Part IV As the doorway closed, glow-panels hummed on, casting a gentle light on the room's new occupants. They stood dwarfed by the immensity of the building in which they took refuge. By some odd trick of light, or perhaps a technological feat unduplicated since Mraba IV's inhabitants constructed for eternity, the inside of the City of Might appeared larger than the outside. Vaulted ceilings arched upwards, meeting in dim shadows far overhead, where keystones and gargoyles gazed down silently. Vast arcing hallways curved and swept left and right, flowing symmetrically out of the central room. Huge multicolored panels, full of flickering, pulsating lights, functioned as smoothly now as they did when first activated. The bedraggled survivors gazed in awe for several long seconds, drinking in the cool silence of their surroundings. Everywhere they looked ornamental Imperial symbols -- winged, double-headed eagles -- were emblazoned on all surfaces. The overall style of interior architecture was reminiscient of the early Imperium: fluted, sculpted pillars; crenellated wall-sconces; dim, intricate bas-reliefs on every flat surface. Dozens of angry marble cherubs topped wall and ceiling joints, standing ready to hurl their jagged-tipped arrows at anyone below. They had entered a room from the time when the Emperor walked among men. "We are in the presence of our lord and master," murmured Vicconius. "His hand is in everything here." Now out of immediate danger, the Chaplain reached up to unseal his helmet. Cradling it in one arm, he gazed wide-eyed about the room. Other Marines, Ezekial among them, also removed their helmets. With a quiet hiss of air and a soft click, they bared their faces to the cherubs and gargoyles. For some unexplained reason, they felt close to the source of their faith. The room seemed almost a chapel, so serene was it. A scuttling sound came from a darkened corner. "There is more here than the Emperor's presence, Brother-Chaplain," Baronus interposed. "Look there, in the corner." Raising a hand lamp, he directed its beam into the shadows. Illuminated full by the shaft of light was a native of Mraba IV. Holding one arm up to shield it from the beam, it hunched over as if seeking to hide. Smaller than a normal human, it still resembled one in general shape and form: two legs, two arms, a single head. But all surface details were gone, buried beneath a layer of shiny, wrinkled metal, which reflected back Baronus' light in a thousand bright sparkles. It huddled in its corner, neither fleeing nor attacking. Vicconius turned to the Marine carrying the squad's flamer, pointing an armored finger at the aborigine. "Cleanse this area with the purifying flame, brother." Ezekial pushed forward through the press of troopers. "Brother Mikail, belay that order." The Chaplain swung instantly to face the Sergeant. "Brother-Sergeant...?" Ezekial hurried to explain himself. "Brother-Chaplain, if you would but think you would realize that such an act is undesirable. To kill the monstrosity is just, but imagine the possible damage any discharge of weapons in this nearly-sacred place would have on it." He paused to gesture around him, taking in the whole building. "This is from the days of the Emperor's waking life; such beauty must be protected at all costs. What is more, we should seek out its mysteries, not destroy them. How did this animal come to be inside here, when we ourselves were stymied for so long? What did we do to gain entrance? The answers to these questions may be critical, if they will affect the Eldar's own ability to find their way inside." At the mention of the aliens, the men realized they could hear muffled pounding through the wall behind them. Tiny vibrations sent powder and dust flitting through the air. Vicconius visibly forced himself to relax after Ezekial's chiding. "Very well, Brother-Sergeant. Let the thing live, for now. But your curiosity has always been your greatest weakness; let it not contaminate your judgment." He moved off to examine the numerous control panels lining the walls. Ezekial felt taken aback. Without realizing it, he had berated his mentor and friend. Humbled and shamed once again, he deliberately put his attention elsewhere. "Brother Lucius, take your men and fan out down the left corridor. Brother Baronus, take Brothers Pluvius, Mikail, and Torius and search the right-most corridor. Proceed as far as safety dictates, and try to determine what lies ahead for us here. Use your weapons sparingly, and only if needed. Go with the Emperor; your faith is your shield." As the Space Marines stomped off into the darkness, heavy tread echoing off the distant walls, Ezekial rounded on the Guardsmen. "Who commands you now, Stirkans?" he demanded. The tired, dirty men looked amongst themselves, shaking their heads as each refused the others' urgings. Ezekial understood their plight but did not share their lack of enthusiasm. He still had no time for their wounded, save to let them be put aside while the rest continued to fight. He reigned in as much patience as he could spare, gazing at them with impassive features. No hint of the hunted feeling from which he suffered showed on his face, but the soft, rhythmic pounding of the Eldar did not let him forget it. These men were loyal human troopers, and if they were disheartened now it was only because they _were_ human. He regarded them silently, taking in their appearance. Because they had been called so quickly to Mraba IV, they had not been able to adapt their standard uniform to the local conditions. Still clad in normal blue and green tunics, they had stood out sharply against the red-gold hills of the planet. Ezekial had a deeply ingrained disdain for those few Space Marine Chapters who made use of camouflage in their armors' colors, but for the relatively unprotected Imperial Guardsmen he had no such misgivings. The battlefields of the universe were varied and deadly; a Guardsman needed all the help he could get; a Space Marine, on the other hand, was more than a match for any foe. Now that they had gained the interior of the building, though, it was a moot point. They would all either live or die as one. "Stirkans of the 43rd Regiment," he intoned, "you have fought bravely and well. Yet the Emperor requires more of you. One of you must command the rest. Captain Horatio would expect no less of such fine soldiers." At the mention of the Captain's name, the weary men seemed to take some small measure of strength. Their heads lifted and their shoulders straightened slightly. Horatio's inspirational death -- and this Space Marine's insistence on honoring the fallen Guardsman -- were too recent and powerful to ignore. "Who among you will take up the mantle of command?" Slowly, one of the soldiers, bloody but whole, rose to his feet. Drawing a tired breath, he let it out, almost with reluctance. With the same resignation, he said, "Let it be me, then. I am not most senior here, but I have the most battles under my belt. And I'm still unhurt." Grinning wryly, he added, "Must be the Emperor's preference, since I _am_ most unhurt and a veteran. I am Trooper Sturm." "Very well, then," Ezekial replied, hearing the distant soft pounding of the Eldar, "you will lead your men, and shall report to me. Together, with the Emperor's aid, we shall prevail." To the regular humans of the Imperial Guard, such consideration in a Space Marine was unheard of. Horatio had commented more than once, in the few lulls they had had between fighting and running, that the Dark Angels as a whole seemed haunted, or hunted, or both, by something the Captain could never imagine. He had warned his men against putting their whole faith in the Angels, and had cautioned them that Space Marines were "men" like men were ants. Such power, combined with the strange dark attitude they adopted, he had said, could just as easily be used against loyal humans as against true enemies of the Imperium. The Dark Angels seemed to take an extremist's view of things, and Horatio had said he didn't want to be there when things went from black and white to gray. But the Sergeant among them appeared haunted in a different way. His was a more personal brooding, and he vented it and countered it and subverted it, while never giving in to the full extremist's view. He seemed both stronger for it, and yet more fragile -- which had gotten quite the laugh when Horatio had used the word originally: a Space Marine, fragile! -- in spite of, or because of, his personal demons. He had argued for a more conservative reconnaissance instead of a wide-ranging one; he disputed the intelligence reports underestimating the Eldar presence; and he gave Captain Horatio's soul usherance to the arms of the Emperor. Sturm and his fellows had just about made up their minds to trust this Space Marine, at least. |
REDEMPTION By Kelly L'Roy |
TOMES OF VALOUR |
This item has been reproduced without the permission of the author. It's use here is not intended as a challenge to the original authors copyright and is reproduced here for the sole purpose of enhancing the Dark Angel spirrit and the warhammer 40,000 experience. Sadly all attempts at contacting the author have been unsuccessful and the original site where this was published no longer in existence. The story has been too invaluable to the DA community to be simply lost in the warp and therefre been reproduced here. If Kellt L'Roy happens to read these pages, please contact by email. |
