Carcharodons: Outer Dark Page 6

  ‘There’s a data burst coming through right now, captain,’ Teko said.

  ‘Good. Maintain a steady speed and allow them to form up around us. Do nothing to provoke them.’

  As Teko began issuing orders to the communication pits, Sharr addressed the strike leaders around the holochart, beneath the shipmaster’s dais.

  ‘As we planned, brethren. Nuritona, you have command in my absence. If I or any member of the planetside expedition is attacked, or contact is lost and not regained for one Terran hour, you are to withdraw to the nearest jump point and exit the system with all possible speed. We are surrounded here, and the Chapter cannot afford the loss of an entire battle company. Especially not during times such as these. Is that clear?’

  ‘Affirmative, Reaper Prime,’ Nuritona said.

  ‘Korro, you and Strike Leader Kordi’s Fourth Tactical Squad will act as my honour guard. You are to say nothing and act only on my express orders.’

  ‘Understood,’ Korro’s voice rasped from his helm’s vox.

  ‘Pale Nomad, will you do me the honour of accompanying us?’ Sharr asked Te Kahurangi.

  ‘It is why I am here,’ the Chief Librarian said, inclining his head. ‘Khauri will accompany me as well.’

  ‘You think him ready?’ Sharr asked. He sensed the Lexicanium bristle at the blunt question.

  ‘He has much to learn,’ Te Kahurangi said, placing a gauntlet on Khauri’s pauldron. ‘And an expedition like this has much to teach.’

  ‘Very well,’ Sharr said. ‘Korro, Kordi, prepare your squads for atmospheric entry. We expect to drop stasis anchor in Atargatis Prime’s high orbit within the hour.’

  The Thunderhawk gunship Void Spear shuddered with turbulence as it descended towards Atargatis Prime’s surface. Strike Leader Kordi gazed through the nearest vision port from where he was seated, held in place by a restraint harness. The armourglass port had been wreathed in the fires of atmospheric entry, then obscured by scudding cloud cover. Now, as the heavy flier banked around, the strike leader could see Atargatis Prime stretching out beneath him.

  It was as bleak and barren a place as the rest of the system. Craggy grey tundra stretched away as far as the eye could see, the weak sunlight doing little to penetrate the grey clouds. If anyone lived among the black rocks or upon the infertile soil, Kordi could see no sign of them.

  The Thunderhawk levelled out as it began its final descent, and Kordi found himself gazing at one of the aircraft accompanying the gunship. The sleek cruciforms of a trio of Primaris Lightning Strike interceptors had fallen into formation around Void Spear as it broke from low orbit, the lithe air superiority fighters escorting the larger flier towards landing coordinates transmitted from a shielded location on the planet’s surface.

  That location was visible now. Void Spear, like most Thunderhawks, possessed a prow pict-feed linked to a viewscreen at the top of the troop bay. Its purpose was to enable those about to charge from the prow hatch to know exactly what was waiting for them. In this instance it provided a view of the landing party’s destination. The briefing docket claimed that the Ashen Claws called it the Lost Eyrie, and it seemed to be the closest thing the renegade Chapter possessed to a fixed base of operations. It was a twisted spire of black rock that rose from the surrounding wasteland, tapering to a spike of stone that nearly pierced the low, bleak clouds above. There were no visible structures and no evidence of human artifice, but Kordi had no doubt the uneven rock faces, crags and crevasses hid all manner of defensive batteries and sally ports. The Lost Eyrie looked like a lonely outcrop on a lonely world beyond the Imperium’s borders. In truth, it was a haven of piracy and recidivism.

  ‘ETA five minutes,’ clicked the monotone voice of Void Spear’s servitor co-pilot over the intercom. Kordi glanced at those seated around him. He had commanded the Third Company’s Fourth Tactical Squad for a decade, since its previous strike leader, Ekara, had died during the Red Tithe on Zartak. Besides Kordi there were five other void brothers – Aleph-eleven-ten Tulu, Aleph-five-one Takari, Aleph-fifteen-five Warak, Beta-twelve-nine Ranga and Theta-six-two Motako. When Carcharodons first joined the Chapter they were stripped of their former name and given only a coded number-designate. Ascension from the ranks of the Tenth Company’s Scouts to those of the void brotherhood came with a new name based on the Chapter’s past, but only by attaining the rank of strike veteran could a member of the Carcharodon Astra begin to leave his blank code signature behind. It was just another reminder of the Chapter’s rejection of the individual, and its focus on the whole.

  Fourth Squad shared the troop bay’s harness benches with the two psykers – the Pale Nomad and his apprentice – and the Reaper Prime, as well as his command squad. At Bail Sharr’s orders the entire landing party, bar the Red Brethren, had left their helmets mag-locked to their belts. The faces around Kordi mirrored his own – pallid grey or deathly white, with inky black eyes and wicked teeth. The ghoulish visages were broken up by the black, red or white swirls of exile tattoos, the commemoration of completed void vows and honour kills with the tribal patterns that occupied the Chapter’s ancient, collective memory. The eyes of most of Kordi’s brethren were unfocused, each individual lost in the silent contemplation that featured in so many of the Chapter’s indoctrination rituals. Lyman’s ears cancelling out the roar and rattle of Void Spear’s engines, the warriors were checking their mental wargear, just as they had checked their grey battleplate, bolters and chainaxes before leaving the White Maw.

  Whether or not the Red Brethren were deep in similar preparations was impossible to say. The seven Terminators stood in the lower hold of the troop bay, boots mag-locked to the floor, their great power fists inactive. They had not interacted with any members of the Third Company during their transit. They were the Red Wake’s silent watchers, and they would be the first to set foot on Atargatis.

  ‘Sixty seconds,’ clicked the co-pilot’s voice. Kordi glanced down, checking his Phobos-pattern bolter and its chainblade combat attachment. The co-pilot’s words seemed to rouse the other Carcharodons from their fugue state – they too began performing final equipment checks. It felt strange to be entering what seemed like a combat situation with his helmet still locked to his side. Kordi supposed that was the reason for the order. After all, this wasn’t a combat assignment. Despite every indicator, he had been told by Sharr to inform his squad that no blood was going to be shed on Atargatis.

  It hadn’t worked out that way the last time they had visited this Rangu-forsaken system, and Kordi suspected it wouldn’t be bloodless this time either.

  ‘Thirty seconds.’

  The rocky spire now filled the troop bay viewscreen, a black spear set against the dark red of the Atargatian sunset. The trio of Primaris Lightning fighters had peeled away, leaving Void Spear to begin a vectored descent into a jagged canyon near the spire’s base. Ancient tectonic activity seemed to have left Atargatis’ crust shattered and broken into a million fragments, and for a moment Kordi was reminded of the Lost World, that wind-whipped, ­barren and lonely place used by the Carcharodon Astra as both an equipment depot and a spiritual haven. It came as no surprise that the Ashen Claws had chosen a similar world as their new home. In a way, the world had chosen them.

  Void Spear passed below the edge of the canyon and into the darkness. The restraint harness disengaged with a thud. Kordi swung it up as the troop bay’s seated contingent rose. Another commander might have uttered final orders or words of encouragement in the last few seconds, as the Thunderhawk’s landing prongs dug in and its engines cycled down. Sharr, however, remained silent. His orders and objectives had been clear. The Carcharodon Astra required neither repetition nor motivation in order to function effectively.

  Void Spear’s engines cut out completely. The sudden silence was a surprising comfort. It didn’t last long. There was a thump of disengaging locks and a hiss of compressed air, followed by the whine of h
ydraulics as the Thunderhawk’s prow ramp was remotely lowered from the cockpit above. Artificial light streamed in from outside. There was a series of thuds as the Red Brethren disengaged their mag-locks and advanced out into the canyon, followed by Sharr and his command squad. Kordi, Tulu, Takari, Warak, Ranga and Motako brought up the rear. As Kordi stepped out onto the ramp he caught sight of what awaited them.

  There was a greeting party assembled in the canyon’s bottom, backlit by the glow coming from an open pair of heavy blast doors set into the canyon’s rock face. Kordi counted thirty human males, all of combat age, gathered before the channel formed either side of Korro’s Terminators. They were clearly toned and fit, and though clad only in the leather-and-fur garb commonly seen on Imperial feudal or savage worlds, they were all armed with well-oiled Locke-pattern boltguns. They displayed no sign of the shock, fear or awe that was common among humans when they first encountered Adeptus Astartes. These men were accustomed to seeing Space Marines.

  There was also an Adeptus Astartes legionary leading them. He wore Mark V Heresy-pattern power armour not dissimilar to that borne by many of the Carcharodons. It was a dark grey, almost black, but the pauldrons were the colour of butchered meat, a red, deep and dark as the encroaching Atargatis dusk. Unlike the Carcharodons he wore a helmet, a beaked Corvus-pattern variant that gave him a raptor-like silhouette against the light behind him.

  ‘Captain Bail Sharr,’ the Space Marine said as Kordi and his squad came to attention behind the rest of the landing party. ‘I am Rama Sixx, of the Ashen Claws First Company. Welcome to Atargatis Prime.’

  ‘Hail and well met, Rama Sixx,’ Sharr responded.

  ‘You and your retinue will accompany me,’ Sixx said. ‘Do not stray. The Chapter Master is waiting.’

  Sixx turned and made his way through the canyon’s blast doors. His human followers parted to either side, allowing the Carcharodons to troop after him before falling in behind. Kordi found himself in an artificially cut rock passage, the light emanating from rigged lumen strips running via cable clusters overhead. The gravel underfoot was crossed by two rusting metal rail lines that had started at the tunnel’s entrance. No one spoke. There was only the thump of armoured footfalls and the hum of charged battleplate, competing with the buzz of the lumens.

  A large grav-lift lay at the end of the rock passage. Judging by the worn rail system and the heavy locking bars set into the lift’s baseplate, Kordi suspected the canyon had once been a secondary landing facility for shuttles bringing raw materials into the Eyrie. Unloaded from cargo holds, the goods could be ferried up the track and onto the lift. Now, the same lift carried them into the darkness of the Ashen Claws’ nest.

  Kordi saw six levels pass by beyond the lift’s mesh door before the mechanism creaked to a halt. The doors clattered open and Sixx led them out into another wide, low, rock-cut tunnel. Its right side was interspersed with defensive weapons slits, the last of the day’s red light filtering in through the narrow gaps. Beyond them Kordi caught glimpses of Atargatis’ barren expanse, stretching out below. They were inside the Eyrie, and climbing.

  Sixx led them higher via another heavy grav-lift, then a winding stair casement barely wide enough for the Terminators to climb, step by step. On their way they saw no one else, but in the corridor beyond, sealed metal doors concealed evidence of the spire’s inhabitants: a bout of raucous laughter, the hum of what sounded like meat storage units, the familiar sound of metal striking ceramite – whether sparring blades or repair hammers, it was impossible to tell.

  Another lift, another set of corridors, and Kordi began to suspect their guide was leading them on a deliberately circuitous route. Sixx had said nothing since greeting them, and his human guard continued to follow behind Fourth Squad. It was obviously an opening power play on the part of the Ashen Claws – the Carcharodons did not merit a guard of fellow Space Marines.

  Finally, a corridor lined with ancient suits of power armour, dark grey and darker red, led to a great set of adamantium blast doors emblazoned with the Ashen Claws crest – a circle and four talons. Beyond them came the sounds of feasting – the clatter of plates, the babble of conversation. Sixx turned at the doors, his humans passing around the Carcharodons to flank them.

  ‘My lord Nehat Nev awaits your presence,’ the Ashen Claw said. ‘You and your personal retinue may enter, Captain Sharr, and you may bear your weapons with you, but the rest of your party must wait here.’

  ‘Very well,’ Sharr said. ‘Korro, Kordi, hold position. Do not interact with anyone until my return.’

  ‘I will take my own leave,’ Te Kahurangi said. ‘There are… other matters that must be addressed.’

  He looked at Sixx. For a moment the Ashen Claw was silent. Then he nodded.

  ‘As you wish. Come, Captain Sharr.’

  The Ashen Claw rapped three times on the adamantium doors, and they swung back with a clicking of auto-rollers. As Sharr and his command squad entered, Kordi caught a glimpse of what lay beyond – a great hall carved from the tip of the Lost Eyrie’s black stone, its upper vaults open to Atargatis’ encroaching night. Torches and braziers lit long tables and benches lined with revellers. Kordi saw humans and Space Marines feasting side by side, before the great doors rolled shut again with a crash.

  ‘Overwatch,’ he ordered the rest of his squad. ‘And put your helmets back on.’

  Te Kahurangi led Khauri back down, along narrow side corridors and winding stairways set along the rocky spire’s flanks. They passed others on their way – humans and Space Marines both, but none stopped or questioned them. It was as though Te Kahurangi were one of them. Khauri knew better than to question him about it, or about where they were going – it would likely only be met with an obscure deflection.

  ‘I do not understand what the Reaper Prime hopes to achieve here,’ he said instead, switching to his helm’s internal vox so that his words remained private.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Te Kahurangi asked, not turning to look at the Lexicanium as they progressed down a stone corridor lined with more weapon slits. The Eyrie was honeycombed with openings, seemingly as much to allow access to the native corvids as it was a defensive measure. The birds were big, black-feathered creatures with bald heads and ugly, hook-nosed visages. Their cawing filled the bleak passages and tunnels, underlying the moaning of the wind as it knifed through the openings riddling the structure. The floor underfoot was carpeted with avian refuse – broken egg shells and delicate bones and skulls. Twice men in dark red robes and cowls hurried past the two Space Marines, carrying sacks filled with the birds’ remains. Whether they were simply cleaning the corridors, or taking the bones for a more esoteric purpose, Khauri could not tell.

  ‘The Reaper Prime has not opened negotiations with a strong hand,’ he said as they entered another spiral stairway, his voice echoing weirdly from the claustrophobic stonework. ‘Not from what I can see, anyway.’

  ‘Where is his mistake then, if you think he has already made one?’ Te Kahurangi asked. As ever, Khauri got the impression the Chief Librarian knew the answer to his own question, and was merely encouraging him to enunciate his thoughts.

  ‘When we first made contact with their fleet he agreed to withdraw our escort ships,’ Khauri said. ‘And then again when he arrived here. We make planetfall with a strong personal guard, but they have almost all been left outside without complaint. Surely that shows a degree of weakness?’

  ‘I doubt any think us weak, especially not the Ashen Claws,’ Te Kahurangi said. ‘Yet even if they did, would you not consider the possibility that the Reaper Prime is playing a more complex game? What if his decisions so far have been a deliberately feeble show, set out to disguise his hidden strengths?’

  ‘You believe he seeks to lull the renegades into a false sense of security?’

  ‘This is their home, Khauri. We are all aware they could annihilate us, should they so choose. Th
at will make them confident, possibly arrogant. Furthermore, Sharr remembers Nehat Nev from our previous voyage to this place, but it is doubtful Nev recalls Sharr. He was a faceless member of Captain Akia’s honour guard when last we visited. Sharr knows his enemy, Nev does not. That sort of advantage is of huge worth to any commander.’

  ‘I see. It sounds as though you have complete confidence in the Reaper Prime, master.’

  ‘Sharr has grown into his role these past ten years,’ Te Kahurangi said. ‘When he first became captain of the Third he struggled with the burden of authority, as must we all. He overthought and second-guessed too often. Now his every decision stands or falls clearly on its own merit, as it should. We are the judges and we should hear no appeals, not even from our own conscience.’

  ‘Is our purpose here not to assist him with his negotiations?’

  ‘You are working towards asking me why we have abandoned the landing party, and where we are going,’ Te Kahurangi said, and though Khauri couldn’t see his face, he could sense his thin-lipped, razor-toothed smile.

  ‘It seems strange, master,’ he admitted. ‘I presumed Captain Sharr would lean on your wisdom and power to assist his discussions with the renegade.’

  ‘Sharr doesn’t need my help, not any more. Our purpose coming here was twofold – to teach you, and to visit an old friend.’

  ‘To teach me?’

  ‘Yes. For example, it would be extremely unwise to continue calling the Ashen Claws renegades. That may be what they are, but it is not what they consider themselves. When entering the fastness of another Chapter, it is always best to view them as they see themselves – things can become needlessly complicated otherwise.’

  They had reached a level without the openings that perforated the rest of the Eyrie. Khauri suspected that they had passed underground. The tunnels started to feel more subterranean, rough-cut and narrow, illuminated only by braziers positioned at occasional intervals, throwing monstrous shadows against the uneven walls as the Space Marines passed. The number of dead corvids increased as well, their bones crunching underfoot. There were no longer any signs of human activity, and nobody passed them by.