Chapter 10 - X

"It is clear to see that wraithbone is the stuff of miracles. Understanding it should be a priority, as it would greatly simplify logistics." — Attributed to a Space Wolf Librarian, shortly before his investigation by the Inquisition.

Wraithbone is a special and marvellous substance. Suitable for almost any purpose and possessing a tensile strength superior to steel, it can be pulled from thin air and recycled indefinitely. It is notable as one of the few pleasant things to emerge from the warp on a regular basis. Psychoconductive, it can not only transmit psychic energy, but it can also function as a shield generator and communication hub, all without any additional equipment.

And of course, there's the often lauded property of psychoplasticity - it being malleable using only one's mind. Intricate and delicate works, such as vehicles and weapons, are difficult for the uninitiated to produce. These items require a finer touch than all but the most talented beginners lack.

But wraithbone is not so difficult to work that a novice can't play with it. Being roughly malleable by any average Eldar, performing a field repair on cracked armour is a breeze. It may not be perfect, but it's sealed. The ease by which it can be manipulated scales with power, while precision . . . it scales with practice.

Taldeer was not very practiced; so the procedure required a greater sum of her concentration.

LIIVI lay on his back, holding his breath. Cool wraithbone flowed like molten metal into a small incision, directly above his broken rib. It was to form an internal cast that wrapped around the bone. If it went well, then LIIVI would no longer have to fear puncturing his lung every time he fired a weapon or laid on the ground.

If Taldeer made a mistake, then he could suffer horrendous internal bleeding and/or a punctured lung.

There was nothing to risk which wasn't already an immediate danger. An anatomy text LIIVI found with the medical supplies made it clear where the tendons attach to the bone, and thus where the gaps in the cast had to be.

The shape and thickness of the rib was certainly easy to understand, looking at the pictures. But now, as the last dribbles of wraithbone seeped in through the incision, Taldeer was feeling slightly nervous. Of course, doubt was a distraction, and there was no time for distractions. If it was wrong, and the tendons wouldn't attach correctly, so be it. At least the rib wouldn't puncture his lung; it would just hamper movement a bit. They could deal with it when they got off-world, back to her people.

And if they didn't get off-world, well, it wouldn't matter then, either. Fate flowed around her ankles in subtle eddies. She danced an impromptu tango with it, reacting carefully to its movements, following its lead. She could visualize the shape of the wraithbone. Subtle changes were made to accommodate the shape of the rib, drag it back into place.

Optimal possibilities became clearer. Make it slightly thicker here, thinner there and so on.

It was then that she felt the ripples of a great splash beyond the horizon. The farseer was uncertain of what it meant. She sighed softly and pressed forward, finalizing the cast.

This was about how Private Scry Shenken expected he would die. Well, former private. He held his breath, laying flat against the wall next to the door. Sure, the other half of the house was on fire. But better to be with the house fire than with whatever was outside.

The last of the screams was interrupted by a squelching sound. There was only the noise of his breathing, the crackle of flames, and the sounds of distant fighting.

As silent as it could be in a village attacked by Chaos. Maybe it was finally over. Maybe it had passed. He'd been counting the screams. If there was nobody left screaming, it was gone, right?

Nineteen? Did that thing really kill nineteen? What the fu-

"No. No! NOOOO!" The window next to him shattered. Apparently, one man was unsuccessful in playing dead. Now, he was quite dead, embedded in the charred wall across the room. Scry swallowed some bile and tallied 20 kills.

The young guardsman never wanted to surrender to chaos. He also didn't really want to die, either. He didn't exactly expect to live long as a soldier in the black legions. But it was better than being handed off to the Slaaneshi cultists.

When he saw them for the first time, his gut told him he'd rather be damned than enslaved to that lot. And his week of service in the legions of chaos showed him that his gut was absolutely right. In that time, he learned many things he didn't know about the world. But there was a rule that held true across the guard and chaos - your superiors will kill you just as soon as they'll kill an enemy. So stay out of their way.

The flames were really starting to roar now. Sweat beaded down Scry's forehead.

Just wait until he goes away, wait until he goes away, wait until he goes away, wait-

A metallic voice boomed above the growing din. "WHO GOES THERE!" A chaos space marine. A VIP. A Somebody who should know who is who, and who is where. The former guardsman was suddenly confused.

It isn't a daemon?

LIIVI stared at his left fist and clinched it, sending a wave of pain rippling across the left portion of his torso. The wraithbone cast set around his rib was the cause of some discomfort. Aside from the pain, it felt cold. The sum of the sensations was reminiscent of a freshly installed augment. It appeared that the operation was a success.

"Taldeer." He looked up at the farseer, resting on her gurney, back propped up by the wall. "Thank you."

"It's the least I can do," she replied. Her gaze never wavered from her armour, focused intently on the ritual of maintenance. There was nothing more that needed to be said.

LIIVI packed the remaining MREs and a field kit into a rucksack. Crystalline blood glittered as it fell to the floor, scraped from the wraithbone chest piece. Bandage-covered arms brought it to rest on a bandage-covered abdomen, where she mended what weak spots it had developed during the day upon day of battle.

The two warriors sat like this in silence. The air wasn't empty for lack of words. On the contrary, it was already filled by the tension of preparation. The surf gurgled uncertainly around Taldeer's feet as she stood on the shore, staring out to the sea. It was unduly quiet. A sinister, hungry peace.

It was the farseer who shattered the stillness. "I need to find a way to contact my people. And we need to move fast.

They won't be in orbit for more than a day or two." She looked to LIIVI. "Do you know of any sort of communication installation?" His mechanical response was immediate. He needed no time to reflect.

"Two weeks ago, I provided covering fire for the construction of an anti-orbital flak battery due east. It should be complete now. It will be equipped with a vox communications suite that can reach orbit."

"I see. My people should be listening to human communications. Do you know how well it will be staffed?"

"Depending on how hot the location is, two to ten squads of Imperial Guard, with or without armour support. They will be well entrenched."

"So stealth is our only option."

"Affirmative."

An hour passed. It was time to go. They couldn't afford to stay any longer.

Waves crashed far away.

Hate.

The traitor's head sailed cleanly off of his shoulders. It felt good. But it was hardly satisfying. With one arm, the Eversor shot the lamp post nearby, killing the man hiding behind it. The Eversor's free hand covered its brow as it looked around for more targets.

Nobody.

Hate.

The Eversor half-heartedly kicked the head of the dead space marine, tearing it from the shoulders of the corpse and splattering it against the wall. Anybody left was hiding. The supply of fighters had been exhausted.

It was nice while it lasted, but it didn't last long enough. Villages like this almost never took more than two hours. What a pity.

It turned to the horizon, glaring in the direction of the primary target.

Seek.

Hate.