Angels of Darkness - Page 10/26

Boreas's thoughts were disturbed. There was some­thing amiss, he could feel it. On the face of it, everything was proceeding as normal, but he detected an undercur­rent amongst his command. It was hard to pinpoint, but he could sense their slight reproach. Like him, they were frustrated, virtually marooned here in the Piscina system while their battle-brothers sought glorious battle hun­dreds, if not thousands, of light years away. Or perhaps it was only his own impotence that he was projecting on to them. The others chafed slightly perhaps at their posting, but maybe that was all. It was not entirely unexpected. Nestor, of all of them, seemed the most comfortable with their situation. But that in itself could be problematic. Had the old Apothecary resigned himself to his future? Had he lost his drive? Was he merely looking to his death now, perhaps jaded by his long service?

Before he checked on Battle-Brothers Thumiel and Zaul, the Chaplain decided he needed more time to think on this matter. He strode back up the stairwell to the very top of the tower, out onto the observation and gun platform on its roof. From here he could look out across Kadillus Harbour and up at the great volcano on the flanks of which it was built. The strengthening breeze gusted over his face and set his robe flapping, refreshing his mind. He frequently came up here when the confines of the chapel srifled his thoughts rather than letting them flow. He walked first to the south parapet, and looked down the slopes towards the sea.

Here was the industrial heart of Kadillus Harbour. Here were the massive docks where the enormous ocean-going harvesters came and went, and the high cranes and gantries that criss-crossed the bay to unload their cargoes of gas and minerals dredged from the sea floor. Factories spilt around the harbour like a stain, gouting smoke as they processed ore and smelted metals for transportation off-planet. Here were the hab-blocks, vast rockcrete struc­tures crammed with the million-strong workforce of Kadillus Harbour. Night was closing in and soon the loud klaxons and sirens would signal the end of the day shift and the start of the night watch. When dark descended, the thousands of furnaces and smelting works would light the sky with red.

Boreas walked around the parapet and looked out east­wards. Here was the richer district, and close by the old ruins of the ancient basilica. Beyond the towering spires of the planetary nobles and the sprawling palaces of the Imperial commander, the Lady Sousan, lay Koth Ridge. It had been there that the Dark Angels and the Imperial Guard had made their stand against the orks. If that defence had failed, the two greenskin forces would have been able to unite and the planet would have surely fallen.

It was there, on that barren rocky stretch of ground, that thousands of Guardsmen and nearly one hundred Space Marines held off a seemingly endless alien horde. Boreas had not been there, for he had still been fighting in Kadillus itself. But he had heard the tales of victory and heroism with pride. The battle-brothers of the Dark Angels had fought hard and taken terrible losses, but their blood had secured victory and saved Piscina from being enslaved. Had Piscina IV fallen, then the orks would have met no resistance when they descended on Piscina V. The tribesmen would have been slaughtered or enslaved, and another world would have been lost to the Dark Angels forever.

Boreas couldn't help but reflect bitterly on the events of the past five years. Once, an entire company had been stationed here under the command of Master Belial. Now, only he and a handful of the campaign's veterans were left to defend the future of the Chapter. The Tower of Angels returned less and less frequently, and Boreas wondered how quickly those great deeds might be for­gotten.

Continuing his circuit, Boreas looked to the north. The first thing he saw was the massive open apron of North-port, where starships landed and took off every week, bringing vital supplies and in return taking the mineral wealth of the planet away to distant systems. There was something amiss though. Concentrating, Boreas saw wisps of dark smoke snaking like tendrils from the streets that approached the starport. He could also make out the distant orange flicker of flames.

The Interrogator-Chaplain ran to the nearest gun turret and stepped inside. He flicked on the comm-unit and punched the stud for the command centre at the base of the tower. Zaul would be on duty at the moment.

'This is Boreas. Have you received any unusual com­munications from the north of the city?' asked Boreas.

'Negative, there have been no abnormal communica­tions today,' Zaul replied after a moment. 'Is there a problem?'

'Connect me through to the headquarters of Colonel Brade,' commanded Boreas, activating the turret control systems. As the motors whirred into life, the comm crack­led as Zaul fed it through the main aerial that towered from the centre of the keep. Manipulating the controls with one hand, he directed the emplaced gun to rotate towards the north, while he watched the long-range sen­sor screen. There on the screen, he could clearly see a number of fires blazing in the streets, the smoke filling the canyon-like roadways.

'Lord Boreas?' the comm spat into life.

'Colonel Brade. I am currently observing some form of disturbance near to Northport,' Boreas said. 'Please explain the situation.'

'There has been some rioting, my lord,' Brade replied. 'A few hundred individuals only, the Imperial comman­der's security forces are attempting to contain them as we speak.'

'Please inform whoever is in charge of the operation that I will be joining him shortly,' Boreas said, looking at the growing blazes on the monitor.

'I don't think that will be necessary, my lord,' Brade said, his voice terse. 'I am sure the Imperial commander's men are capable of handling the situation.'

'I wish to observe these events personally, please inform the ground commander to expect my arrival.' Boreas cut the link and powered down the turret. He strode quickly across the roof to the stairs and hurried down them, all the way to the first subterranean level. Jumping the last few steps, Boreas entered the fortress's garage. Here, two slab-sided Rhino armoured carriers sat in the gloom, and three combat bikes. It was to the bikes that he went. With huge reinforced tyres, armour plating and built-in bolters, each was closer in size to a small roadcar than a motorcycle, designed for Space Marines to make rapid hit-and-run strikes inside enemy-held terri­tory. Boreas found them useful for travelling the winding city streets of Kadillus on the few occasions when he actually left the outpost, usually to attend traditional cer­emonies with the Imperial commander.

Sitting astride the machine, he thumbed the engine into life, its mechanical growl echoing around the garage. Boreas opened up a comm-link to the command cham­ber.

'Monitor all local transmissions, I am heading to the Northport area to find out what is happening,' he told Zaul.

'I have your tracker on the oracle-screen,' confirmed the battle-brother. The transponder built into the bike's chassis would transmit its position every few seconds, allowing the other Space Marines to home in on its location rapidly should the rider encounter danger or fail to report on schedule.

'Open the gate,' ordered Boreas before gunning the engine and releasing the clutch. With a plume of blue smoke in his wake, he roared up the ramp and out into the twilight of the city.

Passing between the armoured bastions of the gate­house, Boreas moved rapidly up through the bike's gears until he was racing down the streets, his robes flapping in the wind. The occasional roadcars and heavy, slab-sided transporters on the road slowed to let him pass. It was at the height of the work-shift and the streets were almost deserted. Either side of him the grim buildings of Kadil­lus sped past, and he saw brief glimpses of the surprised faces of the few cidzens on the streets. It was not often that they saw one of their mysterious, superhuman guardians, and some of the pedestrians began running along after him, shouting out blessings and praise.

It took only a few minutes of riding before the sky ahead of Boreas was thick with black smoke. There were crowds gathering, but they parted easily as he nosed the bike forward, more cautiously now the streets were beginning to fill with people. He spotted the dark red uniform of a Kadillus security enforcer, and swung the bike over next to her. The woman, her head and eyes con­cealed behind a reflective glass visor, gaped openly as he came to a stop just ahead of her. In her hands she held a lasgun, which began to tremble in her nervous grasp.

'Who is in charge, and where can I find them?' asked Boreas, leaning towards the enforcer. He dwarfed the woman and she was obviously intimidated by his pres­ence.

'Lieutenant-at-arms Verusius,' the woman replied breathlessly. 'He's at the worst of the rioting. Head west at the next junction.'

'Stop any more people arriving in the area,' Boreas told her.

'We're trying to do that now,' she replied, taking a step back.

'Good,' Boreas said, revving the engine and riding off. More and more security personnel could be seen as he approached the junction, another kilometre along the road. The citizens were more numerous as well, being held back by the cordon. Their scrabbling and surging halted as the Space Marine pulled into view, and the crowds parted to let him pass, shouts spreading out to herald his progress.

Soon he saw the front line ahead. Smoke billowed overhead and dozens of enforcers were stood in a line across the road. He could see an armoured groundcar parked nearby, and a small group of officers standing next to it. They all turned in unison as the bike screeched to a halt behind the roadcar.

'Lord Boreas!' one of them exclaimed. In his hand, he gripped a comm-unit, which occasionally squawked bursts of incomprehensible noise. 'I'm honoured!'

'You are Lieutenant-at-arms Verusius?' Boreas asked the young man.

'No, I am,' said an older, shorter security man. He wore no helmet, and his uniform was a long red coat with gold piping. His face was broad and split by a dark mous­tache, his thinning hair cropped short. 'As I assured Colonel Brade when he offered assistance, everything is under control.'

'I have no doubt of that, I merely wish to find out what is occurring,' Boreas said.

'It's been building for months,' Verusius said gruffly. 'There's been unrest in the factories, people have started talking about the mysterious portents they've been see­ing, like the freak storms in the middle of dry season, the mines all hitting dead seams in the space of a few weeks, strange mutated creatures attacking the ocean harvesters. Rumour went around that the astropaths were seeing whirls of blood in their dreams, and heard the screams of dying children. There's been more fights than usual, peo­ple even getting killed in brawls, and now this.'

'That still does not explain this outbreak of disobedi­ence,' Boreas replied. 'Something, or someone, must have instigated this unrest.'

'A starship arrived this morning and docked at the orbital station,' explained Verusius. 'A story began to cir­culate that their Navigator had suffered some form of attack, that he'd been dragged out of his pilaster with blood streaming from his face, as if every blood vessel in his body had split. We tried to stop the rumours from spreading, ordered a security shutdown on the spaceport, but word got out anyway. People started flocking here for news, then it got ugly.'

'Why was none of this brought to my attention?' Boreas demanded. 'This information is pertinent to the security of our outpost.'

'That's nothing to do with me, you'll have to contact the Imperial commander's aides,' said Verusius with a shrug. 'If it gets any worse, we'll have to give the order to open fire.'

'No!' snapped Boreas with a glance at the security offi­cers. 'There will be no unnecessary deaths. Allow me to assess the situation. I will inform you of further action to take.'

He walked further down the street, and saw that the rioters had built barricades of burning carts and tyres. They were throwing chunks of masonry at the enforcers, and hurling flaming brands into the build­ings either side of the street. The security men and women had formed a rough line across the main boulevard leading to the starport, preventing the riot­ers access to the area, which was also close to the Imperial palaces. Boreas stepped up behind the line and gazed over the heads of the enforcers at the rabble further down the street. Those just in front of him glanced over their shoulders, startled.

There were some two hundred people in the mob, many carrying burning torches and improvised weapons of some kind. The street was filled with the cacophony of the riot, but Boreas's keen hearing could distinguish every sound. Their shrieks and shouts sounded over the crackling of the fires, the splintering of wood and the crash of breaking glass. He could smell the smoke from the fires, the sweat of bodies, the blood spilt in puddles across the street.

The red splashes of uniforms stood out against the black rock of the road where injured enforcers lay, their comrades unable to rescue them in the teeth of the riot­ers' fury. Boreas pushed his way through the line, one of the enforcers stumbling to his knees as the burly Space Marine eased past.

Boreas began to walk towards the rioting mob, as bricks and chunks of masonry splintered on the road around him. Within a few seconds, as the rioters caught sight of him, the rain of missiles faltered and then stopped; the shouting quietened and silenced. In a mat­ter of moments, the Chaplain's sheer presence had quelled the violence, his appearance alone enough to drive thoughts of disobedience from the rioters' minds. Now it was replaced with fear and awe. Boreas was ten strides from the front of the mob, and continued his slow, purposeful walk. Just as the other citizens had done beforehand, the awed crowd split in front of him, form­ing into a circle as he stopped in the middle of the group. Only the crackling of flames and the odd chink of broken glass sliding under the feet of the protestors broke the silence that greeted him.

He gazed at those around him, their expressions of anger and hate now replaced by barely-contained terror. Many started crying, some fell to their knees and vomited from the shock. Others started gibbering prayers to the Emperor, bricks and clubs dropping from their grasp and clattering onto the rockcrete. Eventually silence fell, and all Boreas could hear was panicked panting and the ham­mering of hearts. None met the angered stare of the Interrogator-Chaplain as his eyes passed over the sub­dued crowd.

Boreas's own anger subsided as he looked at the peo­ple. These were not heretics to be killed; these were not malcontents intent on rebellion. They were citizens whose fear had turned to anger, who were crying out for guidance and help.

'Forgive us, my lord, forgive us!' begged one of the riot­ers, a scrawny man in the uniform of a Northport cargo loader, throwing himself at Boreas's feet. 'We did not seek to incur your wrath!'

'Be at peace!' Boreas declared, looming over the hud­dle of scared people. He reached down and pulled the prostrate man to his feet. 'Lay down your weapons, put aside your anger and fears. Look upon me and remember that the servants of the Emperor watch over you. Do not be afraid, for I am here as your guardian, not as your exe­cutioner.'

The crowd stood silently watching the Space Marine, casting glances at each other.

'But we are afraid, my lord,' the port worker told Boreas. 'A time of darkness is coming, we have seen the omens, we have heard the portents.'

'And I am here to protect you,' Boreas assured them. 'My brethren and I are here to watch over you, to guard you from danger. I stand here as a representative of the Dark Angels, a warrior of the Emperor, and I am here to remind you of the sacred oaths that bind our fate to yours. I renew that pledge here and now! I swear by the honour of my Chapter and my own life that I and my battle-brothers will lay down our lives in the defence of your world, whatever may beset us.'

'What is to become of us?' someone called out, a tall woman with blood in her blonde hair and a gash down the side of her face.

'I cannot blame you for your fears,' Boreas said. 'But I cannot pardon your actions. You cannot rise up against the servants of the Emperor and go unpunished. I shall request that the Imperial commander be lenient, but I ask you now to give yourselves to the mercy of your ruler, and subject yourself to the judgment of her judiciary. Who amongst you counts themselves leaders of this dis­turbance?'

There was some murmuring and three men stepped forward hesitantly, their heads bowed with shame. All three were similarly dressed in the overalls of port work­ers, supervisor badges stitched to their chests.

'There was another one!' somebody called out. 'He was the one who started it all!'

'An offworlder, he was there giving speeches,' another voice added.

'Tell me about this man,' Boreas demanded of the ring­leaders. It was the oldest who replied, a man in his middle years with thick curly hair and a long beard.

'He worked on a ship that lies in orbit, it was his shut­tle that brought the story of the mutilated Navigator,' the man said, gazing around the crowd. 'I cannot see him here.'

'Tell me about this ship,' Boreas asked, leaning over the man. 'From which ship did this man hail?'

'It was called the Saint Carthen,' another of the mob leaders answered. 'A rogue trader vessel, he said. He told us that he had come from other worlds, where there was revolt, where dark powers were at work in the minds of the governors. He accused Imperial Commander Sousan, said she was under the sway of alien influence.'

'The ''Saint Carthen''? You are sure that was the name of the vessel?' Boreas demanded, gripping the front of the man's overalls and lifting him to his toes. The name had sent a shock through Boreas, as if he had been struck.

'Yes, yes, my lord,' he stuttered back, his eyes filling with fear. Boreas released him and turned away quickly, the gathered people stumbling and tripping to get out of his way. Boreas stopped after a few paces, seeing the enforcers walking cautiously forward. He turned to the crowd again.

'Subject yourselves to the judgment of the courts, and praise the Emperor that I am in a tolerant mood!' he warned them before striding off, his mind a whirlwind of dark thoughts.

Verusius stood beside Boreas's bike as the Interrogator-Chaplain walked quickly towards the gaggle of security officials,

'Many thanks for your intervention, my lord,' Verusius said with a quick bow. 'Your mercy does you credit.'

'Punish them as you see fit,' Boreas said, pushing Veru­sius aside and stepping over the bike. He had only a single concern now - to ascertain the truth regarding the Saint Carthen's presence. If it indeed was at Piscina, it her­alded far more danger than a few rioting citizens and bursts of superstitious unrest.

'Remember that the weak of mind need a strong hand to guide them,' he told Verusius sharply. 'Benevolence is to be lauded, but weakness will only allow the cancer of heresy to fester unseen. It is not my judgment to make, that is for your lawmakers, but it is my suggestion to exe­cute the ringleaders. They have betrayed their positions of trust, and this should not be tolerated. Chastise the others quickly and then return them to work, for inactiv­ity will breed dissent. I must also demand that you find anyone who comes from the Saint Carthen, and execute them immediately.'

He did not explain that if Verusius did not heed the Chaplain's suggestion, it might well be that the Dark Angels would indeed have to become executioners. The fewer who knew about the Saint Carthen, the less likely that its unsavoury history would be discovered. Verusius began to speak again, but the throbbing roar of the bike's engine kicking into life drowned his voice out. Boreas slewed the bike around, the back wheel spitting dust and smoke, and raced off down the street. His heart was heavy as he powered his way back to the outpost, oblivi­ous to the wandering citizens and patrolling enforcers he scattered in his wake.