The Beast Arises

In her dreams, Haas laboured. An eternity had passed since her arrival, and whether it was days or aeons long, she could not tell. There was no marker to judge by, no day-night cycle. It was never dark and it was never truly light. Food and water came rarely and erratically. The orks were capricious in everything, sticking to no schedule or plan. They let the prisoners sleep at random times for periods that could have been minutes or hours. Without a chronopiece, there was no way of knowing.

During their ‘day’, she and the longshanks were shackled together and marched a short distance from their cell to the lift platforms leading to the giant hollow in the heart of the moon. There they were whipped and beaten and forced to move supplies under conditions of erratic gravity. They worked in the shadow of the orks’ crackling gate, a spasming vortex of green fire whose flarings spat out raw materials, goods, food and always more and more orks. The noise from it was terrifying, a constant thunder that boomed deafeningly loud with every fresh transit.

It was there that Haas was dragged to work, and there she returned during her brief nightmares.

The ork gate shimmered over her head, bathing the sandy floor of the transit cave in painful light. An ork was coming, the one they called One Tooth, for the single ivory fang jutting over his lip. She kept her head down, not wanting to be noticed. But One Tooth was coming for her, growing to incredible dream-size.

‘Too little, too runty,’ it said. Tiny slave things scuttled around its feet, repeating its words mockingly. ‘Far too weak! To the meat room, take it to the meat room!’

A huge hand, horny with callouses lined with old blood, reached down for her.

She came awake screaming when it touched her.

‘Shhh!’ said Marast, touching his lips with a single long finger. ‘Quiet! Something’s happening.’

All around the dim cell the longshanks were stirring, unfolding spindly limbs from their uncomfortable sleeping positions and looking towards the door.

‘What?’ said Haas. Gunfire and shouting came from outside, down on the prison cavern floor.

An explosion rocked the room, followed by a storm of gunfire.

‘What’s going on?’ shouted Marast. The other slaves screamed at the noise.

‘The orks!’ said Haas. ‘They’re being attacked!’ She was up on her feet, adrenaline keeping her exhaustion at bay. She crept towards the door. The light of weapons discharge strobed through the viewing slit. She stood on tiptoes to look through.

‘Get her away from there!’ hissed Huringer.

‘What’s happening?’ asked Marast.

‘Can’t see. Wait…’ Haas shrieked and threw herself backwards as a pair of glaring red eyes appeared at the slit.

The ork rumbled aggressively in its alien tongue. Keys jangled, and it flung the door open.

The ork swaggered in, kicking the longshanks aside with bone-crushing force. Battle noise flooded the room. The ork slaver ignored it, his head swinging back and forward, nose snuffling. Haas scrambled back, until her back was against the wall by the door. The ork caught sight of her and pointed, gabbling in its uncouth language. A blind, stupid hatred of such intensity shone in its eyes that Haas was pinned by its gaze, unable to move.

It said something and smiled evilly. As it had in her dream, it reached massive hands out for her.

A series of bangs resounded round the room. The ork’s chest blew out messily, showering Haas with viscera. She covered her face instinctively. A final shot rang out, bursting its head, and its huge corpse toppled towards her. Haas scrambled aside to see a giant warrior in black-and-white armour shove itself into the cell, bringing part of the doorway down. It was some kind of Space Marine, garbed in armour Haas had never seen: tall, high-backed, the helmet roughly square and formed of brutal angular plates, arms protected by massive shoulder guards. A second stood in the door, watching his comrade’s back.

‘Thank the Emperor! We are saved, saved!’ shouted Marast. He flung his lanky body at the feet of the Space Marine, clutching gratefully at the feet of their saviours. The longshanks wept, disbelieving of their salvation.

The Space Marine nudged Marast away with its enormous boot.

‘Non-standard human phenotype identified. Loathe the mutant. Terminate.’

Haas curled up and clapped her hands over her ears as the Space Marines opened fire with their terrible weapons. The longshanks did not even have time to express their surprise before their fragile bodies were pulped by mass-reactive shells. The gunfire went on forever, the individual reports merging into one rolling booming. When it stopped, Haas was amazed to find she still lived. Her hands shook as she took them from her ears. The longshanks had been obliterated, reduced to a gory slick that dripped from the walls.