The Beast Arises

Her ears hurt agonisingly and she cried out. The Space Marine swung its blocky helmet in her direction, pointing its bolter at her. She screamed again, and the Space Marine moved his bolter away from her. When he spoke to her it was muffled, as if her ears were stuffed with fabric.

‘Human survivor located. You, come with us.’ The warrior pointed a massive articulated finger at her, the segments sparking with a power field. ‘The Emperor protects.’

Hundreds of dead orks lay in piles around the cave, by the burning machine, on the floor, on the walkways, in cell doors. A handful more of the Space Marines in the massive armour stood at the far end, weapons smoking. Their liveries were all different. Haas only recognised the bright yellow of an Imperial Fist. From the rear of the cavern Space Marines in more familiar armour were flooding in, dozens of them, drawn from the same Chapters as those in the oversized wargear.

One of her rescuers walked away on another errand, the high, hunched back of his armour swaying, the walkway rocking dangerously under his weight. The other shepherded her down rickety stairs to the cavern floor, bringing her together with a few bewildered humans like herself. They were guided to where the Imperial Fist stood, directing the incoming warriors into defensive positions.

‘Chapter Master Koorland, human survivors,’ said her rescuer. The chamber shook with a titanic impact somewhere high above. Grit pattered down from the roof.

The Imperial Fist, Koorland, finished giving his orders to warriors in bare metal armour discoloured by heat, and others in battered gear annotated with careful script.

‘State your names,’ said Koorland to the survivors. ‘Be quick. If you have anything worthwhile to tell us of the ork moon, reveal it now. We cannot tarry.’

Haas began to speak. A tracked ammunition train came clanking into the chamber, drowning out her voice. The larger warriors stumped over to it, moving slowly but with purpose. Servitors opened hoppers in the train’s sides and began rearming weapons, while others with specialised tools for limbs ran diagnostic checks on the Space Marines’ armour and effected minor repairs. Others in the giant battlesuits were arriving from elsewhere, and these were also attended to. The noise in the chamber was deafening, warriors shouting, heavy footsteps booming off uneven deck plating. The other rescued men and women said nothing, other than babbling thanks and praise. The Imperial Fist turned from them, as if he had never expected to receive anything of use from them.

Haas tried again.

‘Your men! They killed the longshanks,’ she shouted.

The Chapter Master turned back.

‘What?’ His voice was hard and inhuman from his vox-grille, the bright yellow helm unreadable. Haas was terrified, but her instinct for justice was strong.

‘Others. I was imprisoned with them. They helped keep me safe, and your men killed them.’

‘You are?’

‘Arbitrator Galatea Haas, Imperial Palace 149th Administrative District, General Oversight Division. I survived the Proletarian Crusade.’

‘Is this true, Arbalt?’ Koorland asked of Haas’ rescuer.

‘The female was domiciled with a number of aberrants,’ said Arbalt, his contempt plainly audible through the distortions of his vox-grille. ‘Non-standard humanoid phenotype. They did not deserve clemency.’

‘They told me that they were permitted abhumans. Longshanks,’ said Haas.

‘Longshanks? That kind are not mutants,’ said Koorland. ‘Arbalt, Ulferic. No human is to be harmed, no matter their type, not before you report to me.’

‘As you wish, Chapter Master,’ said Arbalt emotionlessly.

‘Convey this information to all your fellows,’ he said angrily. ‘While you are under my command I will not countenance the needless slaying of innocents.’

Arbalt gave an awkward bow, his movements restricted by his suit. ‘My lord Chapter Master.’

‘You may go,’ said Koorland to the humans.

‘There is more,’ said Haas. ‘The orks. They have a… a device, not far from here. A gate.’

Koorland looked down at her. His helmet’s muzzle and odd faceted panels made him look like an animal made of metal. ‘A gate?’

‘Some kind of teleportation device,’ said Haas. ‘Troops and weapons come through it all the time.’

Koorland motioned for a Space Marine wearing rust-red armour, a bulky servo-arm folded on top of his pack. ‘Send word to the Adeptus Mechanicus. We have intelligence of interest.’

‘Immediately, Chapter Master Koorland.’ The Space Marine hurried away.

Koorland called another to him. ‘Fetch this woman food and water. Now.’ Only then did he give his full attention to Haas. He tilted forward a little and projected a rough hololith from a device integrated into his suit.

‘This is a three-dimensional representation of the immediate surroundings,’ he said. ‘Show me where this “gate” is…’

Eleven

Servant of the Beast