Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 48
It had been three months since the death of the Warboss and Xavaar was weary. He stood upon the roof of the Black Ziggurat, gazing over the workers bustling below. Under floodlights teams of serfs worked ceaselessly, labouring night and day to clear the jungle filling the Caldera. Massive earthmoving machines ripped tangled briars from the earth, sending tiny creatures fleeing. In their wake followed Ferrocrete-pouring machines, cargo-8's laden with pre-fab structures and servitor-cranes. A team of enginseers and architects argued about the high peaks, debating locales to sink orbital defence lasers, shield generators and auspex vanes. In the distance shuttles landed and took off round the clock, bringing ever more materials down from orbit. The noise of industry was deafening, smells of promethium fuel heavy in the air and the swirl of headlights was hypnotic. It was quite a sight to see, the foundations of a Fortress-Monastery being raised and he knew this was only the rude start of what would one day be a magnificent bastion.
Xavaar wondered if he would live to see it completed. It was not a morose question, the great fortresses of the Legions had been labours that spanned decades and that was with the full might of Mars and Terra brought to bear. The newly-christened Smoke Jaguars had only the contents of Implacable Judgement's holds, enough for their basic needs but barely a fraction of what was supposed to be coming. It would be many times the life of a mortal before the work was done, and there were other considerations.
Three months had passed since the epic conflict. Xavaar had thought the day was won and the threat removed for all time, but the Greenskins hadn't been so compliant. True, the Ork Waaagh had been turned upon itself in an orgy of destruction, blood had stained the stars and burning wrecks sent spinning into the void, but still the Greenskins persisted. After the initial clash had reduced their numbers by half the survivors had scattered, trading shots all the while. They had fled back to their rad-scoured worlds deeper in the system, or run for distant jump points. A few had even landed on Copan XII, a threat on the Smoke Jaguar's doorstep that could not be ignored. Hunting them down and had taxed the Chapter's depleted strength, but it had to be done before their spores could establish a foothold in the ecosystem.
Xavaar spied fires of dawn edging the icy peaks ringing the Caldera and sighed. Before the burning light of daybreak could torment his eyes he trooped off, descending the stairs to enter the Black Ziggurat. Inside was cool and dark, a state that never changed no matter how hot and humid the outside air became. He liked it, the monument was brooding and sullen, revealing its secrets only a drop at a time but he felt great power in these walls, not that anyone else appreciated it.
Several squads trudged past as he walked the twisting corridors. They were all badly depleted, not a squad among their number not missing Brothers, but their pride was undiminished. They had faced the worst the enemy could throw at them and emerged triumphant, emerging bloodied but unbowed. The old colours of Night Lord and Raven Guard had vanished, replaced by smoky-grey colours. The Deliverance-born insisted on marking their gauntlets and forearms dappled grey, while the Sons of Nostramo had lost the bat wings and replaced their icon with a snarling Smoke Jaguar skull in profile, much like Sedaxus' helm. Xavaar didn't know which style would endure, perhaps both, but it was a sign that the differences between their bloodlines hadn't been completely eliminated; only suppressed.
Xavaar reached his destination and paused outside the door, making sure his leathery mask was properly fixed before entering. He found himself in a small antechamber, one that had been set up as an office-barracks. Inside there were cogitators, piles of parchment dumped upon a desk and a few stands of personal items lining the walls. Tellingly there was a strange contraption of twisted glass tubes and metal bins in one corner, with barrels suspended over a small burner and a spigot at the very end. Xavaar however was more interested in the pair attending to it, Engar and Sedaxus, holding tin cups under the spigot and taking turns to slug back the contents.
"Still not right," Engar groaned.
"I can't taste radiator fluid," Sedaxus grimaced, "This is so bland a mortal could drink it."
"Ahem!" Xavaar interrupted loudly, causing the pair to turn about.
Sedaxus didn't look guilty, this was his quarters after all but he did look resigned to another admonishment about his duties. Xavaar had berated him repeatedly over the last three months that he was the designated Shade-Lord and had responsibilities, but the leader of their motley band hadn't paid any mind. He'd spent most of the time leading strike teams to eliminate Orks, leaving the business of managing the construction of the Fortress-Monastery to Xavaar, not to mention the countless tasks of organising and administrating so vast an operation.
"Drinking again?" Xavaar sighed.
"You were late," Sedaxus sniffed, "Besides it's not like we can get drunk."
Xavaar eyed the desk and asked, "Have you read a single one of your missives?"
"Nope," Sedaxus quipped.
"You are the Shade-lord, you have to be aware of what's going on out there."
"Anything important enough to warrant my attention can be said to my face. If it's mundane enough to write down, they shouldn't be bothering me with it anyway."
"Kill me now," Xavaar groaned, "Engar, tell me you made some progress with the ship."
Engar sniffed, "What do you want first, the bad news, the awful news or the truly terrible?"
"Just spit it out," Xavaar groaned.
Engar replied, "The bad news is the prow is truly stuck into that Ork Kroozer, we can't pull her free without ripping the bow clean off. Implacable Judgement is going nowhere without serious cutting gear. The awful news is the Navigator reports no sign of the Warp storm easing, he muttered something about it being decades, if not centuries until we can get out of this Boscage of a realm. But the truly terrible news is we detected warp translations on the edge of the system, the Orks got away."
Sedaxus final sounded interested as he remarked, "Maybe they'll jump into the storm currents and be obliterated."
"More than a few," Xavaar agreed, "But you know Orks, they'll survive and spread their spores, they always do. There are thirty-eight systems in this boscage, a dozen colonised the rest uninhabited. The Orks will infest and recover their numbers, in a decade well be facing another Waaagh."
"We don't have the numbers to confront another Waaagh," Engar muttered.
"Then we'll need to get proactive," Sedaxus suggested, "Hit them frequently, pick off rising warbosses, keep them at each other's throats."
"That will require fresh blood," Xavaar countered, "The scout-novices you brought with you suffered losses of their own and the Apothecaries are doubtful as to our genic stockpiles."
Sedaxus frowned as he remarked, "We brought a sizeable stockpile of gene-seed, plus we harvested many Progenoids."
Xavaar sighed, "That's the issue. They aren't happy with mixing VIIIth and XIXth bloodlines. They aren't sure what such hybridisation will do, most of them warn we could create monsters."
"Most?" Sedaxus pressed.
"Well… Apothecary Juslos thinks he can create a stable blend of genic traits. He's already started experimenting, but frankly he's long on promise and short on results."
Sedaxus said, "Tell the other Apothecaries to lend him a hand."
"They won't, in fact they want you to put a stop to it. They have been emphatic on the matter."
Sedaxus rolled his eyes and said, "In that case, make Juslos Chief Apothecary, that will shut the detractors up."
"They won't like that."
"Tough," Sedaxus snorted.
Xavaar shook his head and lamented, "You can't just order them about without concern for their worries."
"I'm the Shade-lord," Sedaxus retorted.
"Only so long as the Brothers want you to be, frankly with the way things are out there I wonder how long that will last."
Sedaxus growled, "Always harping on, I can't believe Damolos died and you lived."
"I'm serious."
Sedaxus had the decency to look ashamed as he confessed, "Administration, soothing feelings, I'm no good at any of that. Give me an Ork warband to slaughter and I'm happy, off the field I'm out of my depth."
"We'll help you," Xavaar said, "But we need you to get involved. Have you at least read the manifesto I printed?"
"Arkqas' writing? Yes actually, it was good stuff, he had some bright ideas. Not sure all of it can be implemented, he assumed we'd be operating at Legion strength, but his notions of working with mortal governments has merits."
It was then Engar turned back to the still, pouring more spirit into his tin cup. As he did so Giant's Roar clinked on his back. Since the battle he'd taken to carrying it around. It didn't suit him really, he was better with a sniper rifle but he'd made no effort to replace his lost gun and refused to be parted from Damolos' axe. Some griefs went too deep to be questioned so Xavaar hadn't raised the matter.
Engar turned back and said, "Have we considered contacting the other worlds?"
"I took the liberty of sending Astropathic messages," Xavaar confessed, "They are in a panic, all of them screaming in fright of the storm, mass rioting on every colony. I explained the basics of the storm, leaving out Kharkul, so they think it's a freak resurgence of the Ruinstorm. They accept we're here to protect them, and swear to send us material and supplies to rebuild."
"That easily?" Sedaxus questioned.
"They're afraid," Xavaar replied, "Fearful people will cling to anything they can get. A Chapter of heroic Astartes sitting a few light-years away is reassuring, something the governors can take to their people to calm the masses."
"We won't be protecting anyone without a working ship," Engar commented.
"That's why I contacted Alar-Median," Xavaar explained, "The Tech-priests have agreed to send over a Forge-tender, if they calculate the jump precisely they can reach us. So long as nobody tries to jump too far, crossing the boscage is reasonably safe. They can extract Implacable Judgement and establish some orbital facilities to service our needs."
"We'll need a hell of a lot more than that," Sedaxus growled, "We need armour and guns and ships and Thunderhawks."
"They agree to all of that," Xavaar informed them, "They're even willing to supply all our needs."
"Just like that?" Engar hissed suspiciously.
"They are aware of the Ork menace and have no wish to see Greenskins invading their Forges. They judge it more efficient to let us bleed to keep the Xenos at bay, better that than the expense of sending Skitarii garrisons to every system. Plus they want our favour, they are concerned what we might say when the storm blows out and the Imperium returns. I… hinted we had proof of their dealings with the VIIIth and they practically fell over themselves to placate me."
"Do they know it might be decades before that happens?" Sedaxus asked, "Centuries even?"
"I left that bit out," Xavaar chuckled.
"Better for us if it's centuries," Sedaxus commented, "We're hardly pure and untainted ourselves. Corax won't fail to spot we aren't all Deliverance-born, if we can fill our ranks with new recruits we might just pass muster."
"And what do we tell these recruits of our hybrid origins?" Xavaar asked.
"I wasn't planning to tell them," Sedaxus grunted, "As far as the newbloods are concerned we're all XIXth stock. Three or four generations from now the Night Lords will be forgotten."
Xavaar wasn't happy about that, but understood the reasoning, yet it was Engar who said, "So, this is going to be our lives? Trapped in this pocket of space, battling Orks, dying off one by one to Xenos blade until were all gone and callow pups take our places in the ranks?"
"We're Space Marines, what other fate did you expect? "Sedaxus snorted, "We will build in strength, increase our numbers and take battle to the Xenos, mutants and heretics. Same as if we weren't trapped. Cheer up, once the Monastery is built we can move out of this Ziggurat into proper barracks."
"Good," Engar muttered, "This place still gives me the creeps."
Xavaar sighed, "A life spent fighting to defend humanity, instead of terrorising it. Arkqas would be proud to see his dream come true."
"We'll put his teachings to good use," Sedaxus affirmed, "We can…"
His words were cut off as all their vox's squawked, "Cantus to Sedaxus, Cantus to Sedaxus, come in immediately!"
"Sedaxus here, what is it?" the Shade-lord replied, "Have more Orks been found?!"
"Worse," Cantus replied, "A fight broke out in the lower levels, two squads went right at it. Blood has been spilled and there's been a death…"
Xavaar started in shock as Sedaxus leapt into motion, hurling himself out the door and running at full pelt for the nearest stair. Engar and Xavaar had a moment to glance at each other in bewilderment, then followed as fast as they were able. They may have defeated the enemy without, but it looked like the problems within weren't as squashed as they'd believed. So they ran as fast as they were able, knowing they had to intervene before news of this spread. If they didn't act fast this newborn Chapter would tear itself apart.