Salvation's Reach

TWENTY-THREE Out of Reach

Shipmaster Spika nodded the instruction to execute to his steersmen. With a grinding shudder, the Highness Ser Armaduke pulled away from the mangled skin of Salvation’s Reach. All the lighters and landing ships were aboard, and the hatches of the lateral holds had been shut. The ship’s departure broke the atmospheric seals around the boreholes cut by the Hades drills. Explosive decompression ripped up through the lower and uncharted cavities of the Reach, voiding vacuums and collapsing compartments like eggshells.

Parts of the vast structure were already on fire where massive explosions had torn through them, the blasts of carefully laid satchel charges, or of ditched munition loads ignited by departing landing ships.

Some of the damage was the result of booby-trap devices in the lower depths spontaneously detonating.

Tiny cavities in the Reach glowed from within like the heat inside a coal. Explosions and firestorms continued to rumble through the habitat for several days.

Shields up, the Armaduke powered away from the target zone, plotting a hard acceleration line through the dense junk fields towards the nearest viable Mandeville Point. It continued to broadcast the streams of chatter, accusation and insult in Blood Pact battle code until the moment it translated.

Two hundred thousand kilometres behind it, cloaked and hidden in the debris field of the Reach, the monstrous and night-black daemon ship watched the Armaduke depart. It listened to the vox-chatter the Imperial ship had scattered in its wake.

It lit its weapons and its drives and sped forwards, tracking its prey.

As it moved, it whispered its name, a sonic crackle like a hushed curse.

Tormaggedon Monstrum Rex!

‘I will do everything I can,’ Curth said. ‘The prognosis is good. Haller brought him into the infirmary in decent time.’

Elodie nodded.

‘Thank you,’ she said. The beds of the infirmary chamber were full. There were so many injured personnel that some of the crew infirmary facilities had been co-opted by the Ghosts too.

Only one bed concerned Elodie. She sat down at the side of Daur’s cot and held his hand. He was very pale against the old, poor quality bedding. He did not stir.

‘With rest and good care, he will recover,’ said Curth. She was exhausted and empty inside, but she stayed with Elodie until the woman seemed calmer.

Curth went back into the medicae offices. Dorden’s desk was as he had left it, his instruments laid out the way he liked. Lesp had done that, as he did every morning. The familiarity of the work area was almost unbearable.

She sat down in the chair that had been Dorden’s since they had boarded for the mission. On the desk, in an old, worn frame, was a faded pict of a young man and his pretty young wife. She was pregnant. He was a newly qualified county doctor. Behind the smiling couple, sunlight shone through a stand of handsome nalwood trees.

Curth wiped her eyes.

The door opened. Blenner came in. He shut the door behind him and looked down at her.

‘I don’t know what to do now,’ she said.

‘Then we’ll have to think of something,’ he replied.

‘The silly old feth,’ she said. ‘He was never going to die in bed, was he? In bed, being cared for, where he belonged.’

‘I don’t think that’s where he actually belonged, do you?’ said Blenner. He plonked a bottle of sacra and two small glasses on the desk, opened the bottle and poured shots.

He handed one to her and took the other himself.

‘I’m no good at this,’ she said.

‘At drinking?’ he asked. ‘By the Throne, lady, the other night that certainly wasn’t true.’

‘At saying goodbye,’ she said.

‘Ah,’ he nodded. He raised his glass.

‘To the best of us, who leave us too early,’ he said, ‘and to the worst, who outstay their welcome.’

‘You look sad,’ said Felyx.

Gaunt did not reply. Slowly, carefully, he cleaned and oiled the blade of his power sword.

‘I thought we… won. We won, didn’t we?’ asked Felyx.

‘The mission was accomplished,’ Gaunt said quietly. ‘There is every decent prospect that we achieved something of lasting value.’

‘Then why do you look sad?’ asked Felyx.

‘I lost men. A lot of men. They gave their lives to become Ghosts. That’s always painful for a commander to bear, even in victory. And some of them… one especially… was very dear to me.’

Gaunt looked at Felyx. Gaunt’s quarters were quiet. Maddalena was sitting in the outer room, reading. She appeared to be studying Gaunt’s copy of The Spheres of Longing. Gaunt watched her turn a page.

‘There’s a reason you like her,’ said Felyx.

‘I’m sure there is,’ said Gaunt.

‘The most valuable lifeguards of House Chass receive very sophisticated body modification. Maddalena’s face and voice, they were designed to resemble my mother’s. The similarity was supposed to reassure and comfort me. I imagine it has an effect on you too.’

‘I imagine so.’

‘Is that the sword of Heironymo Sondar?’ Felyx asked.

‘It is. Would you like me to tell you how I came to own it?’

Felyx shook his head.

‘I saw you use it today,’ he said. ‘That’s all I need to know.’

Rawne checked that Mabbon’s shackles were in place and locked to the deck pin. He took one last look at the prisoner and moved to the cell door.

‘A good day’s work, pheguth,’ he said and closed the hatch.

By the light of the single lamp he was permitted, Mabbon sat back in his chair and allowed the tension to slip out of his muscles.

For the first time in a long while, he smiled.

In dress uniform, with the power sword strapped to his hip, Gaunt walked onto the excursion deck. The place was silent. The ranks drew up to attention. The regimental retinue looked on, wordless and still. Outside, warp space scratched against the hull, but inside there was a solemn hush.

The band, in full ceremonial finery, stood ready to play the memorial march of the Imperium.

Gaunt got up onto the podium. Zweil stood there already, ready to conduct the formal service. The ayatani looked old and tired and sad.

Gaunt had a list in his pocket, but he didn’t need it as a prompt. He knew it by heart. He looked down at the regiment and at the three Space Marines ranked at the front, side by side and impassive. They had returned their battered boarding plate to the storage caskets and donned the power armour they had been wearing when he first met them. Silver, Snake and Scar.

‘We gather to commemorate the end of this undertaking,’ said Gaunt in a strong, clear voice, ‘and to acknowledge the contributions and sacrifices made. At my discretion, a number of decorations have been recommended. Some of them are awarded posthumously.’

He took off his cap and began to announce the list of names. The Ghosts bowed their heads. Holofurnace raised his spear up straight in a salute to the fallen.

High above, looking down from its perch on a cargo gantry, the psyber eagle listened to the roll of honour.

A perfect aquila, it spread its wings.