第 22 页

in a Space Marine’s body. A syringe, appended to a pre-sterilised capsule, would extract the necessary

genetic material once the outer bone wall had been breached.

Fugis moved in, his reductor drill whirring as it bit into Naveem’s dead flesh. The Vulkan’s Wrath was

shuddering badly, jolting with severe force every few seconds or so. The Apothecary fought to keep himself

steady, knowing that any small mistake would see the gland destroyed and Naveem’s legacy ended, just like

Kadai’s. Kadai…

The unwanted memory of his captain surfaced in Fugis’ mind. Suddenly, the concern he felt at the bucking

ship outweighed his caution and he began to rush, fearing a sudden tremor. In his haste, he slipped. The

syringe missed the progenoid and the drill sheared the gland in half, spilling it into the dead Salamander’s

exposed throat.

“No!” Fugis emitted a breathless cry of anguish, thumping the deck heavily with his fist. “No, not again,” he

rasped, and hung his head despairingly.

Iagon leaned in.

“It was an error, brother. No more than that.”

“I don’t make errors,” Fugis hissed, his fist clenched. “My mind is too troubled. I am no longer fit for this,”

he confessed.

“You must do your duty,” Iagon urged him. “You are needed by this company, Brother-Apothecary… as is

Brother-Sergeant Tsu’gan,” he added.

Fugis looked up after a few moments when he realised what Iagon was implying. If he would turn a blind

eye to Tsu’gan’s masochistic affliction, then Iagon would not speak of the Apothecary’s apparent frailty.

Fugis was caught in a moral web of his own devising, but laid by Iagon.

Anger contorted his features. “You bastard,” he spat.

“I prefer pragmatist,” Iagon answered smoothly. “We can ill-afford to lose two officers.”

He offered his hand, but Fugis ignored it.

“How many more will die if you are not there to minister to them, brother?” Iagon asked him. He looked

down at his still proffered hand. “This is what seals our pact.”

“What pact?” Fugis snorted, back on his feet.

“Don’t be naive,” Iagon warned him. “You know what I mean. Take it, and I will know I have your oath.”

Fugis wavered. There was no time to consider. The ship was being ripped apart.

“Your brothers depend upon you, Apothecary.” Iagon’s tone was coaxing. “Isn’t the preservation of life your

credo? Ask yourself, Fugis — can you really turn your back on it?”

Fugis scowled.

“Enough!”

He knew he would regret this compact, yet what other choice did he have? Stay silent about Tsu’gan’s

indiscretion and compromise his ethics, his sense of moral tightness, or speak out and relinquish his position

in the company? He could not allow his brothers to go into battle without an Apothecary. How many could

die needlessly as a result? Hating himself, he took Iagon’s hand.

Why does it feel like I’ve just made a deal with Horus…?

Dak’ir and Lok parted company at the first intersection after leaving the bridge. Both sergeants had

contacted their squads via the comm-feeds in their battle-helms. Salamanders were rapidly dispersing across

the stricken decks, rescuing those who were trapped, quelling panic or opening up escape routes. The

Vulkan’s Wrath was well outfitted with lifters and deck-to-deck conduits, and though the strike cruiser was

vast, reaching the crisis areas had been swift.

Reaching deck fifteen, Dak’ir was greeted with a scene of utter carnage. He ranged along darkened corridors

lit by fire and filled by the screams of the injured and dying. Twisted metal and collapsed ceiling struts made

progress slow and dangerous. Torn deck plates bled away into the darkness of the lower levels, pitch-black

pitfalls that he discerned through his battle-helm’s infrared spectra. Leaping across the miniature chasms,

Dak’ir tried not to think how many bodies might be lying beneath him in mangled heaps.

Through the gaseous haze of a split coolant pipe, Dak’ir saw Brother Emek crouching by the slumped form

of a wounded crewman. Liquid nitrogen was gushing everywhere, freezing whatever it touched. Crushing

the pipe either side of the breach and cutting off its supply, Dak’ir effectively sealed the leak. When he

reached Emek, his brother was already closing the slumped crewman’s eyes for him.

“Dead…” His voice held a trace of sorrow. “But there are more who still live. In the corridor beyond,” he

added. Another survivor was strapped up to his back. The man’s legs were a red ruin, crushed to paste by

falling wreckage. Clinging on to Emek desperately, he whimpered in pain like an infant.

“Ba’ken is ahead,” he said, and got to his feet.

Dak’ir nodded and moved on, as Emek went in the other direction. Sparking terminals lit the way. They

showed hollow-eyed crewmen, those who were still able-bodied rushing from the damaged deck. Continual

reports from the Enginarium and Brother Argos issued through Dak’ir’s battle-helm. More and more areas of

the ship were being sealed off as entire sections of deck fragmented under the solar storm’s baleful glare.

The trickle of fleeing crewmen became a surge. Lighting was more sporadic, until it failed completely and

even the fires couldn’t alleviate the darkness. Dak’ir ushered on the men as he went, telling them to cling to

the edges of the corridors and watch their footing. He didn’t know if they all heard him. Panic gripped them

now. Something approaching that emotion spiked in Dak’ir’s mind as he realised that fifteen minutes were

up. Thunderous sirens shuddered noisily, communicating the fact that the deck was locking down.

Descending into steadily worse carnage, he started to run. Through his advanced hearing, Dak’ir detected the

distant sounds of bulkhead doors slamming shut and zoning off the compromised sections of the ship. He

tried not to think about the men that might still be trapped inside them, hammering on the doors with no

hope of escape.

Rounding the next corner, barging his way through a flood of crewmen, Dak’ir saw the massive, armoured

form of Ba’ken. He was wedged between a bulkhead door and the deck. It pushed down at him from the

ceiling as it fought to seal off the section. Swarms of serfs rushed past him as Ba’ken urged them with curt

commands. Strong as he was, the Salamander couldn’t fight the power of a strike cruiser and hope to prevail.

His legs were starting to buckle and his arms to tremble.

Dak’ir went to him at once, getting under the slowly descending door and adding his strength to his

brother’s.

Barely arching his head to see, Ba’ken caught Dak’ir in the corner of his eye and smiled through a grimace.

“Come to join me, eh, sergeant?”

Dak’ir shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I just come to see if this is enough weight for you, brother.”

Ba’ken’s booming laughter vied with the lockdown siren for supremacy.

All the while, more and more crewman streamed — limping, running, even carried by their comrades —

between the two Space Marines holding the way open for them a little longer.

“There must be thousands on this deck,” Dak’ir growled, already feeling the strain of the pressing bulkhead

door. “We can’t hold this open long enough to save them all, Ba’ken.”

“If we only saved ten more, it would be worth it,” snarled the bulky Salamander, as he gritted his teeth.

Dak’ir was about to agree when the comm-feed crackled in his ear and a familiar voice issued through.

“Need assistance on deck seventeen…” Tsu’gan’s tone was strained. “Respond, brothers.”

Static reigned. All the Salamanders dispersed across the decks must either be out of comm-range or they

were already engaged in evacuation operations they couldn’t leave.

Dak’ir swore under his breath. Ba’ken was the stronger of them. Without him, Dak’ir could not hold the

door himself. He would have to be the one to go to his brother’s aid.

“Go, sergeant,” Ba’ken spoke through gritted teeth.

“You can’t hold it alone,” Dak’ir protested, knowing the decision was already made Dak’ir sensed a

presence behind him, the clanging retort of heavy footfalls echoing steadily louder as they closed on his

position.

“He won’t need to,” said a gravel-thick voice.

Dak’ir turned and saw Veteran Sergeant Praetor.

Close up, the Firedrake was even more formidable. In his Terminator armour, Praetor towered over them

both. His bulk filled up half the corridor. Dak’ir saw a fire burning in his eyes, unlike that of his brothers. It

seemed deeper, somehow remote and unknowable. Three platinum studs ringed Praetor’s left eyebrow,

attesting to his veteran status, and the immensity of his presence was almost tangible.

Dak’ir stepped aside, allowing the awesome warrior to assume his vacated position. Praetor lumbered

beneath the bulkhead door and took the strain with arms bent like a champion weight lifter. The lines of

exertion on Ba’ken’s face eased at once.

“On your way, sergeant,” grunted the Firedrake. “Your brother awaits you.”

Dak’ir saluted quickly and chased back the way he had come. Tsu’gan needed him, though he suspected that

his fellow brother-sergeant would be less than pleased when he saw the identity of his saviour.

The Ignean… The thought was a bitter one as Tsu’gan regarded Dak’ir across the gaping chasm of twisted

steel and fire. It wasn’t enough that he had to capitulate and admit he needed aid; his rescuer was the one

Salamander he desired to see the least.

Tsu’gan scowled through the swathes of smoke billowing up from below. He hoped Dak’ir got the message

that he was disgruntled. The brother-sergeant was on one side of a huge pitfall some ten metres across. The

deck plates had been ripped away as the ship was ravaged by the solar storm. A lifter, torn from its riggings

and punched out of its holding shaft, had plummeted through the metal like a hammer dropped through

parchment. It had come to rest several decks below, collapsed in a ruined heap, creating a new hollow that

was fringed with razor-edged steel and sharpened struts that jutted like spikes.

Fire emanated from where the lifter had crushed an activation console. Sparks flicked from the trashed unit

had lit flammable liquids pooling from pipes shorn during the lifter’s rapid descent. It was building to a

conflagration, the flames so high they licked the edges of the ragged deck plates where Tsu’gan was

standing. Smoke coiled upwards in black, ever-expanding blooms.

“Here,” called Tsu’gan, when his fellow sergeant didn’t see him straight away. He watched as Dak’ir made

his way to the end of the corridor and the junction where Tsu’gan was crouched with fifty crewmen in torn,

fire-blackened uniforms.

Dak’ir gave a forced nod of acknowledgement as he reached the other Salamander.

“What do you need, brother?” he asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Down there.” Tsu’gan pointed into the fiery shaft. Dak’ir crouched down with him, peering through the

dense smoke. “You see it?” Tsu’gan asked, impatiently.

“Yes.”

There was a section of the original broken deck plate hanging into the chasm. It was long enough to span the

ragged hole but would need to be hoisted up and held in place in order for anyone to cross.

“The bulkheads have not been engaged in this part of the ship, yet,” said Tsu’gan, “but it’s only a matter of

time. That way,”—he gestured past the chasm to the darkness on the other side; there was a faint pall of light

from still active lume-lamps—“leads to the lifter and salvation for these men.”

“You want to bridge the gap for them to cross, so they can reach it,” Dak’ir concluded for him.

Tsu’gan nodded. “One of us has to leap across and take up the other end of the deck section. Then we both

hold it in place,” he explained. “Armsmaster Vaeder will guide his men across.”

One of the deck crew, a man with a gash across his forehead and a makeshift sling supporting his right arm

that had been fashioned from part of his uniform, stepped forward and saluted.

Dak’ir acknowledged him with a nod, before turning his attention back to Tsu’gan.

The other brother-sergeant was back on his feet. He held up his hand before Dak’ir could speak.

“If your question is who will make the leap?” he asked without making eye contact. “I will do it.”

Tsu’gan spread his arms.

“Step back,” he ordered, meaning Salamander and crewman alike. Tsu’gan leant back a little by way of

gathering some momentum and then launched himself over the chasm. Fire lapped at his boots and greaves

as he flew across the metal-wreathed blackness, before he landed on the opposite side with a heavy thunk.

“Now, Ignean,” he said, turning to face Dak’ir, “take up the fallen deck section and lift it to me.”

“Are your men ready, Armsmaster Vaeder?” Dak’ir asked with a side glance at the crewman.

“Ready to leave this ship, my lord, aye.”

Low rumblings from deep within the vessel gave Dak’ir pause as the corridor shook and creaked ominously.

“We move now, Ignean!” snapped Tsu’gan, seeing no reason to delay. Don’t coddle them, he thought.

Survival first.

Dak’ir crouched down, once he was certain of his footing, and grasped the hanging deck plate by pushing his

fingers through its grilled surface. The metal would normally be latticed with several overlapping layers but

those had since fallen away, so only the uppermost level remained, enabling the Space Marine to get his

armoured digits through the gaps. Ensuring his grip was firm Dak’ir lifted the ten metres of plate, its twisted

metal beams screaming in protest as he bent them back almost straight.

Tsu’gan watched the deck plate rise, frustrated at Dak’ir’s slowness. He reached down and took it as soon as

he could, hoisting the metal up by the ragged edge that didn’t quite meet the end of what he was crouching

on.

“Secure,” he growled.

Armsmaster Vaeder had organised his men into ten groups of five. Each “squad” would take it in turns to

cross the makeshift bridge so as not to put too much pressure on the metal or the Salamanders bearing it. Just

before the first group was about to muster across, a huge plume of flame erupted from below as some

incendiary in the depths ignited and exploded.

Tsu’gan felt the heat of the fire against his exposed face as he was utterly engulfed by it. Smoke billowed up

in swathes, obscuring Dak’ir and the crewman from view.

“Send them now,” he bellowed, fighting against the roar of the flames. “We can afford to wait no longer.”

After a few seconds, the first of several figures started to emerge. Tsu’gan felt the weight of their passage in

his arms as he strained to keep the deck plate aloft. One slip and anyone crossing it would fall to their cert ain