Uriel slammed his fist down on the table.
‘No!’ he stated forcefully, ‘I will not have it. We came here to save these people, not to destroy them.’
Tiberius placed a calming hand on Uriel’s arm. Mykola Shonai looked from Uriel to Barzano, a confused look upon her features.
‘Perhaps I am missing something,’ she said. ‘What are cyclonic torpedoes?’
‘Planet killers,’ answered Uriel. ‘They will burn the atmosphere of Pavonis away in a storm of fire, scouring the surface bare until there is nothing left alive. The seas will boil to vapour and your world will become a barren rock, wreathed in the ashes of your people.’
Shonai turned a horrified stare upon Barzano. ‘You would destroy my world?’ she asked incredulously.
Slowly, Barzano nodded. ‘If it means preventing a madman getting his hands on the Bringer of Darkness, then yes, I would. Better to sacrifice one world than lose Emperor knows how many others because we shirked from doing our duty.’
‘It is not our duty to kill innocent people,’ pointed out Uriel.
‘Our duty is to save as many lives as we can,’ countered Barzano. ‘If we do nothing and de Valtos succeeds in retrieving the alien ship, many more worlds will die. I do not make this decision lightly, Uriel, but I must rely on cold logic and the Emperor to guide me.’
‘I cannot believe this is the Emperor’s will.’
‘Who are you to judge what the Emperor wants?’ snapped Barzano. ‘You are a warrior who can see his enemies on the battlefield and smite them with sword and bolter. My enemies are heresy, deviancy and ambition. More insidious foes than you could ever imagine and the weapons I must use are consequently of greater magnitude.’
‘You can’t do this, Barzano,’ said Uriel. ‘My men have fought and bled for this world, I will not give up on it.’
‘It is not a question of giving up, Uriel,’ explained Barzano. ‘It is a question of prevention. We do not know where de Valtos is or how he intends to find the ship and without that information we can do nothing. If we hesitate and are too late to prevent him gaining possession of the Nightbringer, how many more lives will be lost? Ten billion? A thousand billion? More?’
‘Surely there is something we can try to stop de Valtos?’ asked Shonai. ‘There are millions of people on Pavonis. I will not just stand by and hear the fate of my world discussed as though its destruction were a matter of no import.’
Barzano turned to face Shonai and said, ‘Believe me, Mykola, I am not some heartless monster and I do not believe the death of even a single world to be of no import. Were there another way, I would gladly choose it. I have never been forced to destroy a world before, and if I could stop de Valtos any other way, I would.’
As Barzano spoke, the words of Gedrik echoed in his head once more.
The Death of Worlds and the Bringer of Darkness await to be born into this galaxy. One will arise or neither, it is in your hands to choose which.
‘Do you really mean that, Inquisitor Barzano?’ he asked.
‘Mean what?’ asked Barzano, his tone wary.
‘About choosing another way if you could.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Then I believe there is another way,’ said Uriel.
Barzano raised a sceptical eyebrow and leaned forwards, resting his arms on the tabletop, careful to avoid jarring his wounded arm. ‘And what would that be, Uriel?’
Uriel sensed the criticality of this moment and mustered his thoughts before speaking.
‘When I was in the home of de Valtos, and we found the two skeleton warriors in the depths of his house, I noticed the battery packs they were hooked up to had identification markings on them.’
‘So?’
‘They were marked with the words “Tembra Ridge” – perhaps the governor can shed some light on that,’ answered Uriel.
‘Tembra Ridge? It’s a range of mountains roughly a hundred kilometres north of Brandon Gate. They stretch from the western ocean to the Gresha forest in the east, nearly a thousand kilometres of rocky uplands and scrub forests. It’s a mining region: there are hundreds of deep bore mines along its length. Most of the cartels own title to land along Tembra Ridge. The de Valtos cartel have several.’
‘If those things were unearthed from one of the mines along Tembra Ridge, is it not likely that the Nightbringer itself lies beneath the ground there too?’ pointed out Uriel.
Barzano nodded with a smile. ‘Very good, Uriel. Now if we could only pinpoint which one they came from we would truly have something to celebrate.’
Barzano’s tone was mildly sarcastic, but Uriel could see he was at least considering the idea that the extermination of
Pavonis might not be inevitable. The inquisitor turned to Mykola Shonai.
‘How deep do these bore mines go?’ he asked,
‘It varies,’ replied Shonai, ‘but the deepest are perhaps ten thousand metres, while others are around three or four thousand. It depends on the seam that is being mined and how deep it’s economically viable to continue drilling.’
‘Then we find out which of the mines are owned by the de Valtos cartel and bombard them all into oblivion from orbit,’ growled Uriel.
‘Lortuen?’ said Barzano, turning to his aide, who nodded thoughtfully and closed his eyes. His breathing slowed, his eyelids fluttering as he culled facts, figures and statistics from the wealth of information he and his scribes had gathered during their researches.
Uriel watched as the old man’s eyes flickered rapidly from side to side as though reading information flashing past on the inside of his eyelids, noticing for the first time the tiny glint of metal behind his ear. The old man had been fitted with cybernetic implants, presumably something similar to those of a lexmechanic or savant servitor.
Without opening his eyes, Perjed spoke in a flat monotone, ‘There are four mines along Tembra Ridge owned by the de Valtos cartel. All produce mineral ore to be refined into processed steel for tank chassis and gun barrels, but the northernmost’s production level is by far the lowest. I suspect that its shortfall is being covered by over-production in the other facilities, which would account for the higher number of worker accidents reported at the other mines.’
Perjed’s head bowed, his breathing slowly returning to normal, and Uriel stared triumphantly at Barzano.
‘There,’ he said, ‘We have the location and can attack without resorting to genocide.’
‘I’m afraid that this changes nothing, Captain Ventris,’ said Tiberius softly.
‘Why not?’
‘Even at full yield on our bombardment cannon, the magma bombs will not be able to penetrate that far into the planet’s crust.’
‘Then we take the fight to the surface once more,’ shouted Uriel. ‘The Tech-marines tell me that we now have two Thunderhawks operational. I say we launch as soon as we can rearm and break de Valtos out from beneath the planet’s surface by hand if need be.’
Uriel stared defiantly at Barzano, waiting to shout down any objections the inquisitor might have.
But Barzano merely nodded.
‘Very well, Uriel. We’ll try it your way, but if you fail, Pavonis will die. By my hand or that of de Valtos.’
‘We will not fail,’ assured Uriel. ‘We are the Ultramarines.’
SEVENTEEN
VIRGIL ORTEGA DUCKED as another rattling blast of gunfire peppered the wall behind him, showering him with stony fragments. He slid behind the angled rockcrete barricade and ejected the spent drum magazine from the heavy stubber, slotting another one home and racking the slide.
Ortega swung the ponderous weapon back up onto the barricade as another rush of troops came at them, bracing the heavy stock hard into his shoulder and pulling the trigger. A metre long tongue of flame blasted from the perforated barrel and a deafening roaring ripped the air as hundreds of high velocity bullets churned the first wave of attackers to shredded corpses. The vibration of the gun’s fire was almost too much for Ortega, his mus
cles straining to keep the gun steady. With such firepower, it wasn’t so much a question of accuracy, but of ammunition capacity: the stubber could empty its magazine in a matter of seconds.
Of the twenty-seven judges he’d pulled from the disaster at the precinct house, eighteen were still alive. Emerging from hidden tunnels beneath the palace that not even the governor knew about, the judges had seized the armoury after a brief but fierce firefight. Surprise had been total and the Imperial
armoury, designed to indefinitely withstand attack from the outside, had fallen within an hour.
It took less than that for the rebel forces to muster a counterattack and attempt to force the judges from their new refuge. Buried beneath the palace, the armoury was inaccessible to anything but infantry and, with a vast selection of powerful guns at his disposal, Virgil Ortega was proving to be a particularly troublesome thorn in the rebels’ side. Without the enormous stockpiles of heavy weaponry stored in the armoury, this rebellion would be seriously deprived of firepower when the wrath of Imperial retaliation descended upon it.
He’d despatched Collix and six judges to rig as many explosives as they could find and prepare the armoury for destruction. With a bit of luck they could set some charges, make their escape and blow this place to the warp.
The corridor before him was littered with enemy dead, the mounds of corpses forming makeshift banks of cover for their attackers. Ortega worked the fire from the stubber mercilessly back and forth, firing bursts into any sign of movement. The judges on the line with him fired a mix of shotguns, bolters and stubbers, filling the air before them with death.
He could hear muffled curses and spared a glance behind him to see Collix dragging a wheeled gurney with a linked pair of autocannons fitted to a circular pintel mount. Ortega grinned. The weapon was designed to be mounted on a vehicle of some kind, possibly a Sentinel, and was far too heavy to be carried by a man.
Stuttering blasts of gunfire ricocheted from the walls, and Ortega pulled a judge down from the barricade as he slumped over, half his head blown away.
‘Get a move on, Collix!’ he shouted.
‘Coming, sir!’
‘How long until we can get the hell out of here?’
‘I’m not sure we’ll be able to, sir.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The detonators for the explosives are not stored here,’ explained Collix. ‘I should imagine in order to prevent an enemy from doing what we are attempting to do.’
Ortega swore and set down the heavy stubber, scrambling away from the barricade, careful to keep his head down as he made his way to help Collix with the massive guns.
‘Then we have to find another way to set them off,’ snarled Ortega.
‘It could be done manually,’ suggested Collix.
Ortega locked eyes with Collix, aware of what his sergeant was suggesting.
‘Let’s hope it does not come to that, sergeant.’
‘Yes,’ nodded Collix, grimly.
‘Set them up here,’ ordered Ortega, siting the guns to cover the barricade.
Collix halted the gurney and hauled on the brake lever, locking the wheels into position and extending the stabiliser legs. The recoil of the autocannons was sure to be enormous and Ortega wasn’t sure the makeshift gun bed was up to the task.
Screams and desperate shouts sounded behind him and he cursed, seeing grey uniformed men struggling with his judges. Blood and smoke filled the passage as every man and woman fought with desperate savagery.
The judges were amongst the most disciplined, dedicated troops the Emperor could call upon, but the PDF fought with the frenzy of soldiers who had come through the fire of battle and survived long enough to exact their vengeance on their would-be killers.
Ortega snatched the shock maul from his belt and surged into the swirling melee, savagely clubbing his enemies. Collix swung a massive power glaive, effortlessly slicing a PDF trooper in two. There were many exotic weapons to choose from – power swords and great energy axes amongst them -but Ortega trusted the solid feel of his trusty maul.
He crushed a man’s skull with a backhanded swing. He had depleted seven energy charges in his maul so far, but there was no shortage of ammo in this place. And even on the occasions he had been forced to use it without its shock field, half a metre of solid metal was a powerful weapon in the hands of a man who knew how to wield it.
Ortega fought back to back with Collix, cutting a swathe through the bloodied PDF troopers, crushing bones and breaking faces with their clubs and fists.
The Emperor’s justice is upon you, sinners!’ shouted Collix, kicking a trooper in the groin then beheading him with a lethal swipe of his glaive. Ortega jabbed his maul into another soldier’s belly, driving his knee into the man’s face as he folded. Blood sprayed and he lashed out again, knowing that they had to hold off their attackers just a little longer.
A space cleared around him and he dropped his shock maul, sweeping up the heavy stubber once more. He braced himself and squeezed the trigger, his entire body quaking with the powerful recoil. His ribs screamed painfully with each blast, and he was sure he’d rebroken them.
Heavy calibre shells ripped through the ranks of the PDF and a dozen men dropped, their thin flak vests unable to stop such powerful bullets. Ortega roared, an inchoate yell of released anger and pain.
‘Death to those who defile the Emperor’s laws!’
Blood gathered at the corners of his mouth and he could feel a hollow ache in his chest.
Yes, now he was sure he’d rebroken at least one rib.
Suddenly it was over.
The last of the attackers fell or turned tail and ran, broken by the ferocity of the judges’ defence. Ortega showed no mercy, gunning the fleeing soldiers down as they ran.
A scant handful of soldiers made it to safety, firing back as they ran.
A lasbolt clipped Ortega’s chest, spinning him around and the floor rushed up to meet him, the cold concrete slamming into his face. He felt hands upon him, dragging him back, but could see that his judges had held the barricade.
Another six of his men were down, but they had held.
For now.
URIEL AND PASANIUS sprinted uphill towards the collection of iron sided buildings on the mountain plateau. The heat in the mountains was fierce and the glare from the white stone of this region dazzling.
Behind him, the Ultramarines advanced uphill through the rocky, scrub-covered slopes of the Tembra Ridge mountains towards the deep bore mine Lortuen Perjed had named TR-701. It did not sound like a place worthy of heroic death and
Uriel hoped that he was right in demanding this one last chance to stop de Valtos.
Ario Barzano waited six kilometres west of the mine in one of the Ultramarines’ Thunderhawks, anxiously waiting for Uriel’s signal that this was the place they sought.
The six squads of Ultramarines made their way uphill with no more difficulty than marching across a parade ground. Fire and movement teams covered the advance, as they were sure to have been spotted: the blue of their armour was too stark a contrast to the pale mountain stone for them not to have been.
Scalding jets of flammable gasses spewed from exhaust ports scattered across the flank of the mountain, venting for the fumes released by drilling at such depths, and Uriel was reminded of the restless volcanoes in the southern oceans of Macragge.
Squad Dardino advanced on the left flank, the slope of which was steeper, but these warriors had been equipped with jump packs, making light of the journey up the scree covered mountain. Squads Venasus, Pasanius, Elerna, Nivaneus and Daedalus marched on a wide, staggered front, each squad overwatching the other.
The mine complex shone in the sun, its silvered sides reflecting the light in dazzling beams. It was impossible to tell whether there were any enemy forces inside or not. Plumes of exhaust fumes rose from behind the perimeter buildings, but whether they were from armoured vehicles or the daily work of a mine was unclear.
>
They were now within three hundred metres of the plateau.
KASIMIR DE VALTOS followed his mine overseer, Jakob Lasko, beneath the flickering line of glow-globes. Lasko mopped his brow repeatedly, but de Valtos appeared too excited to care about the relentless heat this deep in the earth.
In their wake came a cadre of heavily armoured eldar warriors, their features invisible behind ornate crimson helmets. Between them, they carried a large silvered metal container, its lid sealed tight.
At their centre was the dread leader of the Kabal of the Sundered Blade, Archon Kesharq. Like his warriors, his face
was concealed behind a visored helm, its jade surface smooth and featureless. He carried a huge war axe, and at his side sashayed the beautiful, raven-haired wych who had, until now, been the inseparable shadow of Kasimir de Valtos.
Snapping at his heels came the excrents, shambling after their master by whatever method of locomotion the Surgeon had gifted them with. They hissed and spat, uncomfortable in the hot, dark environment. Perhaps some latent, instinctual sense of their former lives spoke to them of the evil that this place contained.
Following the eldar warriors, a full company of PDF troopers brought up the rear. In their midst walked Vendare Taloun, his shoulders slumped dejectedly, wearily mopping his sodden skin with the edge of his robe.
The air was thick with dust and fumes and at regular intervals along the rocky walls, rebreather masks hung from corroded hooks alongside signs cautioning against the risk of toxic gases and explosion.
The procession made its way deeper into the mine, their environs changing from the bare rock of Pavonis to smooth walled passageways, their sloping sides tapering to a point some four metres above their heads.
Kasimir de Valtos paused in the square chamber that had contained the huge door that had barred his entry to this place for so long. Excitement pounded along his veins and he nodded respectfully to the room’s four inanimate guardians in their shadowed alcoves. Their eyes glittered, but if they harboured any resentment towards the intruders they gave no sign of it.
Thick rusted flakes marked where the door had been, and de Valtos could sense the vast presence inside. His limbs began to shiver and he fought to control his sense of impending destiny. Within this place lay a sleeping god and he could feel the whisper of ages past in the musty wind that sighed from the tomb’s interior.