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No one told corporal Markus Grant that hell would be so boring.
A battle hardened guardsman, tall and well built, Markus had spent the last three years fighting in the Damocles Gulf Crusade - a war cut short by an unending swarm of beasts beyond the stars. These beasts were called the Tyranids, something he never had the opportunity to learn about, and were apparently a much greater threat than the fledgling Tau Empire. There was a transitional moment where Markus believed he would assist in fighting them, but the top commanders of the crusade with ranks so high as to be near legend, determined Markus and his company would instead be reinforcing the planetary defense force of a nearby death world called Težakrad.
The planet is a desolate one; notable for being covered in caustic white sediment, peppered with ore-filled black stones that have tumbled from the decaying crags. The world is scarred, both from the Imperial settlements themselves, and by the natural, toxic wind and sand that sweeps across the continents with such force that it flattens mountains. The planetary governor, formerly an expeditionary leader, determined that the safest way to establish cities for workers to harvest the valuable mineral resources of the world, was to create deep, artificial canyons that sat below the brunt of the storms. There, massive mining complexes would delve ever deeper into the world, while housing was built into the expanding cliffside.
As the world's winds spray the poisonous sands in great corrosive dust storms, inordinate amounts of static electricity crackle across the sky in charged fury, making wireless communication from city to city difficult and repairs frequent. This constant, energetic hurricane was called the Hala due to a local folk story brought by the first generation of workers. There are no animals native to the world, and the only vegetation is a deep rooted weed that is as inedible as it is structurally damaging. Work is being done to connect the many canyon cities together with a system of tunnels, but the work is slow. While the governor has his own Astropaths to send and receive messages from the wider Imperium, the current method of planetary management consists of sturdy ships going back and forth to the orbital station that the governor lives in with the rest of his staff. It was one of those ships that Markus came down on just a few weeks ago, starting his extended stay in this death world’s scenic Canyon 72.
Težakrad was one of the most efficient planets in the imperium when it came to resource output per capita. Despite the hundreds of canyon cities supplying millions of tons of raw materials each solar day, the planet only had a population of a few hundred thousand. Every single person on this planet, save the Governor’s retinue, was either working in the mines or serving in the planetary defense force. A few labour revolts had somewhat depleted both the latter and the former, and that’s where Markus’ company came in. They were to assist in enforcing governor’s orders and keep the resources flowing until enough of the former rioters had been turned into harmless, hard working servitors.
This took the form of patrols from digsite to digsite, and filling out paperwork based on how the work is getting done. With an absence of clerks, the busywork was to be done by the soldiers. This was all that occurred between meals, so today Markus made sure his breakfast lasted as long as it could.
Boring, boring, boring.
Markus finally finished his meal, no longer content to sit around pondering the miserable planet he was stationed on. Though his work had been reduced to this, he still had a strong sense of duty. Standing up, he began to dress himself in his protective gear and uniform. Despite the shelter of the canyons, he could not survive outdoors without a specially modified void suit. Bracing himself for another pointless patrol, his lasrifle hanging on his shoulder, he went through the airlock of the mess hall and made his way to the mines.
It was not a long walk, as the military buildings were typically placed at the bottom of the canyon-wall residences, so as to provide a guarded checkpoint between the worksite and the homes of the workers. Trudging through the radioactive sands, he reached the first digsite in ten minutes. He spotted three workers having a discussion near a dormant drill. Curious, thought Markus. They should have started digging hours ago.
“Why isn’t this machine running?” he asked one of the miners.
“Afternoon, sir. We, uh.. We’re a bit shorthanded today.” he responded. Although Markus was no officer, all of the workers on this world addressed him as sir. Markus still wasn’t used to it.
Markus crossed his arms. “Shorthanded? Nobody has left or entered Canyon 72 since I arrived weeks ago, and the infirmary is empty. Where are the other workers?” he questioned.
“It was the strangest thing, sir, please understand. We’d worked just fine yesterday, but it happened then too. Four of our guys working the pump yesterday just up and left, in the middle of a shift! We called after them, but they walked away, into one of the old shafts. Shaft Six-Six-B, I think. We were able to meet the quota without them, just barely” the worker said, trembling, “but today another seven have gone. No one is left here but us!”
Markus was baffled. His orders were to keep the workers working, and put down any revolts should they spring up again. This however, was another matter. Missing workers? What was he to do about that? He was no detective, and even he understood that large machinery couldn’t be run effectively with just three people.
“I’ll write up a report about this. It’s unorthodox, but see if you can help the team at the next dig over. You should have told me something strange was happening yesterday, but it’s too late for that. If something similar has happened there, I want to know about it. Check in with me at the garrison postern before lights-out,” said Markus.
Relief washed over the workers’ faces, hidden behind the visors of their suits. “Yes, sir. Thank you for understanding, sir. We will head out immediately, sir. Throne bless you, sir.” they stammered, already walking to the next site as quickly as they could.
Ignoring their sycophantic display, he began to inspect the worksite. Checking the pump first, the log on the machine confirmed what the workers said; it was run in the expected fashion until yesterday, with an erratic pattern as if workers were alternating between it and other stations. The log for today was empty. Choosing to believe the rest of their story, he made his way to the mentioned shaft.
It was dark, dry, and treacherous. The lack of maintenance and shifting sands wore the walking paths inward to a slippery smoothness, forcing him to tread carefully. The darkness gave rise to caution, undiminished even by the void suit’s illumination devices. He drew his lasgun and turned its light on as well; now feeling secure enough, he pressed on. At the start of the trek, he saw nothing out of the ordinary - black rocks, white sand, abandoned machines crumbling away, and the occasional route marker. As he ventured forth, the continued depth bringing greater darkness, it became a pattern - a slow hike down a steep junction, a long walk through a flattened drill path, and a fork in the tunnels marked by signs. It was careful work to not get lost, but Markus noted each turn meticulously.
After an hour of walking, something made him stop. A shuffling sound, not made by his own feet. He froze in his tracks, and realized the sound was getting louder, closer. Quickly, Markus disabled the lights on his suit and weapon, and crouched down to listen.
Clack, clack, clack… Whatever was moving down here, it moved slowly. Three steps, a pause, then four more, another pause. Eventually, it became loud enough to hear more; a faint murmur. It was speaking. A man’s voice, Markus thought, perhaps he was one of the workers lost and gone mad. The voice soon became discernable, and Markus listened closely.
“Liar...” Clack, clack, clack. “Bloated, xenos thing.” Clack, clack, clack. “How could I have believed in him?”. Each thing the man muttered left Markus disturbed and full of questions. Xenos, here? What happened to this man? Who deceived him, and what is he doing down here? Corporal Grant was no coward, and he would confront this heretic immediately and get to the bottom of this.
Markus stood up, and enabled his lights once again. Aiming his rifle at the shuffling man, he walked forward and began to shout commands. “You! In the name of Planetary Governor Petrovic, you are under arrest for dereliction of duty and consorting with an alien. Approach me slowly and do not resist.”
The man stopped for a moment, looking at Markus. His suit was tattered, with blinking signals on the shoulders signifying its failing life support. He began to whimper, and walked forward slowly. Markus began to notice more and more details the closer he came. His left leg was wounded, and nearly useless, limping along behind him. Bloodstained machine tape covered the majority of his thigh. He was holding an older vox-caster, but Markus knew from experience that it was damaged and nonfunctional. Once the man was only a few meters away a raspy, pained breathing could be heard. For this to be audible, the worker’s suit must have a crack in the visor. A few steps further, it was plain to Markus that this was the case. The final step ended with the worker slipping, falling on his side, writhing. Markus slowly approached him, lasrifle pointed to the heart.
“Who are you, and what happened to you?” Markus asked him sternly.
“I am Miomir.” the worker said between coughs. “I have been deceived, and you are in great danger. We are all doomed.”
“What are you talking about?” demanded Markus.
“This world, this cruel world, without light. He promised light to us. This world, this dead world, without love. He promised love to us. This world, this damned world, without salvation. He promised us salvation. He lied.” The worker spoke through tears and stifled sobs. “A prophecy was told to us, a sacrifice that would rid this world of the storms that trap us here. Angels who would bring an end to the Hala. The patriarch grew his family with these promises, and I joined him not long after you arrived. He lied, he lied, he lied! Emperor save me, the angels we called here were a worse Hala themselves! They have come to consume us all; I have escaped with my life, but I am dying. This suit is failing, and I am injured. They are looking for me, and if you stay here, they will find you. My brood brothers. Those foul things, I see what they are clearly for the first time. They-”
A shot rang out, painfully loud in the narrow tunnels. Sharp and distorted, Markus could only barely identify it as the firing of a stub gun. No longer startled, he looked down to Miomir. Dead, shot through the head. His training kicked in. Markus leapt back and began to sprint and think. Thirty metres back, a fork in the tunnels. A large signpost - ground mounted, made of metal. Cover. As he approached it, he reached out and grabbed it, spinning and sliding himself around it just in time. More shots rang out, and they bounced off the sign harmlessly.
“Revolution!” screamed an attacker. “A new age for this family. For this world! Our father has fulfilled his promise, and they have come. This dying world will be remade, free of suffering. Free of tyranny. You will not stop us!”
Markus waited for a break in the shooting to peek from cover and return fire. Three targets. Instinctively, he shot one twice, causing it to fall over in a burned heap. Acquiring another target, he aimed but did not shoot. His delay was caused by an unsettling observation. The “men” shooting at him were not men at all. They had no void suits, breathing in the toxic atmosphere unassisted. They spoke Gothic without issue, but they walked hunched in an inhuman gait. Most strikingly, one of the remaining enemies had three arms, and the other had four. Were they the xenos Miomir spoke of?
Realizing his hesitation, Markus pulled himself back into cover just before more shots zipped past him, and again into the sign. Bulges of metal protruded into the side he hid behind, and cracks began to form from the dents. It would not hold much longer. He needed to end this fight now. Rather than peek, he rushed out from behind cover and shot while strafing. Markus fired at the closest one first, the three armed creature, and hit his mark. As it fell, dead before it hit the ground, the final adversary emptied his weapon in a flurry of shots. Most missed Markus, but two hit his flak armour that protected his suit, and one grazed his visor. Quickly, Markus put the four armed thing down too.
No longer in danger from the enemy, Markus was now in danger from the world around him. Only two seconds after the last one died, danger indicators begin to blink. The seal of his suit’s visor was leaking. He had no time to panic, and began to think. Approaching the corpses of his assaulters, their suitless bodies would not help him. He ran to Miomir and inspected his suit. This visor was cracked too, but he already knew that. He looked down at Miomir’s leg wound, and had a burst of inspiration. Markus began to grasp at the dead man’s belongings until he found what he was looking for.
“Machine tape! I knew it. Praise the Emperor. I shall not die today.” Markus exclaimed.
Carefully, he unraveled the roll of tape and placed sections of it over the crack of his visor. Taking a moment to confirm that his flak armour protected his suit and his body, he ran his hands behind it; they did not pass through. The pressure in his suit slowly stabilized, and the indicators ceased to blink. To be safe, Markus decided to put a few more pieces of machine tape over the crack.
With the danger passed, he sighed in relief. Walking over to the creatures he slew, he came to a kneel and looked them over. Their bodies were human in a fashion, but with more than enough differences to make them impure. Their torsos and legs seemed completely normal - but their arms and heads were bizarre. Putting aside the amount of limbs, their forearms were not covered in skin, but some kind of vented exoskeleton, darkly colored in contrast to their pale skin. Their fingers ended in sharp nails, like the claws of an animal. Looking at their faces, he saw a series of ridges on their forehead, and the tongue hanging out of one of their mouths was inhumanely long and purple. Markus could not tell if these monsters were mutants or xenos. Both were contemptible, and by the command of the Emperor, their lives were impermissible. He knew that no matter which they were, he had performed a service to humanity, and gave a short prayer to His throne.
Markus wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. Was this an event isolated to Canyon 72? Miomir, however trustworthy he was, spoke of a leader… a ‘patriarch’. How many more of them were there in the mines? Surely, his duty was to bring proof to Planetary Governor Petrovic, and inform him and his staff of what had happened.
Drawing his combat knife, he began to saw through the neck of the smallest creature among the dead. It took a moment for him to cut through the spine, more than he was used to. This brought back bad memories, but he suppressed them. Once the head was off, Markus prepared to simply wrap them in the tattered robes the creature wore, but he decided against it. He noticed his knife was bubbling and rusting before his eyes. There was something exceptionally acidic in the blood of these inhuman things, and simple rags would not do. He instead discarded the knife, and removed the tool satchel from Miomir’s body. These bags were lined with a protective material to protect it from this world’s natural toxicity, and he hoped it would do the same against the acidic blood.
Emptying it out and bringing it to the severed head, and found himself to be lucky. It fit, and the blood did not eat through the cloth. It would be a long trek back, and he was exhausted from battle. The adrenaline finally left his system, allowing the fatigue to set in. It took him nearly two hours to get to this point in the mines unburdened, and now he would be doing it uphill, while lugging a head. With no one to complain to, and no desire for weakness, Markus pushed on to do his duty.
Three hours later, Markus finally laid his hand upon the first ledge of the mine entrance. Peering above, he read the sign. Shaft Seven-Six-A. He missed his exit slightly, and he was not far from the digsite he sent the remaining workers to. Throwing the head sack lightly onto the ground above, he pulled himself to the top. His reward was natural light, and a rank sweaty odor from the inside of his suit. There would be no breath of fresh air on this world - only the stale, million-times-over processed air he’d been breathing since he landed. With no time for rest, he planned out his next steps. There won’t be any time to wait until lights-out to debrief the miners, he would need to do it now. Fortunately, they should not be far. Then, he would get a new void suit, a shower, and get on a ship to the Governor’s Station. Picking up the sack and following the sound of running machines, he searched for the workers.
It was only a few minutes of walking before he found them and the other workers that they were sent to assist - or at least what was left of them. Behind a truck depot lay dozens of bodies, ripped to pieces. Blood stained the sands, bubbling and steaming from the acids. Empty vehicles, still running, were spattered with gore with their doors ripped off. Even the most intact void suits looked like they had been through an industrial ore sifter. Markus saw signs of meager resistance - a bloodied shovel, with its blade corroded in the same fashion as his knife, gripped tightly by a severed arm.
“What in the name of the Emperor happened here?” Markus asked quietly under his breath. The things he fought in the mines couldn’t have done anything like this. They had claws, but they were small, and they didn’t appear to be any faster or stronger than a man. They fought with stub guns. While there was no shortage of carnage to inspect, nothing looked like a conventional battle injury. Something else killed these men.
Markus looked at the truck depot. Despite the work-day only being half over, the garages were closed. Markus began to ponder. Did they try to barricade themselves in the building? The service door was on the other end of this side of the building. Walking up to it, he saw it was fixed on its hinges, but torn open. The large hole directly in the center of the door gave him clues. Something long and sharp sliced through the door, and something pointed and strong pulled it apart. With trepidation, Markus sat the satchel down and entered the depot, rifle-first.
Taxing possibilities burdened his mind. Should I call out for survivors? Should I stay quiet? Will I survive? His mind drifted into the past. A Tau Fire Warrior, freshly killed by a volley of las-fire. The building it was protecting. The scared civilians huddled inside, begging for mercy in broken Gothic. The laughter of his fellow guardsmen as they cut trophies from their bodies. Markus snapped his focus back into the present. Whatever killed these men would not be motivated by a higher cause. It would not cower behind the walls, waiting to die by his hand. It was either a well armed madman, spouting the same nonsense those creatures did, or a monster that served them. He was sure of it.
Walking past one of the unused trucks, Markus suddenly froze. Odd sounds began to echo in the depot, sounds that forced ice into his veins. It was a clicking; a wet, aggressive clicking. The sounds of a beast, but no beast he’d ever heard. Soon after came a growling wheeze, and footsteps like talons on metal. Moving less than an inch per second, Markus slowly peeked around the cab of the vehicle, and saw something in a windowed record room no guardsman should ever hope to see.
If it were not hunched over, it might be nine feet tall. Its exoskeleton was a sickly grey, with blood red vents sputtering ichor and heat near each limb joint. It had four mighty arms, the back two each ending with three sharp claws, the front two punctuated with blades like scythes. The elbows and feet had more claws still, giving no shortage of killing instruments. The back had a black shell-like carapace with red around its ends, with a hardened spine dividing it. The same sort of carapace protected its forehead, if you could call it that - the creature’s head was nothing like a man’s. The cranium was massive and bulging, without ears or hair. An orifice on each side oozed unknown liquid. The face had two intense red eyes, sitting above the most striking feature of its head. A dozen tentacles of the same red hue swung about as it walked, each one moving as if opposable. The purpose of these features was made apparent quickly.
The creature lumbered toward a mostly intact corpse that was sitting behind a desk and picked it up with its rear arms. Holding it tenderly, it stood tall and proud and brought the woman’s body close to its chest. The facial tendrils began to dance, moving up her lifeless face until they were spread evenly on her scalp. They recoiled quickly, then abruptly plunged into her brain. The movement was so violent and sudden that Markus flinched. The tentacles began to undulate as they sent pieces of her brain into the creature’s body. The beast was feasting.
Markus’ heart was gripped by fear; it took another moment of adrenaline induced confidence to make him move. Creeping around the cab into a firing position, and aimed at the feeding creature. I can’t miss, thought Markus, a stationary target no farther than thirty feet. He would not fire, as something froze his body.
A chime. A small metal object fell to the floor and made a loud sound right next to him. He glanced down. One of the flattened bullets fired into his flak armor came loose after he crouched, and fell to the depot’s floor. It bounced about, then loudly spun in place. Before it even became still, the creature roared and looked right at Markus.
It threw the corpse through the window with the strength of many men, and lunged through. It screamed and sputtered as it ran towards Markus, slicing and knocking away anything in its path. Markus panicked, but his training came through. The beast is tall, and it’s wide. It’s fast and strong. I have to get somewhere it would have difficulty moving, Markus thought. He sprinted away and slid underneath the trucks as he went. The beast caught up to where he was and slammed itself into the vehicle, but couldn’t get underneath it quickly enough. The low ceiling beams between the trucks prevented it from jumping directly from truck to truck. It chose instead to scale them and descend each time, slowing it down just enough for Markus to keep a safe distance. He had to think of his next course of action as he went; there were only a few trucks left. Underneath the trucks - he’d been dodging the mechanic pits beneath them each slide, but if he landed in one intentionally, maybe the beast would lose track of him long enough for him to reposition? It was a risk he had to take.
Two trucks left. The creature screamed louder and louder, right behind him. If he waited until the last one, it would be too quickly apparent where he is. He had to do it now. As he slid for the final time, he angled himself to the left and fell into the mechanic pit. It was only about a foot and a half high, with just enough width for him to hold his lasrifle comfortably. He heard the creature atop the vehicle, a loud echoing clunk. It jumped down, and climbed onto the next truck. It stopped. He couldn’t hear what it was doing, but it wasn’t moving. He couldn’t risk peering out from under the undercarriage, but his wondering ceased quickly when it jumped down from the truck and walked towards Markus.
Markus came to a realization. I can’t reposition, there’s no time, he thought. This is it. I make my stand here. He raised his lasrifle as best he could from his awkward position and set it to the highest possible power. As the power pack hummed, the beast’s walk became a sprint, screeching until it stopped just short of the truck. It leaned down and brought its head underneath. The instant it locked eyes with him, it roared and brought its arm back to rip him apart. Markus was faster. Bellowing out a roar as he shot, Markus fired as fast as he possibly could directly into the creature's head. Burning flesh and singed tentacles fell from its face as it recoiled away, its flailing scythe-talon narrowly missing Markus. As it staggered back, it reared up for another charge, but a guardsman is relentless. Markus continued to fire over and over, no longer hitting the creature’s head but doing damage all the same. It was not long before it fell over, unable to stand. The lasrifle whirred and steamed, becoming too hot to fire at that setting, but no longer did it matter. The thing was dead.
Markus crawled out from under the truck and inspected his kill. The corpse was heavily scorched, simmering lifelessly on the floor. It did not bleed, as the heat of the lasrifle shots cauterized any wounds on impact. Markus was glad for this, because if he were below the creature’s head as it was blown apart, it would have otherwise likely covered him in acid.
Taking a close look at the exoskeleton, he was reminded of the three assailants he slew in the mines. Their forearms looked remarkably similar. Could it be? Did this xenos monster corrupt holy human genes? Such heresy was unforgivable. Markus would waste no more time. He had to get on a ship to Governor Petrovic’s station.
The ships and the buildings they hangared in were the only man made things not kept in the canyons. Heavily reinforced silos dug deep into the world, their tops flush with the ground, sat hundreds of feet from the canyon's edge and would open only to launch something into orbit. Engines and navigation could not be trusted to fight against both gravity, winds, and rogue energy in the storm, so the ships were launched magnetically. When it came time for them to return, they would land within the canyons and be loaded from a tubular track accessible near the garrison, which took them back to the silo. This is how he would get there.
The rifle had now cooled. Markus was ready to move. He left cautiously out the way he came, stepping through the hole in the door slowly. The engines of the abandoned vehicles outside had seized, and there was only the quiet howling of the toxic wind miles above his head. He grabbed the satchel he had left that held the mutant head, wondering if it was even necessary anymore, and marched on.
Every small sound filled his mind with paranoia. A draft moving sand across a road elevated his heart rate. A rusted light post finally giving way to the corrosion and heaving over made him envision shambling claws and scythes sprinting toward him. If he had to fight another one of those creatures, he was not sure if his heart would fail him for fear.
Markus passed the first digsite he came across, with its dormant drill exactly where it was. The only difference was the pump. Something had mangled it recently, and he was certain it was one of those monsters. Another ten minutes, and he’d be at the military structures. He could not delay. As he prepared to continue, something caught his eyes. Shadows danced in the storm above the canyon. There were no flying creatures on this world. To be visible from so far away must mean they were quite large. He wondered if other canyons had launched their ships. Even if they did, he had a duty to report what had happened in Canyon 72. He discarded the brief hope that it was Imperial ships that came to rescue him.
He approached the mess hall he left that morning. The facility it was connected to was also connected to the rails up to the silo, so Markus decided to make the rest of his trek indoors. After he entered the airlock, the door closed behind him. When the interior door opened, Markus nearly vomited.
The mess hall was used as some sort of last stand for the other guardsmen. He wasn’t sure when, but they must have retreated toward the building for a more defensible position. They did not survive. Dozens of dead soldiers, both guardsmen that arrived with him and the planetary defence forces that were here already, were ripped apart indiscriminately.
He knew all of them. The ones with enough features left to identify reminded Markus of all he’d been through with them. Orks, Tau, rebellions, only to die at the hands of some mindless monsters. He was proud of them all the same - there were two to three times as many dead creatures as there were men. None of them looked exactly like the beast he killed in the truck depot. The ones closest to the bodies were the most similar, though much smaller. Their feet were hooves, and their rear arms were tiny and clawed, with less impressive scythes on their front arms. Rather than a tentacled face, it had a toothy maw.
Farther away, he saw creatures with bodies almost identical to the others save for their arms. Rather than long sharp talons, their twisted arms were melded into some sort of tubular organ. It looked almost like a stub gun or a bolter, but that would be ridiculous. Walking past the corpses, he saw another strange creature. It looked deformed almost. With a tiny, slender body and small arms, he did not understand how it could stand. The strangest thing about it was its head, which must have been twice the size of the rest of it. Its exposed brain, burned on one side and oozing acidic pus, contrasted the grey exoskeleton and red-black carapace with a vibrant pink. With no visible eyes, it lay motionless with a toothy grin. The ground around it was scorched, but not from lasgun fire. Six dead guardsmen surrounded the beast, lying against the walls. They were twisted, burned, melted. Something strange had happened to them, and it was sickening to look at.
Markus moved onward. Every room he entered bore more dead men, more dead monsters. He couldn’t believe that he had not encountered anything alive. Nothing stayed behind to eat, and nothing remaining was eaten. Everything was simply killed. He wondered if these monsters planned to simply murder every human in the canyon, and let those who survived feast afterwards.
The final room before the rails told Markus exactly how the creatures entered the facility, and why the mess hall was used for the final stand. The room, a large infirmary, has a massive hole where the airlock doors used to be. The floor had collapsed, as well as the ceiling. There was a crater in the center of the destroyed ground, with a beast inside it so large that he wondered how it was even killed. Taller than three men, it was armored like a tank with four massive scything talons. Its scorched tail hung below its thick carapace, lifelessly. The underbelly of the beast was burned and rent open. Putting things together, he assumed it was blown apart by explosives from below.
The unsettling quiet continued outside as Markus walked toward the rail. He felt far from safe, but was starting to get the impression that he was in the clear. As there was no ship to be moved by rail to the silo, he had to connect a service cart to ride up it. There are typically four available service carts, but there were only three on the wall. Moving them was a two man job, as the heavy transporter was difficult to mount to the rail. With great effort, Markus was able to do so after a few strainful minutes. He was drained completely. After he pressed the button to begin his ascent, he collapsed, no energy left to spend. It would take half an hour to climb the height of the canyon in a service cart, so he chose to rest.
The final stretch of the rail had come. As it stopped by the disembarking platform, Markus heard something he was not prepared to hear. A human; coughing and weeping. He noticed that the left rail also had a service cart at its end. A fleeting excitement filled him at the prospect of seeing another living soul, but was pushed away by fear of another four armed impostor. Raising his rifle again, he chose to call out. He would not be stopped here, in the Emperor’s name he would not die before reaching the Governor.
“This is Corporal Markus Grant. Identify yourself now!” he shouted toward the source of the sound.
The suited man, startled, immediately came from behind a ship, limping. “Help me,” he said. “I’m just a miner, I’m Petar, sir. No one else survived, I think. I was injured early this morning, I got to the infirmary maybe an hour after the day started. I was resting my leg when guardsmen burst into the infirmary and said we were under attack! They told me to help fight off some damn monsters, but with a broken leg I was no use to anybody. The PDF told me to get up here instead and warn the governor… but I’m afraid.”
Markus was stunned. He’d spent the whole day trying to get here to launch the orbital station, nearly dying twice. This ingrate, this honorless coward, was given the opportunity free and clear to do so, and has instead sat trembling and crying.
“I should kill you for this.” Markus said. “How many people do you think are dead because you refused to get on a ship? Governor Petrovic is the only one with an astropath capable of sending a message off-world. There’s no way to contact him without physically speaking to him. How could you abandon your clear duty to humanity so needlessly? So selfishly?”
Petar began to stammer “It’s- it’s not needless! Look at this, look! Look!” He motioned toward a large screen. “I’ve done maintenance in this facility before. This- this is the monitor for the augur array. Every so often, on a… normal day, you’d see a single dot appear when a silo launched a ship, or one was coming down. Maybe once every ten minutes or so, but- but look!”
The augur monitor was littered with dots of many sizes, as well as clumps of many dots moving together. They moved erratically, in and out of canyons, or circling above them. Some larger dots, he noticed, would grow before splitting into many dozens of smaller dots, slowly vanishing from the augur’s notice as they continued to shrink. Markus couldn’t believe his eyes, for they were telling him something the size of a battlefleet was darting around the planet like insects.
“Impossible” Markus said flatly. “The augur is broken. It’s wrong. None of the creatures I saw in the canyon could fly. They probably came from the depths of this horrible world. I went into the mines today, and saw men transformed into monstrous hybrids. Perhaps we simply delved too deep… No, I don’t believe you. I am going to get on that ship, and I am going to speak with the Governor. You can remain here and rot, but know that the Emperor does not bring cowards into His paradise.”
With a pained expression on his face, Petar could only fall to his knees. Emotionally drained and spiritually defeated, he sighed. “Fine then. Go. See what good it does you” he mustered, weakly.
Markus walked past him and entered the ship, bringing the satchel with him. It was a conical vessel, supported by three thick feet that doubled as stabilizing descent engines. The hull was exceptionally thick, due to the nature of its orbital delivery. The entirety of the interior was the cockpit, with two seats and a haggard servitor hooked up to the center console. The servitor handled all navigation, stabilization upon launch, and engine control during descent. It was alive, awaiting orders. Closing the hatch, he waited a moment for filtered oxygen to fill the cabin and removed his void suit and sat down.
“Take me to Governor Petrovic’s orbital station as fast as possible.” Said Markus. “One passenger.”
The servitor groaned, and the machines within the ship whirred. A signal was sent to the launch rails, and the ship was put into position. It had just dawned on Markus that, while the second time on a ship like this, this was his first time going up.
A sudden and unexpected jolt shot through the ship and Markus could hardly hold his torso up in his seat, and felt his spine compressing every second that he tried. He felt as if his throat had fallen down to his balls. After about thirty seconds, the feeling passed, and Markus breathed deeply.
“Servitor. How long until we arrive at the station?” he asked. After a grunt, the screen to the right of the servitor displayed “13 MINUTES”. It wouldn’t be long until Markus could warn Governor Pertrovic about the monsters, and he could call for reinforcements. He decided to unshroud the portholes to look out for other ships, in case he was not the first to launch.
Horror. A nightmare lay before him. Petar was right. When Markus first descended upon Težakrad, he saw a world with a surface of pure white, betrayed only by the manmade canyons that looked so small from above, and particularly large stone formations of black. What he saw now was unrecognizable. Beasts the size of warships borne from the orifices of beasts the size of cities. Uncountable hundreds of thousands of tiny winged creatures were descending into canyons and ascending out of others, and greater numbers even still of land based organisms marching across the planet, leaving bare rock where the toxic sand once was.
He should not be able to even see them, but the storm was much thinner than before. Massive spires, malformed abominations out of the worst hell imaginable, stretched from the crust of the world into the upper atmosphere, both ingesting the atmosphere and sputtering out their own. A sickly yellow smog that had not yet overtaken the planet, had been produced enough to discolor the pure white of the planet’s surface into the color of an ill man’s mucus. Dread filled every inch of Markus’ body, and he could no longer suppress the urge to vomit. Once he emptied his stomach, he looked up just in time to see something pursuing him. A group of things that could scarcely be called beasts.
“Servitor!” Markus shouted, wiping puke from his mouth. “Prepare for impact, evasive maneuvers!”
The servitor gurgled, and began to move the ship away from the pursuers. The things following the ship were akin to a fungus, a sickly pink brain propelled by clawed tentacles. Four of them came, moving as if drifting in space, but far too fast and accurate to be as aimless as they appeared. Markus wasn’t sure there was any way to get to the orbital station without these things getting in the way. Every horizontal maneuver he attempted saw the strange creatures follow in a perfect pattern. With every attempt at ascent, they spread out just fast enough to block the ship’s path. He was so close! Only a few minutes more, and they would have made it to the hangar. Markus clenched his teeth. He was out of options. Without warning, the ship’s vox crackled to life, unintelligibly at first.
“Težakrad orbital station?” Markus asked, nearly pleading. “This is corporal Markus Grant, from Canyon 72. Težakrad orbital station, can you hear me?”
A few seconds of static was followed by a familiar voice. “No, sir. This is Petar. I have found my courage, and I have come to do my duty. I launched and ascended at full speed once I saw - those creatures will detonate by your ship the moment they reach effective distance. I saw it happen to another on the way up. I’m going to give them something else to follow.”
Markus couldn’t believe it. He almost didn’t know what to say. The man he just damned, the man he called a coward, had come to save him. “I take back everything I said, Petar.” he said back over the vox, through bewildered laughter. “There are four of them following me. If I move horizontally, along the orbital path, they will regroup again. That will be your chance. ”
Markus turned to the center console. “Servitor, make it happen”, he commanded. The ship ceased attempting to ascend, and began to strafe below the station. As predicted, the four beings coalesced into a single file line again, preparing to split apart for a new flight pattern.
“I’m here, sir. I’ll get close enough. I’ll make the emperor proud. I, Petar Ilić, am not a coward! I-”
A soundless explosion ripped apart Petar’s ship, and caught all four of the pursuers inside of it. The shockwave hit Markus’s ship a few seconds later, spinning it away harmlessly, before fading into nothing. Markus gave a silent prayer for Petar’s soul to the Emperor, and pressed on. “Servitor, prepare to land.”
The ship stabilized itself and matched speed to the orbital station as it approached. As it approached, the servitor automatically sent the signal to open the hangar. The ship pulled itself into place, and set itself down quietly. As it locked itself into place, the servitor signaled the hangar doors to close. The familiar sound of pressurization rang out, and the bay filled with breathable air. Free from the toxic surface of the world, void suits are not needed within the station. Markus opened the hatch of the ship expecting as much.
Markus instantly regretted this. The moment the bay’s air mixed with the cabin of the ship, he gagged and wheezed. His lungs felt like they were full of acid, his throat full of sand. His mouth felt like it was boiling. Mucoceles formed and burst within seconds, filling his mouth with foul mucus. Using all his might, Markus closed the hatch again. His nose began to run, both blood and snot, and his vision became blurry. Markus attempted to put his void suit back on as quickly as he could, but his arms felt heavy and his grip was weak. By the time he had all but finished, he was barely conscious. Before he sealed the suit, he opened the ship’s cabin storage. Blessed luck, there was a first aid kit with stimms. He injected himself, and sealed his suit. With nothing left to vomit, he could only heave.
Markus began to regain a bit of his strength after a few minutes, though the pain did not pass. He needed medical attention. Some foul substance had entered his body and tried to kill him - and nearly succeeded. He could only hope that the stimm would keep him upright long enough to find assistance, or more importantly, the Governor. Using the machine tape that was in the ship’s storage, he applied a fresh seal to the crack on his visor, as it was slightly degraded.
Opening the hatch once again to step into the station, his suit held up to the infected environment. Using what was left of his strength, he trudged down the steps onto the floor, and forward on. He wished to have his lasrifle at the ready, but he no longer had the fortitude to both walk and hold his weapon up. Leaving behind the severed head he had carried all this way, he spent the rest of his mental energy convincing himself that both the governor and his astropath were alive.
Past the hangar, a long curved hallway circled the core of the station. More hangars were accessible from the doors on the right, but many of them had their interior airlock hatches locked, with warning lights blinking around them. This signified that their pressurization was compromised, and could not be sealed. Intruders. This station was invaded too, perhaps first if the beats truly came from the stars. No matter, thought Markus. The governor’s office is at the core of the station hermetically sealed a hundred times over, the finest station core the mechanicum could build, he was told. The first door he came across on the left hand side was an access to the interior of the station.
Once past that door, the bureaucratic offices were enterable from each side, but there was nothing to be gained from entering them. The path to the core was straight down this way. It was telling that the offices were empty, ravaged even. There was, however, a lack of blood and corpses. They must have just left in a hurry, Markus told himself.
A few minutes of walking lead him to an elevator. The artificial gravity of the station changes the closer to the core, so anything entering must constantly reorient itself as it descends. This elevator makes the transition painless. Markus, still wheezing and limping, could only pray that it still functioned. Sitting on the gyroscopic bench at the center, he activated the machine. It hummed to life, functioning against all odds.
He set the machine to take him to the center of the core, skipping all other stops. As he sat and waited for his destination, the stimm began to wear off slightly. Pain starts to creep back into his respiratory system, and his limbs go numb once again.
Moments later, the elevator reached the core center. The only room here besides the governor’s office is a circular foyer for receiving those who wish to speak with Petrovic, and giving them a place to wait. It was immaculately clean, untouched by any violence. Fresh clean water flowed down from a fountain, and calming music played from speakers embedded into the ceiling. The music began to fade away, and it was not until it had stopped completely that Markus realized it had not gone quiet - he had lost his hearing.
He pushed the idea of his body failing out of his mind, for only one thing mattered now. The luxury displayed here that awed Markus the first time he arrived served only to relieve him now. Surely, if this area is unchanged, the governor is safe. Only one door separated him from his answer. Markus did not hesitate any longer. He walked through the foyer and opened the door.
The office was just as ornate as the foyer, though smaller and functional. The chairs that sat across from the governor’s desk were pushed against the wall, making space on the floor. There, two men lay before him. The first, a man in robes, adorned in ornamental chains. The second, Governor Petrovic, a portly but stern faced man in immaculately maintained attire. Both dead, foaming at the mouth. He thought for a moment that they fell victim to the strange toxins in the station, but their bodies were otherwise unaffected. He noticed their hands contained opened pill packets. Cyanide. They killed themselves.
Markus fell to his knees and wept, unable to hear his own cries. No one was left. Every canyon city was destroyed, surely. Petar is dead. Everyone in the station is dead. Complete failure; his world crashing around him in less than a solar day. Perhaps he would never know if a message was sent before they died. He could only hope they did their duty before they gave up in the face of this unknown enemy. After a moment of sobbing, he forced himself up. Perhaps not, he thought. The governor surely kept logs. Maybe, thought Markus, he left a message to be found!
Markus attempted to take a step, but found that he was not attached to his legs. He fell forward onto the dead men. Struggling desperately, he managed to turn himself around, seeing his entrails trailing behind him connecting him to his lower half. It was not the disease in the air that did this. Through the open doors, into the foyer, he saw the elevator was smashed, and something had made its way through it. Markus hadn’t heard it coming. He couldn’t have.
A massive beast, larger than the one he saw in the crater, stood tall in front of it. It had a gargantuan carapace, protecting the body but doing little to guard the six brains that protruded from its sides. It raised its head, staring without eyes directly at Markus. Electricity began to crackle around the exposed brains, and the beast clenched its mouth shut. For a moment, he could swear that it grinned at him.
There was a brief flash of light, and Markus Grant was no more.