Angels of Darkness - Page 7/26

'And dark it was,' agreed Astelan, choosing to ignore the accusation in the Chaplain's statement. 'My com­manders were brutal in the execution of my orders. Misguided tolerance had bred weakness, and my com­mand was to show no mercy. We razed the breeding grounds of the rebels, burnt down the holes where they hid, executed their kin and those who supported them with their inaction. Though I am not proud of what I was forced to do, and there was much opposition from Dax's court, the Imperial commander gave me his full support. At that time, he alone could see my intent and under­stood what was necessary. I will not deny the fact that it was a pogrom of fearsome scale, and many that might have been judged innocent were executed without recourse to considered judgment. But they were excep­tional times, the people of Tharsis had to be shown the way, they had to understand that life under the rule of the Emperor is not given freely, it is earned with sacrifice - sacrifice of personal freedom, of labour and, when needed, of blood. Tharsis burned for two hundred and fifty days, as the cleansing continued. But on that last day, as I personally led my sacred bands on the attack, Tharsis's freedom was won!'

Astelan paused for breath, he was panting and sweat­ing hard. While he had spoken, he had become more animated, as much as the bonds around his limbs and body allowed.

'You were not there,' he said to Boreas, interpreting the Chaplain's silence as disbelief. 'How can you understand our elation at the final victory, when you are so passion­less, so devoid of life? We had driven them back for month after month, until we had forced them to make a last stand at the coast of the northern seas. Four thou­sand of them, that was all that remained. At my back were fifty thousand warriors, with me at the fore were twenty thousand of the sacred bands. There was nowhere for them to escape this time, nowhere to run, no lair to hide in. They were surrounded and we showed them no mercy. They fought well, to their credit, and not one of them attempted to surrender.'

'Would it have mattered?' Boreas asked.

'Not at all,' Astelan replied bluntly, his shrug making the chains around him rattle dully. 'They knew they were condemned to die, and they chose to die fighting. It took less than an hour, as the shells rained down and the sacred bands charged. I myself accounted for one hun­dred and eight of them. One hundred and seven I killed in battle, and at the end, Vazturan, greatest of my com­manders and worshipped by the troops, brought me the last of the rebels, still alive. I remember, he was young, no more than twenty years old. He was wounded, shot in the arm, his face bloodied. His scalp was shaved and he had been tattooed with the symbols of the rebellion -the raven's head, the inverted aquila. I took him to the edge of the cliffs, and my army gathered round in their tens of thousands, many of them standing on tanks to get a view, jostling and scuffling with each other in their attempts to see a glimpse of the death of the last Tharsian renegade. I tossed the youth off the cliff onto the jagged rocks below and a great cheer welled up from the army. Such a noise equalled the victory chants of my Chapter when we conquered Muapre Primus.'

'A cause for great celebration, I can see,' Boreas snarled, stepping out of the darkness, showing true emotion for the first time since he had arrived. The Interrogator-Chaplain unfolded his arms and took a step closer to Astelan. Without warning he lashed out, the back of his hand crashing across Astelan's face. The pain was momentary, but it was not supposed to hurt. It was an insult, a blow one would use to chastise an aspirant. The attack was filled with contempt, and conveyed Boreas's feelings more than any words could.

'I know what you did!' the Interrogator-Chaplain bel­lowed, his mouth right by Astelan's ear. 'There was an Administratum census-taker on Tharsis less than a decade before you arrived, before there was any war, before your bloodthirsty regime. The records we examined listed the population of Tharsis at just less than eight hundred mil­lion people. When you took power, you kept very good records. You listed your soldiers, the workers, the supervi­sors and their families. Your sacred bands controlled everything, and it was all noted down. I saw those records before I left. You were right to say a generation gave its life for you. Your own scribes estimated the population to be between two hundred and two hundred and fifty million, a quarter of the people you proclaim to have saved!'

'The war had its costs, sacrifices were made; do you not understand?' Astelan shouted back at him.

'You, an oath-breaker, a traitor to your own primarch, are guilty of genocide on a massive scale.' The Chaplain's voice had dropped to a venomous hiss.

'And you can say this with a clear conscience?' spat Astelan. 'The Dark Angels have no blood on their hands?'

'Oh, I agree that battle and sacrifice result in death,' Boreas replied with a grimace. 'I understand that we live in a brutal universe, and that amongst the unnumbered souls of the Imperium, a few million deaths are immea­surably minute. The Dark Angels have purged worlds that are beyond all attempts at redemption, and we have done it with joy for we know what we do is for the secu­rity of the future. Truly it is said that a moment of laxity spawns a lifetime of heresy.'

'Then you understand me!' Astelan felt a glimmer of joy. For the first time in two centuries, he thought that perhaps there were still those of enough mettle to forge an Imperium worthy of the Emperor. Perhaps the Dark Angels had not sunk so low as the others had taught him. 'You admit that you were wrong to attack me.'

'Never!' Boreas snapped, gripping Astelan's face in both hands, his mouth twisted in a feral snarl. ‘Three hundred million Tharsians died after the war was declared over, when you usurped power. You had tasted blood, and you wanted more. You were depraved and vicious, delighting in the fear of those you ruled over! Those who did not serve in your sacred bands lived in terror, that was how you maintained rule. There was no shared vision of the great Imperium, no collective effort to serve the Emperor. There were two million hired killers and two hundred million terrified slaves! How could a Chapter commander have fallen so low? Or per­haps you have always been like this. Perhaps blood-hungry maniacs were needed during the Great Crusade.'

'They were right, ten thousand years without the Emperor has made you weak,' Astelan dismissed the Chaplain's accusations and turned his head away.

'Who?' Boreas demanded.

'The others of my kind who I met on my long journey, the ones who had been in your universe longer than myself. I learnt much from them,' explained Astelan.

'And was Horus weak when he led his Legions against the Emperor, or was he strong because he left slaughter and devastation in his wake?' said Boreas, releasing his hold and stepping away.

‘You compare me to the cursed Warmaster?' Astelan turned his head back to glare at Boreas. 'You think that I wanted those deaths, that I craved the spilling of blood?'

'I think the guilt of what you have done, the sins you have committed, have driven you mad,' Boreas said. You have lost your judgment, you were never fit to command a Chapter, and when your failings were exposed, you sought to hide behind bloodshed and horror. Did their screams block out the voices that cursed you for a rene­gade? Did the blood of three hundred million lives you yourself claim you were protecting wash away the stain of treachery?'

'What we fought for so hard, I could not risk losing again,' Astelan explained, resting his head back against the slab, staring at the featureless rock of the ceiling. 'I could not countenance another betrayal such as we suf­fered on Caliban. I had to guard against doubt, against the rumours and whispers that eat away at men's hearts and erode their will to rise up and claim what is theirs.'

'And so you rose up and claimed what was yours, is that how it transpired?' Boreas asked.

'When the war was over, the celebrations continued for a long time, but as ever, the people's euphoria passed eventually,' Astelan said, saddened by the memory. Though he was aware of the weakness of normal men, he could not truly understand it. 'How soon the Tharsians forgot what bound them together, when there was no enemy left for them to fight. There were murmurings against what had happened, nothing that you could trace or prove, but a swell of discontent. They started doubting the validity of keeping the sacred bands armed, ignorantly claiming that because the war with the rebels was over, there was no need to maintain such an army. They didn't understand that winning the war for Tharsis was the first step on the road to greater glories. Forged in bat­tle, the sacred bands were an army fit for the Emperor. The spirit of the Great Crusade still burned inside me, and here was a force that was worthy to take up the man­tle that so many others had discarded.'

'You wanted to embark on a war of conquest, to further your grip on the worlds around Tharsis?' snapped Boreas.

'I wanted to show the galaxy what I had achieved!' argued Astelan, smashing his fist against the slab. 'I wanted to cast aside the doubts of ancient history and demonstrate to those with power that a way still existed for the Imperium to grow stronger. But Imperial Com­mander Dax, after I had revealed my aspirations to him, turned from me, just as El'Jonson had done a hundred centuries ago.'

The memory pained Astelan, like a knife twisting in his stomach. It had been a time of nightmare, his hopes sud­denly dashed. Even now, the feeling of loss still haunted him. For a while he thought he had purged his soul of the regrets of the past, but to be discarded again had been too much.

'He told me that I had done him and Tharsis a great service, and I would be lauded for a hundred lifetimes.' Astelan continued. 'His words meant nothing to me, and suddenly his purpose became clear. Through me, he had done what he had not considered possible, and had allowed me to take the responsibility. Had my war with the rebels failed, then he had lost nothing, but he had everything to gain. Now he spoke of reducing the army, of instating captains and colonels from the old families again. I was horrified, but helpless. It was then, unbid­den, that the sacred bands showed me the way. With no command from me, I swear by the Emperor, they besieged Dax's palaces. There was no one to resist them, all but a few soldiers in the whole army supported me as commander. Those few who spoke against the action were eliminated. Faced with such powerful opposition, the Imperial commander agreed to review his decision. But his cowardice got the better of him, and he was killed whilst trying to flee the palace.'

'How convenient for you,' the Chaplain retorted with a shake of his head. He crossed his arms and glowered at Astelan. 'The loyalty of your men must have been most gratifying, the death of the Imperial commander a timely incident.'

'I have no illusions that the soldiers had more than my great plans in mind,' admitted Astelan. 'During the rebel­lion, they had risked their homes and lives to fight off the enemy, but I had ensured that the rewards for them matched my expectations. I know that the hearts of nor­mal men are weak, they will never be like the Space Marines. As well as leadership and direction, they require incentive to rise above their inherent selfishness. And so they had lands, and good food. Each soldier had been provided with servants to see to their needs, so that they might concentrate on the fighting. I did not want them distracted by petty concerns.'

'You created a warrior class to rule over Tharsis, with yourself at its head,' Boreas concluded.

'With your cynical eye, it may seem so, but consider this,' replied Astelan, meeting the Chaplain's contemptu­ous stare. 'Even now, your power leeched away, the Legions divided, how many of the people within the Tower of Angels are not Space Marines. Tens, hundreds, thousands?'

'The Chapter is maintained by roughly five hundred serfs, servitors and tech-priests,' Boreas answered cau­tiously.

'Five hundred people for a thousand Space Marines, that does not sound too much,' Astelan said with a wry look. 'But what about beyond the walls of this fortress, on ships and in distant garrisons? The same number again? Probably many more. And the food you eat, the ammunition in your weapons, even the paint for your armour, where does this come from? Thousands, tens of thousands, labour every day so that you stand ready to fight, to guard them from the perils of the galaxy.'

'But the Dark Angels are a Space Marine Chapter, the only purpose of our existence is to fight battles, to wage war on the enemies of the Emperor,' argued Boreas. 'Worlds do not exist for that purpose.'

'Why? Why not?' Astelan became animated again. 'This was the crux of his vision. It seemed so plain to him -why could Boreas not understand? 'Caliban once did! So you see, that was my dream, that was what I was trying to create. The weak men in power feared the Legions, broke them apart so that now they are thrown to the corners of the galaxy, strewn across the stars and rendered impo­tent. The regiments of the Imperial Guard are clumsy, unwieldy weapons. I learnt much about them during my time on Tharsis, and I came to despise what they repre­sent. They rely on the ships of the Navy, which are controlled by a different organisation. A whole branch of the Administratum, the Departmento Munitorium, is dedicated to the sole matter of shipping regiments to war zones, and providing them with supplies. This you know, but you don't really understand what it means. Scribes and bookkeepers wage the wars of the Emperor now, not military officers. It is a shameful pile of politics and hier­archy, bogged down by its own complexity. Where has the vision gone? It was like my army on Tharsis had been, growing more unwieldy every passing day in an attempt to deal with its own unwieldiness. Who is there to carry on the Emperor's quest for a human galaxy free from danger? Clerks? Farmers? Miners?'

'And your way is better?' sneered Boreas. 'To place trust in someone like you, a man who unleashed unprecedented bloodshed upon a world you say you had adopted as your own?'

'You sound like the whining priests back on Tharsis!' snapped Boreas.

'The ones you murdered for speaking out against you?' said Boreas, stepping forward again, looming over Aste­lan.

'With the Imperial commander dead, it was the will of the people that I take his place.' Astelan was defiant, he would not let this interrogator bully him into admitting he was wrong when he knew in his heart that he was not. They recognised that really it had been I that had brought them success in the war. But the price of victory had been high, and soon the ruling class revealed them­selves as the ingrates they were. While they had happily allowed the people of Tharsis to lay down their lives to protect them, the councillors, the cardinals and the aris­tocracy resisted my acceptance of authority. And the self-deluding hypocrites of the Ecclesiarchy were the worst of all. Since my awakening, I have seen first-hand the damage they have done. More than anything else it is their ridiculous mutterings and pompous sermons that have undermined the power of the Imperium.'

'And so you felt justified to eliminate them as well?' Boreas grabbed one of the chains and twisted it in his fist, tightening it across Astelan's muscled chest until it dug into his flesh. 'Perhaps you feared the power they had over your slaves. Were they the only true opposition your coup had, the only ones to rival your tenacious grip on the people of Tharsis? Was it jealousy of their privi­leged position and spiritual authority that incensed you?'

'Driven by meaningless dogma, they refused to endorse my claim as Imperial commander because I would not agree with them that the Emperor is a god,' argued Astelan, struggling against the tightening of the chains. 'Hah! I have walked alongside the Emperor, I have listened to Him speak, I have seen Him angry and sad. What do they know, with their carvings and paint­ings, their idolatry and superstitions? The Emperor is certainly more than a normal man, but a god? That was not his intent, and the fools who founded this Ecclesiarchy committed a grave error. The Emperor is not some distant figure to be worshipped, He is the will behind us all, the power that drives man to surmount the trials that face us. It was He who said that mankind must furnish itself with a destiny, and now that message has been thrown aside, so that the weak-willed can blame a god for their own shortcomings.'

'You profess a closeness to the Emperor?' Boreas asked, releasing the chain so that it slapped against Astelan's skin.

'No, I do not.' Astelan shook his head. 'I was one of several thousand Chapter Masters, proud of my achieve­ments, but no more worthy of His attention then any other. I met the Emperor just once, on Sheridan's World, and then only briefly. Whenever I have doubts, I recall that meeting and the memory gives me purpose again. He spoke only a few words to me, praising the campaign, complimenting the fervour of my Chapter. It is the one true regret I have that I was not with him when they rediscovered Caliban. Perhaps if I had been there, things might have been different. But with the return of the primarchs everything changed, it was never the same as it had been when we followed the Emperor alone.'

'And so you ordered your death squads to murder the priests, the cardinals and even the deans and choir boys,' Boreas hissed between gritted teeth.

'You exaggerate,' Astelan said, trying to wave his hand in rejection of Boreas's accusation, the gesture stifled by his bonds. 'They presented me with an ultimatum - acknowledge the Emperor as a god, or face another revolt. Their own words and actions betrayed their trea­sonous intent. I presented them with an ultimatum of my own - retract their threat and abandon the trappings and advantages that their false teachings had gained them, or be tried as traitors. Some accepted, others refused. I had no part in their judgment, but they were all found guilty and executed. Choir boys indeed!'

'But you did not stop with the priesdy orders,' contin­ued Boreas. 'You waged a war upon all the agents of the Imperium who did not agree with you, and then you waged a war against your own populace when they voiced discontent.'

‘They resented my successes,' Astelan snorted in deri­sion. ‘The judges, the arbitrators, the witch-cursed astropaths, the Munitorium quartermasters and the teeming hordes of the Adeptus Terra. I took back the power they had stolen over ten thousand years, subtly usurping the Imperium from those the Emperor had conceived to create it. In their petty-mindedness and internecine squabbles they had obscured the original vision, bastardised the Imperial ideal. I had vowed to restore it, and they stood against me. But not once did I ever kill out of hand. The people of the Imperium still know many of the great truths, but never truly think about the mottos and sayings they quote: By the manner of their deaths, shall you know them, is one that came to embody my rule. There were the loyal heroes who died in battle during the war, and there were the traitors who died on the gibbet afterwards. Tharsis shared my dream, they believed in me and the Emperor.'

'And so while you rebuilt your dreams of conquest, your sacred bands enforced curfew with boltguns, meted justice in the street with cudgels and blades and brutalised those who did not conform to that dream.' As he spoke, Boreas's fists clenched and unclenched slowly.

'I only wished harmony, of that I swear by my life,' protested Astelan. 'It was to banish the discord that has reigned since the Emperor defied Horus that I did what I felt was necessary.'

Boreas said nothing immediately. Instead, he turned away from Astelan and took a few paces towards the door, his head bowed in thought.

'But there was one dissenter who escaped your wrath,' the Chaplain said quietiy.

'I do not understand,' replied Astelan. ‘He was con­fused; who was this dissenter the Chaplain spoke of?

'Why do you think we came to Tharsis when we did?' asked Boreas, turning around, a look of triumph on his face. 'For seven decades you were there, isolating yourself from the rest of the Imperium. Who had ever heard of Tharsis? Certainly not the High Lords, and certainly not the Dark Angels. Your forces controlled the ships, so that none could leave without your permission, but you did not reckon on the faith and defiance of one man. He deserted your fleet, stealing a shuttle and flew it through an asteroid field to avoid pursuit. One deserter, though I suspect there were many others. He had no chance of sur­vival, nowhere to go, but he felt the need to break free. And that was when coincidence, fate, destiny, or whatever you care to call it, paid interest in your affairs again. For fifty days he floated in space, on the verge of death, mal­nourished and severely dehydrated from drinking increasingly recycled water. Fifty days is not very far in the depths of space, but it was far enough for his trans­missions for help to be intercepted by one of our ships that was patrolling the edges of the Tharsis system. His shuttle was recovered, and we learnt of the terrible events that had unfolded. And we learnt of you.'