What Immortal Hand Or Eye

[BlueWaterDragon]

Ok boys, I'm sorry that I haven't been about to post more up on this story but I've had some RL issues to deal with. Enjoy!!!

 

 

On board the ship Archimedes’ Space Marines were not faring much better than those on the surface. They were dropping like flies and panicked messages were pouring in from all over the Knights’ fleet. Three of the smaller ships had fallen silent. Fharin himself was only staying upright by force of will, wondering why his Catalepsean Node had not cut in yet. Gripping the edge of his pulpit, he looked down at a projection that showed the disposition of both his own fleet and that of the strange sailed vessels, some of which were also beginning to drift. Fharin had absolutely no chance of continuing his hostile course of action. He felt prickles of discomfort, as though there were a million fire ants under his skin, biting at him with feverish abandon. Losing his grip on the ornate carving of the pulpit, he fell backwards down the steps almost crushing the two serfs that waited at the bottom. Through the haze that had begun to blanket his vision he saw one of the hard-wired servitors shuddering, fluids trickling from the ports that covered it’s body, he was unsure whether it was male or female.

 

Some of them must be organic, Fharin thought groggily. But why can’t I smell the blood?

 

He was still fighting to get up. Normally whist on board the ships the Marines dispensed with their cumbersome powered armour, but as the Captain had had no idea what sort of welcome might have awaited them he had ordered all of the Brothers to battle readiness.

 

The floor shook twice and he rolled his head to one side, the fire ants had become burning promethium, the searing agony seeming to by-pass every implant that made him able to tolerate even the cruellest of injuries. Concentrating his swimming vision, he saw what had caused the impacts he had felt.

 

The Terminators guarding the bridge had toppled over to lie like huge felled trees. One of them had managed to remove his helmet and was soundlessly opening and closing his mouth, his skin as pale with shock as Fharin’s own must be. Swivelling his head around at a new sound he saw the servitor. It was swelling and several of the pipes had burst free from their housings spewing forth more internal liquids across the deck plating. Three other servitors had begun to convulse in similar fashion to the first, although they cycled through to the point of shedding their attachments much faster than the initial servitor had done. Abruptly they stopped and Fharin stared at them uncomprehendingly. Silence reigned throughout the bridge for a few brief seconds before they popped, bursting like kernels of maize in a hot pan, showering the three prone Marines with an assortment of viscera and technical paraphernalia. Something struck Fharin across the head and he knew no more.

 

Brother Raldrin was faring much better, he had not realised that when he had stepped through the door into the other Librarium, that he had actually been teleported to another ship.

 

“What in the name of the Emperor’s wrinkled arse have you done?” normally he would not swear in such a way, but he was so incensed that he did not care. The Librarian was still standing, but Ares could sense something in the air.

 

“I brought you here, nothing more,” he held his chest, rubbing his black carapace through the fabric of his robe. “I am not powerful enough to cause this.”

 

The Marine expanded his awareness out, dragging Ares out with him. They stood between the two fleets, hanging in space, the vastness of the system surrounding them as though they were inside an expansive holographic projection. Ares was stunned by the beauty of the ships around him; he could call each one of his own fleet by name, the intricacies of each design were totally familiar to him. However, the Sons of Plunder ships were beautiful, he had never seem anything like them in his life. But they were silent; a few of the larger ships had started to power down.

 

There came a whispering between the stars and both Ares and the stranger turned, trying to find its source.

 

“You hear that too?” he asked, the Marine nodded, his face still composed. “Excellent, I thought I was going mad for a moment there.” He giggled and the other man looked down with a raised eyebrow.

 

“I wouldn’t rule it out as a possibility, Brother. It mainly depends on your definition of sanity.”

 

Turning to face the Knights’ fleet, Ares received the shock of his life.

 

Lurking in the penumbra, the spaceport drifted lazily like a particularly unconcerned barracuda. He was keenly aware of both his own tiredness and also that of the other Marine. Soft music filled the void, the sound of a sweet voice singing in perfect harmony with itself. The effect was somewhat awe-inspiring and Raldrin closed his mouth when he regained enough self-awareness to realise it was hanging open. The singing swelled around them, caressing their minds like an affectionate lover. Ares caught a hint of a beautiful face, and a noble profile, that was backlit by a glow that seemed to be cast by the universe.

 

“I am Calliope,” the lips moved out of sync with an echo that slid around the perfect arpeggios like a furious serpent. “How dare you creatures come to my halls? You stamp all over my planet, and kill my creations! Answer me!”

 

Ares looked at the other Librarian and was shocked to see that he was now encased in a psychic copy of his blue-painted Terminator armour. Across the front of the blue cuirass hung a white tabard, dyed red at the edges, and a bare metal scabbard chased with brass fittings hung from his belt, along with his holstered bolter. In his right hand was a large hammer, with a sculpted adamantium fist at its centre. The Librarian caught him staring at it and he smiled.

 

“A gift from the Imperial Fists, I’ll tell you about it sometime,” he said, and looked back at the shimmering apparition. “Lady Calliope, I have no idea what it is we have done.”

 

“You know what they have done!” she screamed, the glow become the incandescence of a star. “You know what they are now planning, your infernal beetles! And like cockroaches they dare to crawl upon the surface of my world!”

 

“Lady Calliope,” he held up his left hand. “I do not control the Marines on the surface; they are under the command of Brother Indarin.”

 

“But you fire your weapons within my space.” the face looked at them sideways, unconvinced.

 

“To be fair,” the Librarian replied, gesturing at Ares. “That was them, they fired on us.”

 

Ares stared at him, stung by this sudden betrayal. Bristling he said,

 

“In all fairness,” the anger dropped out of his stomach in the same way as it did when he hurtled through atmosphere in a drop pod. “I have no idea what he’s talking about. But I would like to know how you managed to down so many Marines.”

 

“Lady Calliope,” the Librarian whispered, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s about respect Brother Raldrin,” the Librarian straightened up. “Forgive him Lady Calliope, he is young yet. Nevertheless the question is still valid. What weapon is it that has caused so much damage to my Brothers?”

 

The image giggled the sound reverberating around their teeth. “If I told you, I would have to kill you.”

 

“Since you seem intent on doing that anyway, what would be the harm in telling us?” the Librarian reasoned.

 

“Very good little spaceman,” the voice said, still laughing. “You are indeed clever for such a small creature. Hmm, I think I might keep you as a pet.”

 

He chuckled. “Unfortunately, you cannot have me; I am a servant of the Divine Emperor of Terra. Sadly, he is otherwise occupied at the moment.”

 

Ares was stunned by this cavalier attitude, especially with the reference to the Emperor Himself. “Brother?” He asked, his eyes darting between them.

 

“Yes? I’m building rapport Brother Raldrin.”

 

“Oh.” Raldrin slumped, wising fervently that he had never stepped through the door.

 

“Enough,” the voice said. Looking at them both and shaking its head. “You have violated my space, and my planet. For this you will all die.”

 

“With respect Lady Calliope, that is not your choice to make. If you attack us, we will fight to the last Marine we have.”

 

“Valiant words, little spaceman, however you forget one thing, you have been adapted to this void. I was designed and built for it!”

 

A lance of energy sprung out from the spaceport, cutting one of the Sons of Plunder corvettes in half. Even with her power still up, the little ship stood little chance against the beams, the two halves began to spin as the atmosphere vented from unsealed bulkheads. A spark of anger flared behind the Librarian’s eyes and Ares was not certain but he sensed the same gathering of power that heralded Jurgen’s use of his force weapon. The Librarian seemed to grow, until he blocked out the light from the star. Raising the hammer he brought it down in a sweeping arc of light that exploded with the force of a supernova when it struck the spaceport. Sparks danced away like terrified fireflies as the Librarian pulled the hammer behind his back for another swing. The second blow was prevented as a hand joined the face and caught the hammer just below its head.

 

Ares took a decision that would change his life more profoundly than the day he became a scout Marine. He stepped between them. A stray tendril of thought had touched him when the first blow struck and he didn’t want her to die. The thought had escaped from her tight control, and it spoke of her unfathomable loneliness and in the depths of his soul, he felt pity for her. He gently caught her wrist and she let go of the hammer and held his hand. Her touch sent a tingle through his skin and he stroked the face gently.

 

The Librarian spoke, “Brother Raldrin, what are you doing?”

 

“Building a rapport,” he smiled over his shoulder, and the Marine laughed softly.

 

“She has destroyed one of our ships, and must accept her fate. I cannot allow her to live for it.”

 

“No,” Ares said quietly. Turning to face him, he continued, “She is ancient, you cannot destroy an artefact from the Dark Age of Technology.”

 

The Librarian stared at Ares, absolutely stunned by both the Codicer’s insubordination, and this fresh knowledge.

 

“How many were aboard the corvette?” Ares asked.

 

“Seventy-five,” the Librarian said. “And a squad of ten Space Marines.”

 

Ares turned back the face of the spaceport as it spoke. “I will admit that you have great power little spaceman. I will recover the pieces and repair it for you.”

 

“What of the seventy-five men we have lost?” the Librarian had lowered the hammer, but he was still on guard.

 

The huge eyes closed and the plumes of gases escaping from the wreckage abruptly ceased. Little craft like Valkyries darted out of the spaceport and clustered around the corvette, nosing it back at the colossal station. The tone of the voice had become flat as it said.

 

“There are survivors on board this corvette. Your other spacemen are whole, and most of the humans are safe.” The eyes opened, glittering with blue light, her face sad. “Some of those who are part of the systems have perished. Why do you need such people?” Ares heard the heart-rending suffering in her voice as she asked, “What happened to those such as me?”

[BlueWaterDragon]

Just to let people know, I've not been around for a while and for that I'm sorry.  Do people want an update on this one?

[SteelTygre]

Yes

[BlueWaterDragon]

Jurgen awoke with a start.  He had hoped to never be on the receiving end of his force weapon, but right now he felt as though he had Been.  Every single part of his body throbbed, and as he looked back, chunks of his armour marked his progress to where he had finally collapsed.  Unbuckling his breastplate, he let it fall by his feet. Now the only thing that stood between him and the world was his black carapace and his skin.  He shook Indarin awake and the Marine sat up groggily.

 

“Brother Jurgen,” he rubbed his face with both hands.  “I don’t think any of my surgeries hurt this much.”

“I agree with that one,” Constantine said, his armour scraping on the rocks as he got to his knees.  “Compared to this, even Mephiston’s ministrations were merciful.”

“Whatever it was, it seems to have caused you to contract alliteration, Tannie.”  Lofgren growled, sitting up and clipping his pauldrons back into place.  One of the other Wolves picked up his backpack and held it in place so that Lofgren could activate the magnetic clamps.

 

Jurgen looked up to the ceiling, in orbit something was happening but he was not sure whether or not he would be able to get past the Craftworld’s heavy shielding.  Nevertheless he tried anyway and was surprised when someone responded.  He lifted his consciousness, following the link out into space.  The sight that greeted him was alarming and he started slightly.  The pale face tinted a sparkling blue looked at him and said.

 

“There are so many of you, little spacemen!”  Her voice was sweet with harmony.

“Little spacemen?” Jurgen said, looking confusedly at the other two Marines.

“It would appear to be the affectionate epithet that Lady Calliope has coined for us, the Emperor’s Finest,” the Terminator Librarian replied.

“Codicer Raldrin,” Jurgen rounded on the young psyker, who paled.  “What in the name of Holy Terra are you doing?”

 

“Umm, I’m trying not to get killed, Chapter-Master,” he replied sheepishly. 

 

“Very good Codicer, carry on.”

“Come to me,” her voice boomed out across the system.  “My command centre is at the capital city, find me.”

“Certainly, Lady Calliope,” Jurgen said, bowing slightly to her.  “Please permit them to land some ships near you and we will endeavour to reach you after sorting out the problems we are facing at Aluren’Viate.”

 

“Problems?” the other Librarian asked.  “What do you mean, Brother?”

“We’ve been attacked on numerous fronts by various enemies.”  Jurgen said.  “I must go now, but we will head towards the capital city when we have the situation under control.  Incidentally, do you have any information on the Age of Apostasy?”

“I shall take a look for you,” the Librarian smiled.  “With the Lady Calliope’s permission we can drop some re-enforcements…”

“No,” Jurgen held up a hand.  “Thank you Brother, but no, in fact we could do with having the Imperial Guardsmen picked up, but sadly we have also failed to find the two survivors from the original Explorator team.  I think the Guardsmen should be able to pick them up on the way out.”

“Certainly,” The Marine nodded.  “I will pass it along to Fleet Command.”

 

Jurgen retreated back to his body and stood up.  “Guardsmen,” he said.  “Please prepare to be picked up; you need to make your way back up to the surface, and on the way there you need to find the two from the Explorator survivors.”

“Could we not blow a hole up there?”  Lofgren asked, pointing his bolter towards the ceiling.

 

“We need a map of this place,” Indarin put in.  “And we won’t be able to call on help from Khel’lurae just yet.”

The points of Lofgren’s teeth showed below his lip as he smiled.  Something had clearly clicked in his mind and he spoke to two of the other Wolves who disappeared off.  Jurgen watched them go, wondering what they were after.  However he had no time to ponder the ramifications of their departure, as Indarin asked him,

“Where did you go?”  His hazel eyes were almost green as he spoke.

 

“I went out for a walk,” Jurgen replied, waving his hands casually as he stretched.  Changing the subject he said.  “Your Chief-Librarian appears to be rather competent, Indarin.”

“Oh?  What brings you to that conclusion?”

“He’s currently assisting my Codicer with Lady Calliope.  Incidentally, he is putting in a request for the Guards to be picked up, and he’s hunting down some information for me.”

“It sounds like you’ve got him busy,” Indarin checked his bolter carefully, pulling out the magazine and counting the shells.

The two Wolves returned, forestalling any further comment.  They dropped the carcass of the machine they were dragging between them at Lofgren’s feet.  The Marine poked at it with his foot, and apparently satisfied, he asked Indarin for the gemstone.  Jurgen watched as he cautiously tugged out a circular housing from under the solid plate that formed the face of the machine.  Nothing happened as he stood

up, and his face fell faster than a drop-pod.

“Well I suppose it was a good idea,” one of the Wolves growled.  One of the Guards stepped forward and bowed at the waist to Indarin and as he straightened, he saluted the other Marines.

“My Lords?” he licked his lips as they all stared down at him.

 

“Yes, Little Brother?” Indarin replied, cocking his bolter.  The Guardsman followed the tip of the barrel.

“My name is Corporal Barnard, my Lords.  I am a medic first-class,” he put his finger on the end of the bolter’s barrel and gently, but pointedly pushed it down.  “Do you remember when we fought the Eldar at Conrathern Reaches?”

Indarin nodded rubbing his chin with the back of his gauntlet.  “Corrine scored a direct hit on the Farseer at maximum range at the start of that campaign.  The Eldar fought it hard after that.”

“Yes, Lord Indarin. It took him a week and a half to paint it onto the side of his Land Raider,” Barnard grinned and folded his arms.  “But that aside, I remember watching the Chief-Librarian fighting these things, they’re remarkably tough against lasgun fire, what isn’t?  However, the Chief struck several of them with that weird lightning, and they collapsed with their lights out.”

“Your point is?”  Lofgren was bored and he showed it with an expansive yawn.  Jurgen had already caught Barnard’s drift and had knelt down beside the mechanical creature.  Laying his palm flat against the gemstone, he gathered himself and pushed out into it.  The lights on the thing came on and the fingers twitched spasmodically.  He tried again and this time it moved.  The hand raised and caught him around the throat.  It should have been strong enough to at least partly throttle him, but it lacked sufficient power to do him any significant harm.  Knocking the fingers aside, he hit the thing with his mind once more.

 

This time the multi-coloured stones across the machine blazed and it lifted off of the ground his hand tracking with it until he was standing up.  It’s feet now under it; it turned the faceplate back and forth, scanning the group.

 

"What have you done?”  Khel’lurae’s terrified voice issued from the machine.  “Jurgen, what have you done to me?”

“Calm yourself, Bonesinger,” he replied.  “We have found a machine; it seems to be functioning sufficiently for you.”

“A Wraithguard,” the thing nodded.  “It is operating at approximately less than fifty percent efficiency, and even at this level, will not survive for very long.  Why have you done this?”

“We have to ask you some things,” Jurgen glanced at the Guardsmen.  “We need a map out of here for them…”

The machine held up a hand.  “Can you not go out the way you came in?” she thought about it for a moment.  Shaking her head she continued.  “No, there isn’t time, I can delay the detonation of the engines but as I told you, I cannot stop it now.”

“In which case,” Jurgen said.  “I have to apologise for any further damage to Aluren’Viate.  We will blow a hole in the roof up there.”

Even through the monstrous apparatus that comprised the body she now inhabited, Jurgen could feel her great sadness, a pain so deep

that it weighed on his soul like a ton of lead.  With the knowledge that there was no way to save her beloved home, she nodded again.  Jurgen felt that had she still been in her real body that she would have cried and screamed with the grief.  He knew all too well how it felt
to watch some thing that he had fought for absolutely destroyed.

 

“Brother Jurgen,” Indarin touched his shoulder.  “Lofgren is requesting orbital bombardment, and… What was that?”

The ground beneath their feet had begun to shake and a thunderous crash announced the disintegration of one of the fire damaged buildings.  Dust and sparks flowed through the thoroughfare and the Guards dived for cover behind the Land Raiders and any available walls.  Jurgen took cover with them, fully aware that without his armour he was more vulnerable.  The flaming torrent swept over them and when it was over he stood up and dusted himself down.

“Is everyone alright?” Jurgen asked.  “Guardsmen sound off!”

 

One by one the squads responded; the Marines shook themselves down and joined Jurgen.  Indarin insisted that Constantine return to the fleet to receive the attentions of an Apothecary.  The Marine was deeply unhappy at being forced to leave his commander’s side and Jurgen caught a glimpse of shame as he entered Corrine’s tank and sat down.  The tanks moved off to find a safe place to sit out the orbital bombardment.