The Hunt for Vulkan Read online

  He was also showing Kubik considerable courtesy in keeping the meeting private.

  ‘I have received the report of Magos Biologis Urquidex,’ Koorland said.

  Kubik inclined his head slightly. ‘It is fortunate he survived the hostilities.’ As he spoke, he evaluated his reaction to his own words. A few hours earlier, he had been ready to order Urquidex’s immediate termination rather than allow him to release the secrets he knew. Now, he discovered that he was telling Koorland the truth. He was speaking without irony. He was glad the secret was out. Its weight had been greater than he supposed. This was surprising, and required finer parsing.

  ‘The Adeptus Mechanicus has been attempting to replicate the ork teleportation technology.’

  ‘This is so.’

  He and Koorland were avoiding the greater subject. They were beginning with something trivial in comparison. The truth was so enormous, it had to be approached gradually.

  ‘And you have been successful?’ Koorland’s tone was neutral. Kubik would have expected anger and judgement. His estimation of the Space Marine grew by another notch.

  ‘We have,’ he said. ‘We transferred Phobos to the opposite position of its orbit.’

  Koorland said nothing for a moment. ‘This is xenos technology,’ he observed.

  ‘It is.’ He tilted his head. ‘Would you have us discard this possible advantage? Are there means we should not employ to win this war?’

  ‘I’m glad to hear you are engaged in this battle, Fabricator General.’

  And this was indeed so. It was as if there had been static interfering with Kubik’s perceptions. He had viewed the struggle against the orks as if it were a sideshow, one that concerned him and the Mechanicus only to the degree that it provided interesting and useful technology. The outcome had seemed irrelevant.

  He had been wrong. The magnitude of his error was disturbing. It was contrary to his sense of identity that he should be capable of a miscalculation so gigantic and so blinkered.

  ‘The Adeptus Mechanicus has the same interest in the defeat of the orks as the rest of the Imperium,’ he said.

  ‘What do you hope to achieve with the teleporter?’ Koorland asked.

  Kubik had been expecting this question. He had prepared his answer in the same instant he had given the order to release Urquidex into the custody of the Fists Exemplar.

  ‘The Phobos test is promising, but some considerable distance from the goal. The goal would be to use the weapon of the Veridi giganticus against them. We postulate it should be possible to teleport the battle moons away, possibly destroying them in the process.’

  Koorland raised his eyebrows. ‘That is very promising.’

  ‘We are very far from this achievement. The mass of Phobos and the hostile bodies is not comparable, and the distance Phobos was transported was negligible.’

  He was feeding Koorland a mixture of truth and outright lies. The limitations he described were accurate. The goal was not. There was no sign that the range of the device could reach beyond the near orbit of the astronomical body on which it was based. To teleport the ork moon away, it would be necessary to install the instrumentation on its surface. What had been constructed on Mars spanned many kilometres. To be used elsewhere, it would have to be transported in massive sections and rebuilt. Such a project would be difficult enough without being attempted in a warzone. And not only was the machine incomplete, it had not been duplicated. It must remain on Mars. Kubik would not compromise the means of the planet’s escape from the Sol System.

  And yet.

  He spoke the lies, and it was difficult to do so. He caught himself beginning to speculate about other possible uses for the technology, ones that did not involve the escape of Mars. He detected a sensation in his chest that had been so long unfamiliar to him that he did not recognise it at first.

  It was regret. He was conflicted. The uncertainty was new, and distressing. Since his ascension from the limitations of the flesh, his being had been defined by a perfect focus and a precision of purpose. Now the phantoms of his shed humanity were reaching for him, summoned by Koorland and the fact that Kubik’s allegiance could not be reduced to Mars alone.

  If Koorland doubted Kubik’s explanation about the teleporter, he gave no sign. He was more concerned with the other truth.

  The time had come to speak of it.

  ‘Ullanor,’ Koorland said.

  The word hung in the air like the toll of a great bell.

  ‘Yes,’ Kubik said.

  ‘The origin point of the greenskin invasion is Ullanor.’

  ‘Yes,’ and though he had known for some time, Kubik could manage no more. The truth punched though the protective coldness of the machine to the human core he retained. The world belonged to a realm other than mere reality. It was a legend. It marked the pinnacle of the Imperium’s glory, and the origins of its tragedy. It existed as a myth. It should not exist as a destination. And the thought of it being overrun by greenskins was beyond obscene. It was absurd, a fever dream.

  ‘There is no doubt?’

  ‘None.’

  Kubik wished there were, and he knew Koorland did too.

  Koorland sighed. ‘You must have known what we must do. Why keep that information secret?’

  ‘We keep secrets very well in the Adeptus Mechanicus. It is a vital skill. Necessity has made it into a way of life.’

  ‘You mean you are now secretive by instinct.’

  ‘Instinct is foreign to the machine,’ Kubik said. ‘It is more accurate to say that secrecy is our default condition.’

  ‘You have not yet answered my question.’

  ‘The secrecy was subject to ongoing evaluation. Revelation depended on many variables. The progress of efforts against the Veridi. Visible levels of determination within Imperial forces and leadership. The means to act.’ All of this was accurate, but there was more. The retreat into cold evaluation had also been an attempt to turn away from the import of the truth. ‘Query, Lord Commander – what will be the effect of the propagation of this knowledge?’

  Koorland grimaced. ‘Turmoil,’ he said.

  Kubik opened his right hand, spreading his multi-jointed fingers wide, suggesting the spread of disorder. ‘A site of such significance become home to the xenos invader. The populace will not receive the news calmly. Nor can one expect the information to remain within the circle of the High Lords.’

  ‘True,’ said Koorland.

  ‘I do not believe the rest of the Council will react well.’

  ‘You are correct. But there comes a point where secrecy serves no purpose. The truth must be confronted.’ Koorland gestured to the casement and the glow of the ork moon. The light of Terra’s fall spread over the roofs and spires of the Imperial Palace, a slick the colour of bleached bone, and of final defeat. ‘The truth confronts us, after all. Relentlessly.’ The Space Marine’s face twisted in hate and horror.

  Kubik’s cool fascination with the base had crumbled. It can end us all, he thought. The Veridi can end everything.

  Kubik inclined his head once more. ‘Do you have the determination to take the course of action this information dictates?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And the means?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Koorland thought about the means. He thought about the path he must walk. The thoughts were painful. They were reminders of what he had lost, of the burden he had shouldered, and of his own unworthiness and presumption. It was arrogance enough to put himself at the head of all the Imperial Fists Successor Chapters. The course upon which he was preparing to embark was sheer hubris.

  But he had no choice.

  He remained in the Cerebrium long after Kubik had departed and thought through his next steps. When he doubted, he looked out at the moon, and at the empty round table in the centre of the chamber: the adversary and
the absent leadership. He was still there when word reached him over the vox that the Alcazar Remembered had returned and made low anchor over Terra.

  Koorland made his way from the Cerebrium to the space port beyond the Daylight Wall. On his orders, the ceremonial purpose of the space port had been discarded. Reserving the facility for the most privileged dignitaries was pointless, now that orks had walked its rockcrete landing pads. Koorland was more interested in the time saved by having his officers reach him in the most efficient way possible.

  The Thunderhawk Honour’s Spear touched down with a surge of retro thrusters. Thane pulled back the side door and jumped out. He had worked on his armour during the return from Mars, and it was clean again, shining in the arc lights of the space port. There had not been time yet to repair all the damage, though – it was pitted and scarred from the conflict at Pavonis Mons. Koorland eyed the marks of fire and thought: We have done this to each other. The Imperium fought itself. Are the orks laughing? They must be.

  ‘Chapter Master Koorland,’ Thane said when he reached Koorland. He crossed his arms, slamming his hands against his chest-plate in an aquila salute.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Chapter Master Thane,’ Koorland returned.

  ‘I had my doubts that we would meet again,’ said Thane.

  ‘Understandably.’

  They walked back towards the Daylight Wall.

  Thane said, ‘I wish the mission had resulted in information that was less grave.’

  ‘It is information that we can act upon. So we are better off than we were before.’

  ‘The Interdictor and its escort are still unaccounted for?’

  ‘As is the information they carry, yes.’ The Black Templars had learned something that could be used against the orks, but Koorland had to face the real possibility that the knowledge had been lost to battle or the warp.

  Thane nodded. ‘There is something else I must tell you.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I hesitated.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Moments before the order for the ceasefire came. I was about to call down a full orbital bombardment.’

  ‘I’m grateful you did hesitate.’ Koorland spoke with feeling. It was important Thane believe him.

  Thane seemed unconvinced. ‘The day was saved by chance. The battlefield conditions dictated immediate action. I did not take it.’

  ‘And you would feel you had done your duty, if we were left with nothing to salvage on Mars and a growing war with the Mechanicus?’

  ‘Of course not. But the principle remains.’

  They walked down a vast colonnade, their boot steps echoing off marble. Above them, for hundreds of metres, were layers upon layers of galleries. Guards in the livery of the Lucifer Blacks stood to attention as they passed.

  ‘No son of Dorn should owe his victory to luck,’ Thane continued.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Koorland. ‘But it is mere chance that I am alive. It could easily have been one of my brothers. Or none of us. Your hesitation served us well. Relentless advance is not enough in the battlefield, you know this as well as I. Sometimes we have to listen to our instincts. The disorder of war demands that we adapt and improvise. I take it you doubt your fitness to be Chapter Master.’

  Thane looked ahead stonily. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘I think the complete absence of such doubts is simply arrogance.’

  Now Thane’s lips creased in a grim smile. ‘High Marshal Bohemond would disagree.’

  ‘Quite possibly. The fact remains that you made the right decision, and averted a greater disaster. Accept your victories, brother. We need them.’

  Thane nodded. Koorland wasn’t sure if he was convinced, but he seemed content to let the matter drop for the moment. ‘And what do we do with what we have discovered?’

  ‘We go to Ullanor.’

  Thane’s intake of breath was sharp. He must have known what I would say, Koorland thought. Just as he had known what he would say in response to the question Thane was bound to ask. Speaking that sentence, though, giving voice to the thought, made him realise the immensity of what he was contemplating.

  We go to Ullanor.

  Those words should have been inconceivable. But so was the ork occupation of the world. And so Koorland had to confront an impossible reality with an impossible act.

  ‘If that is where these orks are coming from, we are not in a condition to bring the battle to them,’ said Thane.

  ‘I know. We can’t go alone.’

  He said nothing else until they reached their destination. Outside the chamber of the astropathic choir, other warriors of the Last Wall waited. Daylight, Eternity, Absolution and Hemisphere – once of the Fists Exemplar, the Black Templars, the Crimson Fists and the Excoriators, now they saluted Koorland as their new Chapter Master. They were a union come to support the summoning of an even greater one.

  ‘Thank you for attending, brothers,’ he said. The words were inadequate, but there were none equal to the gratitude he felt. He had lost his Chapter, yet another, equally his, had come into being.

  ‘The step is necessary,’ Hemisphere said.

  ‘That won’t make it popular,’ said Koorland.

  ‘Ah,’ said Thane. ‘I see.’

  ‘Wait for me,’ Koorland said to the five Space Marines. Then he pulled open the bronze doors, and went inside to begin the impossible act.

  The ork moon was in orbit over Tarentus, circling closer. Gravity storms shook the agri world. From the huge maw of the battle moon, greenskin landing ships poured in an unending cataract. They descended through Tarentus’ atmosphere, met from the ground with volleys of skyspear surface-to-air missiles launched by Hunter battle tanks. They were challenged in the air by flights of Xiphon interceptors. In the near orbit, the fleet hurled its fury at the moon. It was the largest gathering of Ultramarines vessels in the living memory of the brothers of the Chapter.

  They were holding the ork invasion, but only just. Greenskins were making landfall, but they had not broken out into the wider regions yet. However, the gravitic effects of the moon were disrupting everything the Ultramarines threw at it. They had fought the orks to an eroding stalemate, and the orks had the numbers and resources on their side.

  On the bridge of the battle-barge Caracalla, Chapter Master Odaenathus watched the sear and flame of the war through the oculus. His fists were closed tight. He was holding the thought of defeat at bay. Unless he was able to shift the conditions over Tarentus in dramatic fashion, the conclusion that faced him was unavoidable. There would be no surrender, but the fate of the Imperial Fists haunted his thoughts. The unthinkable had already transpired.

  And the parchment in his right fist announced it was about to happen once more.

  ‘Chapter Master, I have Captain Macrinus for you,’ said the Master of the Vox.

  ‘Private feed,’ Odaenathus said. He stepped back from the rail overlooking the bridge, moving deeper into the strategium. He kept his eyes on the oculus as he tapped the bead at his gorget. ‘Brother-captain,’ he said, ‘you have heard the call from Terra.’

  ‘I have, Chapter Master, but I’m not sure my astropaths have interpreted it correctly. Ullanor?’

  ‘The reading of my choir is the same. There is no mistake. Captain Macrinus, you are ordered to disengage immediately and make course in the Chalcedon for Terra.’

  Macrinus hesitated. ‘Can the situation here afford the loss of a strike cruiser?’

  In answer, a gravitic stormwave struck the Caracalla. A fist shook the massive ship and the hull shrieked. The bridge yawed back and forth. The artificial gravity fought for stability in the violent flux, as mortal serfs and servitors fell from their seats, skidding across the deck. A small gravity blister appeared on the starboard wall. Metal domed and burst upwards, catching a servitor and tearing its body apart.

 
Odaenathus stood firm. He felt his ship’s pain, and he also felt its anger. ‘Shipmaster!’ he called.

  ‘Reversing course!’

  ‘Maintain fire,’ Odaenathus said. ‘Keep them busy taking down our ordnance. Some may yet get through.’ To Macrinus he said, ‘Your absence will be hard. But the Ultramarines were late coming to the aid of Terra once. It will never happen again.’

  ‘It will not,’ Macrinus agreed. ‘So ordered, Chapter Master. We leave for Terra. Courage and honour.’

  ‘Courage and honour, captain.’

  The Caracalla groaned again as another wave hit. The departing strike cruiser left a gap in the barrage. The ork weapons reached through it, lashing at the fleet.

  ‘Take us back, shipmaster,’ said Odaenathus. ‘Pull back but keep hitting.’

  Ullanor, he thought. The name sounded in his thoughts like a cathedral bell. The echo of history was a dark one. He hoped he was not listening to a death knell.

  The Caracalla rang once more, struck as by the hammer of a god.

  The Ultramarines. The Dark Angels. The Space Wolves. The Blood Angels. Koorland had called them all.

  No, he thought. You did more than call. You summoned.

  He was walking with Drakan Vangorich. After Koorland had spoken to the High Lords again, he and the Grand Master had climbed the seating tiers until they reached the gallery beneath the dome. Some of its columns had fallen. The floor was uneven and fissured, but its path around the circumference of the Great Chamber was still complete. No falls of rubble forced them to turn around.

  ‘I assume this is about the call to the other Chapters,’ Vangorich said.

  ‘Yes. I know you’ve been working hard to make the Council respond with something like sense to the crisis.’

  ‘You’ve seen what success I’ve had. None.’