Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 60

Aapo had never seen a sky like Xibalba's and doubted he ever would again. Turgid clouds oozed across the heavens, thick and slow, barely letting enough light leak through to tell night from day. Currents stirred the sky like a painter's brush mixing oils, leaving lingering stains that slowly merged with other spreading formations. Green lightning flashed at random, spreading emerald sheets that lit the stark ground before thunder rolled from horizon to horizon. Open water was rare on Copan XII, but this resembled a stagnant pond, left to fester, only it was hanging over his head.

Aapo gazed through the Rhino's vision block, craning his head sideways for the hatch over his skull was sealed, against unexpected plumes of poison falling from above. Spectre of Woe it was named, a dappled vehicle drawn from the Chapter's transport pool. The Shadowhawk had barely made it down from orbit, and back again, it would not soar on this planetoid, so a Rhino was their only means of conveyance. Slitted headlights lit the road, the dozer blade was ready to clear obstructions and the pintle storm bolter was loaded in case of ambush. Like all Rhinos Spectre of Woe's suspension left a lot to be desired, the bare metal seat under his rear slamming his spine most painfully with every bump in the road. Still it was a reliable steed, never once flagging or failing in three centuries of service and Aapo honoured its robust spirit.

"Arkqas, when he pulled back the veil!" Hanphu chuckled from the driver's seat.

"Wonder is fleeting, its joy a brief spell," Aapo agreed.

"Youth sparks marvel over pebbles," Hanphu snorted.

"Darkness is infinite and the space between stars filled with terror."

"Pick up your jaw or you'll be carrying it in a bag!" Hanphu retorted as he switched languages.

Aapo scowled at the non-sequitur, Hanphu's merry nonsense was growing wearisome. The brain-damaged Smoke Jaguar was anything but a fool, yet his bizarre attitude grated. He kept coming up with strange ideas and phrases, and Aapo had no idea if he was misremembering things he had heard, or was making stuff up on the spot to annoy. The Magpyr was sitting in the driver's seat, handling the Rhino with expert skill. The Servitor-head embedded in the wall could have sufficed to keep them steady, but there was no substitute for real hands on the steering levers, even mad ones. K'oy hung off his pauldron, gibbering out the vision slit at passing facilities.

Another flash of green outside drew his eye and he asked in Gothic, "What causes green lightning?"

Hanphu explained, "This moon's core is packed with exotic elements, which trigger equatorial volcanoes that burn day in and day out. Vast quantities of toxic and combustible gases pour into the upper atmosphere, gathering in vast storm fronts that cover continents. Only near the polar regions do the gases thin enough for men to breathe."

Aapo frowned, "If the gases are so deadly, why does the whole world not burn?"

Hanphu elaborated, "You need oxygen to burn, and the gases are lighter than air. Most oxygen is forced down to ground level, but hurricane winds frequently drag down toxic elements from above. Humans live in sinkhole cities, where oxygen is produced by certain natural algae. You'll find it's all upside down on Xilbalba, the rich live in the deepest levels, safe from storm and toxic gas, the poor and the criminal live near the surface, and must fend for themselves."

Aapo went silent as Spectre of Woe blew past a PDF guardpost and mounted a suspension bridge. Two kilometres long, extending over a vast craggy chasm. He tried to gaze down, to see if there was a city below, but could see nothing save the Ferrocrete road and the thick hawsers that connected it to mighty towers rising at either end. No traffic marred their journey, but he spied a mega-tanker travelling the other way, high as a hab-block and rear section one massive tank of refined chemical richness, heading for the main spaceport.

The source lay beyond the far end of the bridge, and Aapo stared as they drew near. A Vapour-mill, a mining rig and refinery in one, sucking ammonia, ethanol and other valuable gasses down from the sky. Soaring flumes rose beyond his narrow range of vision, piercing the cloud layer like a spear driven into a boar's belly. Dirty men in rubberised coats and rebreathers worked in the mills around their bases, struggling in eternal darkness and breathing air that could turn toxic without warning. Aapo tried to imagine their lives, toiling misery and thankless drudgery, under a bleak sky that rarely parted to reveal the sun. Grey and bland, lives without adventure or glory, a straight path from the cradle to the grave with no deviation to enrich their spirits. Copan XII was a deadly world, the jungles filled with myriad ways to die, but the sun burned bright and the few stars visible in the warp-storm shone like jewels. He wouldn't trade his world for theirs, no matter the dangers Copan harboured.

Hanphu grinned, "Don't stare, you'll give away that we're onto them."

"The workers?" Aapo asked.

"The Lacrymole!" Hanphu retorted.

"Lacrymole?"

"Xenos shapeshifters! They infiltrate good worlds and turn men against each other."

Aapo blinked, "There are Xenos other than Orruk in the Boscage?"

"Of course not, they linger outside, beaming mind control rays into our space."

"They do?" Aapo asked doubtfully.

Hanphu spat, "They're cunning beasts, the rest of the Chapter doesn't believe they're real, but I know better. The Magpyr is onto you, Lacrymole scum!"

Aapo stared for long seconds, trying to understand what the madman was going on about, eventually he said, "I believe the Shade-Seer needs my presence, most urgently."

Hanphu nodded, "Keep a watchful eye out for shapeshifters, illchosen."

Aapo edged out of his seat and made his way to the rear, muttering under his breath, "Shaka, when the walls fell."

A step took him from the driver's compartment into the troop bay. The roof hatch was sealed, as were the side and rear doors. Low benches lined the sides while supplies and medical kit were efficiently stored underneath, or in compact lockers in the corners. A small auspex and comm unit were neatly sat off to one side, the glowing screen hashing as scanner signals rebounded off the turgid clouds above. A Rhino was an exceedingly ergonomic design, every detail perfected by long use.

Takana stood freely in the centre of the Rhino, his jump pack barely fitting into the cramped space. He looked far from pleased as he growled, "This is not justice Skinned Man."

Xavaar faced off against the Dark Fury, "Justice is for those who merit a merciful death."

"You crave vengeance," Takana hissed.

"If Engar is dead, then blood must flow in rivers, any other counsel is the mewling of weak fools!"

"Do not call me craven, I have slain mighty lords in their beds and would-be tyrants in their dens of iniquity. Many times have I walked past sleeping babes to slit the throats of their criminal fathers, and always I have delivered justice with silent deliberation and precision."

Aapo was baffled and held onto a handrail as he asked, "Is this a matter for all of us to discuss?"

Xavaar turned his skin-mask to the youth and explained, "Takana and I were discussing what to do should we find Engar dead already."

"The Lord Headsman is slain?"

"Perhaps," Xavaar explained, "Given the nature of the quarry we track it is doubtful he survived an encounter."

"Surely no mortal man is a match for a Smoke Jaguar."

Xavaar sighed, "And yet the man we track is no mortal. Whispers in the night betray he is far more than that. Powerful and cunning, no doubt he detected us the second we entered orbit, even now he measures the hour of our arrival. I suspect we deal with a master of subtly and misdirection, but one with strength unholy. A scion of the Traitor Legions."

Aapo gasped, "A traitor Marine, pacted to the devil-son Horus?!"

Xavaar nodded, "So I suspect, no lesser foe could have bested Engar. We must be supremely cunning, and ruthless in our quest."

But Takana growled, "And for his sake you would slay a thousand babes in their mother's arms?"

"Do not harp on about justice, it will not suffice."

Takana's eyes narrowed, "Justice must be done in the light, but vengeance breeds in the shadows. Corax taught us better, but you are a child of the Dark One, Skinned Man."

Aapo gulped the implied insult. The proto-mythic figure who haunted the Smoke Jaguar's origins was a shaded revenant only hinted at in myth and legend. At certain times spoken of as equal to Corax, at others despised as the worst scum ever born. The Dark One may have been a person once, but time had turned him into a gestalt of all their worse impulses, the urge to rend and slay without care. Did this have something to do with the feud between Takana and Xavaar, had they known the original Dark One, before the legend grew around him? Aapo didn't dare to ask.

Xavaar's faceless face became still as he whispered, "You speak of justice as if it is a trade, one thing for another, one life taken to balance the scales of the universe. But Corax was not as noble as you suppose. He was driven by the call of vengeance, oft abandoning campaigns in a quest to track down one tyrant, among billions. Engar may be dead and this I cannot forgive. Vengeance grows with the passing of days; it is a living thing with a will of its own. It cannot be sated; its hunger only grows. Forget Gene-seed, Vengeance is the soul of the Smoke Jaguars."

Takana lifted his chin, "The perfect war is one that can be ended with a single shot: so it is written in the Testimony of Arkqas."

But Xavaar spat back, "Engar would agree, but he is not Prowlmaster, I am. We shall infiltrate the cities of Xibalba, track our quarry and find our lost kinsman. If he is dead then I will tear this planet apart to find his killer, no matter how many innocents must die. Five centuries has he been my friend, and if he is dead then an ocean of blood will not quench my thirst for vengeance. Thus it is written, thus shall it be!"

Grim silence fell as Spectre of Woe drove on, bringing them to the sinkhole city where their elusive foe hid. Aapo could only wonder what secrets they would find when they got there, and what fury it would stoke in his companion's hearts. He had slain Xenos and criminals without a qualm, but could he take an innocent life if the hunt demanded it? He hoped it would not be so, but as the Testimony taught, hope was for fools and dreamers.