The Beast Arises

‘There hasn’t been a threat inside the Core for… centuries,’ he said lightly, much more lightly than he was feeling. ‘Xenos or otherwise. It’s unthinkable.’

‘Politics could make it happen. Power play.’

He considered her carefully.

‘These… Chrome things? Really? That dangerous?’

‘We believe there is a palpable and credible xenos threat. We brought it to the attention of Udo, Lansung, Kubik and Mirhen as a Critical Situation Packet. Only Mirhen agreed on its credibility.’

‘What aren’t you telling me, Wienand?’

‘Nothing, Drakan. Nothing at all.’

She fixed him with eyes as chilly as starlight.

‘It’s the principle of this matter. Personal ambition is allowing the Senatorum to become weak and inefficient. This is a matter we have discussed before. Now it threatens to become more than a theoretical annoyance. I will not stand by and see a core world burned or overrun just to demonstrate the fatal inadequacies of the Senatorum.’

‘What are you proposing?’ he asked.

‘We bring the issue into special business. Lansung, Mesring and Udo are too strong, and too many look to them, even if we swing Heth with us. Zeck too, perhaps, because the reputation of the Adeptus Astartes is at stake and he holds them in especial regard. The point is, we don’t try to change the world overnight. All we want is the Senatorum to recognise the problem, and get Heth to propose a fifty-regiment reinforcement expedition to back up the undertaking. We basically shame Lansung into approving fleet support. The Lord High Admiral does not want to go down on the parliamentary record as the man who refused support and left the core worlds wide open.’

‘Can he commit what we need? If we embarrass the man, we could corner him.’

‘I’ve reviewed it,’ she replied, ‘carefully. There are three Segmentum quarter-fleets he could mobilise easily enough, or two vanguard attack squadrons standing off Mars. He has the resources. Thank Throne, he hasn’t sent them all to the frontier.’

Vangorich sat back and watched the fish dart about.

‘Let’s not make it a hard vote,’ he said.

‘How so?’

‘Let’s not push him or humiliate him into compliance. Let’s make the case and give Lansung the opportunity to look magnanimous.’

‘You let him be the hero of the hour?’

‘Does that matter if the Terran Core is protected? Let’s give him the opportunity to look good in the eyes of the Senatorum and the populace. Let him take it as a win. Wienand, you get much more out of people if you let them feel good about doing what you want them to do.’

She laughed.

‘And if he does not?’

‘Then we apply pressure. Then we threaten him with shame. You have my vote. I have a little sway with Zeck, and I believe I can call in a favour owed by Gibran if necessary.’

‘Good,’ she said.

‘Good,’ he replied, smiling. ‘I like our little talks.’

She rose to her feet and handed him her empty glass.

‘This xenos threat, Wienand,’ he asked. ‘Really, what aren’t you telling me?’

‘I’m telling you everything,’ she said.

‘I see.’ He shrugged. ‘When will you allow me to know your forename, Wienand?’

‘My dear Drakan, what makes you think you even know my surname? Killing is your business, sir. Secrets are ours.’

Ten

Ardamantua

The warrior-form came at Laurentis, jaws open, ropes of saliva stretched out between the points of laterally extended biting parts.

A force knocked it aside. The creature was smashed to the magos biologis’ right, splashing into the muddy slime that drooled along the tunnel floor. The impact that felled it was like the concussion of a demolition tool-bit working rockcrete.

The huge beast couldn’t get up. Something had it pinned. A humanoid form in yellow: an Imperial Fist.

A captain. Laurentis could see the rank marks, despite the wash of gore and mud plastering the Space Marine’s armour.

Slaughter. It was Slaughter.

Slaughter had brought the Chrome down, floored it and pinned it by the throat with his left fist. The Space Marine’s right fist was a piston, ramming a huge combat knife into the Chrome’s distended belly over and over again. Something burst. Brown liquid sprayed out across the tunnel. Laurentis recoiled from the vented reek of formic acid and rancid milk.

The warrior-form went slack. Slaughter got off it, but his combat knife was wedged between the integuments of its armour. A second large xenos thundered down the tunnel on the heels of the first, trailing the semi-articulated pieces of a driving servitor from one of its limbs.

Slaughter abandoned his combat knife. Leaving it embedded in the torso of his first kill, he threw himself over the corpse and into the face of the second warrior-form. He drew his broadsword as he leapt, sweeping the powered blade out of its over-shoulder scabbard and forwards, so that its cutting edge led the way.