled with bitterness. Memnos could see it in their eyes, their resentment and their umbrage. They did not understand why they were being punished; they did not believe that they had done anything wrong. Memnos had expected no less, their hypno-indoctrination was a formidable barrier. It was intended to erect mighty walls around their minds, keeping doubt and hesitation at bay. He had to change that, he had to make sure they never thought of repeating their crimes. Yet to break through those walls first required a massive shock.

Memnos saw all eyes turn to him as he marched past but he ignored them. He strode up to the blank door leading to the secret Apothecarion where a gaggle of serfs awaited him, one of them bearing a flamer. Memnos took up the weapon and then stomped into the place where he had forsaken his honour. Memnos traversed the first antechamber, heading deeper into the suite where the secret work had been conducted. The area was deserted save for the customary servo-skulls and cyber cherubs, all others being evacuated earlier. The sight caused his memories to replay all the times he had walked these halls, all the hours he had spent poring over the intricacies of genic research while labouring upon arcane gene-tech. He saw now that the work had consumed his mind, an obsession that had blinded him to all else and turned him from his duty. So much pain, so many deaths, all by his hand and the thought made his grip on the flamer tighten with self-loathing.

Memnos stopped at the door to one of the implantation chambers, where the poisoned gene-seed had been sown into helpless children. Here Memnos paused and lit the pilot light on the flamer, then donned his helm and sealed the rebreather. Memnos pointed the weapon into the chamber, but paused for a second as the enormity of what he was about to do sank in. Despite everything this project had been intended to safeguard the Chapter against a hostile universe, but if he went through with this he was plunging the Storm Heralds into an uncertain future. For a moment Memnos grappled with himself, but then he remembered Furion's words and his conviction hardened. There was no denying it, if the Storm Heralds approved of abominations like this then they didn't deserve to survive. Memnos hissed, "Never again," then he squeezed the trigger.

Instantly a plume of burning promethium was ejected from the nozzle, bathing the room in roaring flames. Shrieking alarms lit and cyber-cherubs flitted about, wailing in distress as nozzles began to spray inert gases. Yet Memnos held the trigger down, filling the space with roaring flames that could not be extinguished. The conflagration spilled everywhere, consuming all and sweeping away the past with purifying flame.

Sure of his course Memnos went from room to room, laboratium to storage area, clinical space to recovery ward, burning all as he went. Memnos' armour shimmered and the plasteel chains glowed cherry-red as his plate's spirit shrieked heat warnings but he ignored it. His vision was obscured by smoke and his thermal mode was useless yet he pressed on, he did not need to see to complete his task. He burned the devices; he burned the cogitators and the chemical baths, the bubbling gestation chambers and the dissection gurneys. He left nothing but roaring flames in his wake, destroying two hundred years of labour in minutes.

Soon the chambers were filled with a raging inferno, fed by exploding chemicals and blazing promethium. Arcane devices collapsed in on themselves, altered organs boiled in their preservation fluids and meticulously kept records were incinerated. Memnos left nothing intact, he destroyed it all and he was glad to do so. Once the flames had spread to every corner Memnos left to return to the Primus Apothecarion, trailing thick smoke behind him. He sealed the thick fire-proof door, then wrenched off his helm as he turned to a serf snarling, "Weld this shut."

As a pair of serfs went to work Memnos looked upon his brethren. Confusion reigned now, mixed with disbelief. They had just seen two hundred years of work incinerated before their eyes, countless hours of intensive research and experimentation destroyed. They were aghast, they were outraged and appalled, their equilibrium was rocked to the core which meant Memnos could now ram his point home. The Apothecary turned to the last serf, who had a large augmetic focussing lens projecting from his left eye. Memnos had gone to immense trouble to find this one and he said, "Bring forth your tools."

Obediently the serf presented a micro-lathe and a las-etching tool. Memnos held out his arm, exposing his chains and the serf brought the tools to bear as his eye whirred and clicked, magnifying his vision to see in minuscule detail. As the confused Apothecaries looked on Memnos returned their stares, he needed them to understand why he had done this, he needed them to understand why it could never be allowed to happen again.

"Inscribe this," Memnos commanded, "Erad son of Erath."

Diligently the serf went to work, etching the name onto the Chains of Shame in microscopic detail. After it was done Memnos declared, "He came to us with trust in his heart and we repaid him by pouring poison into his lungs."

The gathered Apothecaries looked uncertain but Memnos pressed on, "Babos of the Southern Isles, he thought we would give him a chance to become like us, instead we poisoned his liver and watched him die. Vasar of the arctic iceflows, he swore to serve our Chapter, yet we rewarded him by rupturing his carotid artery. Merebo born in the jungles of Trux, he sailed the stars to fight alongside us and in return we riddled his bone marrow with cancers."

Several of the Apothecaries were looking queasy now as realisation stole over them but Memnos pressed on, reciting every name and the manner of death. As he did so each name was etched onto his chains, he would carry them with him evermore. As his brethren looked on Memnos recited three thousand seven hundred and thirty names.

He had sworn never to forget a single one, he owed them that much.