Bleeding Chalice Part 8

Kolgo sighed, as if weary. 'Thaddeus, the Mechan-icus supply the ordinatus which inquisitors under my remit will use to destroy the targets they iden-tify. The Mechanicus maintain our ships and the weapons we carry. Most importantly, it is their magi biologis who are being used by us to examine all aspects of the plague and the horrors that follow them.

This operation requires closer cooperation with the Adeptus Mechanicus than any I have com-manded before.

When this Inquisitorial command was formed, I had to ensure that cooperation would not fail. Archmagos Ultima Cryol met with me to confirm that we would do all we could to help one another. He promised me the ordinatus, weapons and sup-port we desperately needed. I promised him in return that the forge worlds of Sadlyen Falls XXI, Themiscyra Beta and Salshan Anterior would not fall to Teturact.

'Salshan Anterior is already gone. We believe its servitor stocks were infected and were sc.r.a.pped rather than incinerated - they returned to life, rose up and killed every living thing on the planet. This is bad enough, I am having to make concessions I cannot afford just to keep Inquisitorial warships in s.p.a.ce. But Themiscyra Beta is showing signs of infection, too. I have flooded the place with inquisi-tors and their staff, but they cannot find the source of the infection and are having precious little suc-cess in stopping its spread.

You understand, Thaddeus, that I simply cannot ask for any more favours from the Mechanicus.'

Thaddeus shook his head, more sad than angry. 'Lord Kolgo, we are so close. The Soul Drinkers are a step ahead of us but I could stop them if I could only pre-empt their next move. I could do that with your help. If we could get the Mechanicus to allow me just a few minutes' access to their databases.

'Thaddeus, if what you want is information con-cerning Eumenix then it is more difficult than that. Eumenix would have fallen under the jurisdiction of the subsector command on Salshan Anterior, which is impossible to access if indeed it even exists any more. The only repository for the information you seek will be the Mechanicus sector command itself, and the archmagos ultima considers the information it contains to be a sacred relic. At the best of times it could take years of politicking to get an inquisitor inside. As you are no doubt aware, these are not the best of times.'

Thaddeus was silent for a moment. Then, he spread his hands as if utterly resigned. 'I fear, then, that I will have to look for some other way to find the Soul Drinkers. I appreciate your audience, Lord Kolgo. It has taught me a great deal that I did not expect to learn.'

'I am a politician, Thaddeus. I accepted that role when I took the t.i.tle of lord inquisitor. It is my task to ensure that the holy orders of the Emperor's Inquisition are able to do their jobs, and sometimes that requires some reciprocity. I have the authority to have Archmagos Ultima Cryol executed and the Mechanicus command raided for the information you need, but then who would repair the warp engines on our ships? Who would find us a cure for Teturact's plagues? It is this cooperation that holds the Imperium together, Thaddeus. If you are lucky you will never have to deal with it, but someone must and that someone in this instance is me. I wish you the best of luck, inquisitor. Continue with the Emperor's work.'

Thaddeus bowed slightly, and turned to leave.

'I do hope,' added Kolgo, 'that you are not plan-ning on doing anything rash.'

'I would not dream of it, Lord Kolgo. You have made your position clear, and it is my duty to see that your commands are respected.'Thaddeus left the audience chamber, head held a touch too high. Kolgo smiled and considered how Thaddeus had a great future ahead of him, if he sur-vived.

Sarkia Aristeia was forty-three years old. She had been born in the hives of Methalor, a dark, hot place where generations lived out pointless lives in machine shops or sank into the nightmare of the underhive.

Sarkia broke out. She had a keen mind and a keener sense of duty. The Imperium needed every single nut and bolt that Methalor produced, but Sarkia could do more for her Emperor. She was quietly religious, intelligent, and terrified of a life of mediocrity. She needed the Adeptus Mechanicus as much as they needed her, and recruits like her.

Sarkia was taken in by the temple of the Machine-G.o.d on Methalor and told the first truths about the Omnissiah, the spirit that permeated all machinery whose thoughts were pure logic and whose worship was the gathering of knowledge. She made a competent and useful adept, and by the time she had been transferred to the Stratix sector she was considered a potential tech-priest, on the verge of completing her apprenticeship as an adept inferior.

Then she had been given a post on the research outpost on Stratix Luminae, a tiny cold planetoid barely even visible above the dockyards of Stratix itself. The work suited her; it was away from the immense ma.s.ses of humanity, and from here she could begin to believe that she was a part of some-thing meaningful. In the rarified environment of the labs she could achieve something that would have some impact on the Imperium. She began to touch on the mysteries of the Omnissiah, and the religious power of unadulterated knowledge gained for its own sake.

Then the eldar marauders had made a daring raid into the Stratix system, running the gauntlet of the sector battlefleets in a cycle of attack and flight that seemed closer to a game than to war. The eldar, in their lighting-quick ships that sailed the solar winds, chose Stratix Luminae for the next round of their game. But this time, the Soul Drinkers s.p.a.ce Marines were in their way. The distress signal from Stratix Luminae found a Soul Drinkers strike cruiser at Stratix for repairs and the result was the mission which had been recorded in corrupted, incomplete files in the Chapter archives.

Sarkia Aristeia had lived through the eldar raid and the brutal reply by the Soul Drinkers. She had seen what had happened at Stratix Luminae and the horrors that followed it. Then, along with the few other survivors she had been granted a quiet post-ing at Eumenix. She had seen Eumenix die, too, die screaming around her until the same purple-armoured warriors of the decade before came and whisked her away. It was no wonder she had been found near-catatonic with fear and shock.

The room set aside for her interrogation had been made as comfortable as possible. The walls were draped in fabric to cover up the strange alien archi-tecture. She had been given fresh clothes -loose-fitting Chapter serf garb, but at least it was clean. Pallas had examined her and fed her intra-venously until her health was recovered and her cheeks less hollow. But she was still on an alien s.p.a.cecraft, about to be interrogated.

And it was still Chaplain Iktinos who was doing the interrogating.

Iktinos, as a guardian of the Chapter's faith and spiritual strength, had been at the heart of the Chapter war when Sarpedon led the Soul Drinkers away from the Imperium. He had sided with Sarpe-don, for he had witnessed the treachery of which the Imperium was capable and watched as Sarpe-don defeated Chapter Master Gorgoleon in ritual combat. The terrible events of the Chapter war had been orchestrated by the Daemon Prince Abraxes who had nearly turned the Soul Drinkers over to the purpose of Chaos - but the Soul Drinkers' faith had held nonetheless. Iktinos was one of the reasons. Even when doubt had been sown in the heart of every Marine, Iktinos had remained resolute. The Chapter followed the Emperor, not the Imperium, partly because of Iktinos's spiritual leadership.

He was sitting across a table from Sarkia Aristeia, dwarfing the woman completely. All s.p.a.ce Marines were intimidating to a normal human - and a chap-lain's black armour and skull-faced helmet were more intimidating than most. Sarpedon watched from the shadows beyond the drapery and won-dered if Sarkia was too deep in shock to be useful. Could anyone open up to an armoured monster like Iktinos? If Sarkia were to see Sarpedon it would probably kill her, but the skull-faced chaplain couldn't have been much better.

Iktinos reached up and released the collar catches on his helmet. He lifted it off his head and felt the breath of stale s.p.a.cecraft air on his face for the first time in days. He hardly ever removed his helmet, and never in front of witnesses. Faith should be faceless and the battle-brothers should consider him the Emperor's hand guiding them, not a human being. Sarpedon had very rarely seen Ikti-nos's face, and it surprised him to see it now.

His face was the colour of dark polished wood. It was slim and open compared to most Marines, with large dark eyes, and was completely hairless. There were two silver studs in his forehead and two ebony studs, to represent twenty years of service as a battle-brother and twenty as a chaplain. Faith andconfidence seemed to radiate from him, and Sarpedon understood why he kept his face cov-ered. He wore the skull-helmet because he wanted the battle-brothers to follow him as a faceless icon of faith, not as a man. He could have been a charismatic leader, but that was not his job. He was there to guard the souls of the brethren - the leadership he left to Sarpedon.

'Sarkia.' said Iktinos in a deep, sonorous voice that was normally a mechanical drone inside his hel-met.

'You understand why we have brought you here.'

Sarkia was silent for a moment. 'Stratix Luminae,' she said quietly.

'Ten years ago my battle-brothers came to your lab on Stratix Luminae. Now we need to go back there, and we need to go soon. You were an adept, you had access to the upper levels. We need that access.'

Sarkia shook her head. 'No, that was ten years ago...'

'The Stratix Luminae lab was abandoned. You know that. Everything will be the same. We know what happened afterwards, Sarkia. There would have been no recovery teams sent. The same proto-cols that you knew will still work today and we need to know them.'

'Why?' Sarkia looked up suddenly, right into Ikti-nos's eyes. 'Why would anyone want to go back there?'

'We have no choice and neither do you.'

'It won't be enough. I was just an adept, only the magi knew how to get onto the containment levels and they never came out. We never saw them, we didn't even know a fraction of what they were doing down there. I'm useless, don't you understand? I only know the upper support and lab levels, there's nothing there...'

'We know all we need to, Sarkia. Just tell us, and when this is over, you will go free.'

Sarkia choked back a sob. 'You're renegades. You'll kill me.'

You don't know what we are. At the moment the only thing you have is my word as a soldier of the Emperor. Tell us what we need to know and you will eventually go free.'

Sarkia shrugged. 'I am going to die. Stratix Lumi-nae will kill you, too.' She paused, staring at the table. 'The grids are keyed to phrases from the reve-lations of the Omnissiah. There's a copy in every workshop and laboratory. There's an algorithm that'll pick out the code words, I can write it down. That'll open up the first level. The hot zone you'll have to get through yourselves.'

'You have been very helpful, Sarkia.'

She smiled bitterly. 'Are you trying to be com-forting? You're a monster. You all are. You can't make this any easier. You're going to kill me, Marine.'

You can call me Iktinos.'

'I won't call you anything. I've only told you what I have so you won't have to break me for it, now I'm worth nothing to you. I'll be lucky if you just throw me out of an airlock.'

Iktinos stood up and picked up his rictus-faced helmet from the table. 'I say again, Sarkia, you have my word that when our work is done you will be freed. We have no interest in harming you. If we were still at the beck and call of the Imperium we would probably be required to hand you over for mindwiping. But we do not play that game any more.'

Iktinos strode out of the room, leaving Sarkia at the table. In a while the serfs would bring her some-thing to eat and drink, and show her to the bunk that had been squeezed into one of the corridors they were using as a dormitory.

To anyone else, the successful questioning would have been a triumph. But Sarpedon was all too aware of the further risks the Chapter would have to take to survive, let alone succeed. In many ways it would have been a relief if Sarkia had known nothing. At least he would be able to banish any hope, and direct the Chapter's efforts elsewhere. Instead, Sarkia had just opened the gate for the Chapter to head into the heart of corruption and face both the horrors of Teturact's empire and the wrath of the Imperium. It would almost have been better if Sarkia had never been found, but Sarpe-don had to lead his Chapter to do the Emperor's work, no matter what the risks.

Sarpedon watched her for a moment. She wasn't crying or trembling. She just looked very tired, and he imagined that facing up to an alien environment and the very real possibility of interrogation and death had been draining for her.

Sometimes, Sarpedon thought, watching unaug-mented humans was like observing members of a different species. The Soul Drinkers were so isolated from the Imperium that the only normal humans Sarpedon saw regularly were the Chapter serfs: men and women so conditioned and loyal that they were more like intelligent servitors than people. Sarkia was Sarpedon's only contact with an Imperial citi-zen for a very long time apart from the short-lived Phrantis Jena.s.sis, and no matter how curious he was about her he could not speak to her himself because she would probably go insane at the sight of him.

Sarpedon walked away from the shadows back towards the bridge, leaving Sarkia to the Chapter serfs. Ifshe heard the talons of his arachnoid legs clattering on the metallic floor, she didn't look up.

One of the things that Thaddeus had begun to notice was that the Soul Drinkers were becoming officially nonexistent. His Tequests for astropathic traffic monitoring had been more and more diffi-cult to implement, even when he brandished the small Inquisitorial symbol that carried the weight of immense authority. The warzone had been divided into military administration zones so the Departmento Munitorum could have a hope of wrestling with the logistics of such an immense operation, and Thaddeus had ordered alerts if astropathic transmissions were made with certain keywords - Astartes, renegade Marines, purple, spi-der, psychic and dozens of others.

But there were several sectors that had not cooperated as Thad-deus had expected.

Imperial monitoring was impossible in areas completely controlled by Teturact, such as the s.p.a.ce around Stratix that had been designated target sec-tor primary, so Thaddeus could not expect much reply from the scattered recon ships and Inquisitor-ial operatives skulking between the plague worlds. But the Septiam-Calliargan sector had replied to Thaddeus's requests with red tape and misdirection. Aggarendon Nebula sector hadn't replied at all, yet there was little military activity around the nebula's scattered mining worlds. Subsector Caitaran, a tiny tract of s.p.a.ce but one that included the Inquisition fortress and several Imperial Guard command flotil-las, was worst of all: the communications Thaddeus received from the astropathic monitoring stations seemed stilted and contrived, and he had little doubt they were doctored.

That was only one symptom. Thaddeus's previous attempts to access historical records from worlds the Soul Drinkers had once fought on had yielded no information at all about the Chapter. The cathe-dral of heroes on Mortenken's World, for instance, no longer held the carved stone mural depicting Daenyathos, the Soul Drinkers' legendary philosopher-soldier who drove the alien hrud from the planet's holy city.

Almost all the Soul Drinkers' marks since the Cerberian Field had been erased. Only Inquisitorial sources retained any cohesive history of the Soul Drinkers and their glorious his-tory - glorious, at least, until the betrayal at Lakonia and the Chapter's excommunication. If there were aspects of their history not held in the Inquisition archives on the fortress-worlds in sectors where the Soul Drinkers had fought, then as far as the Imperium was concerned that history never occurred.

Thaddeus had never seen a deletion order in action before. He had heard of them of course, and been a part of some operations where they had been enforced. But he had never been aware of such a stain of ignorance across the Imperium, that burned books and wiped data-slates. Perhaps mind-wipings were being carried out on people who had encountered the Soul Drinkers. Thaddeus, as an inquisitor must, understood the importance of information, and how knowledge could rot the souls of those unable to cope with it.

Renegade Chapters were not unknown - how many children had been told the grim stories of the Horus Heresy, when half the s.p.a.ce Marine Legions were corrupted by the great enemy? But that it could happen now, and without any great Chaos presence to blame for it, could cause disillusion and panic; a situation the Imperium could ill afford. And the Soul Drinkers' disappearance from the memory of the Imperium made Thaddeus's job a d.a.m.n sight harder.

He didn't know which sub-ordo of the Inquisi-tion enforced the order. Neither did he know which operatives in astropathic nexus outposts and plane-tary archives were fuddling communications about proscribed topics. But they were effective, and with-out the authority of an inquisitor lord Thaddeus felt he could do little to get round them. He was feed-ing on sc.r.a.ps, and it was getting worse. He only hoped that his last remaining lead - an investiga-tion of Eumenix outpost and the reason they had attacked it - would lead to some breakthrough. Otherwise his investigation would be starved of information until it died.

The Inquisition could be obsessed with blinding one part of itself to the activities of another, and Thaddeus sometimes wondered if it could one day push back the darkness and learn to trust itself. But there were enough dark rumours of Inquisitors who had become dangerous radicals or gone mad in their pursuit of corruption, so perhaps keeping members ignorant was the only way to stop it from rotting inside.

'Inquisitor?'

Thaddeus looked up from the data-slate. He had been reviewing the potential hits on the astro-pathic traffic, but there had been nothing promising, yet again. He saw - inevitably - the Pil-grim waiting at the door to the cold stone chamber. It was night on Caitaran and the filmy pale blue light from the cloudless night sky coloured blue and grey. Thaddeus had been so intent on sifting through the paltry astropathic data that he had failed to notice Caitaran's twin suns going down.

'Pilgrim.'

The Pilgrim bowed slightly, as if in mockery. 'Colonel Vinn has a.s.sembled his men and has them ready for review.'

'Good. What do you think of them?''Me?' The Pilgrim paused. 'They are mostly veter-ans of reconnaissance formations or counter-insurgency on primitive worlds. They are skilled and determined soldiers. They will probably die well, but not much else.'

'You think this is insane, don't you?' Thaddeus had the feeling that the Pilgrim, if it possessed a face, was snarling under its cowl. 'When you have seen the things I have seen, inquisitor, insanity has no meaning. I think it will fail, if that is what you mean. Better soldiers than your storm troopers have tried such ventures before and have not made it past the laser grids.'

'I haven't actually told you what I need the troops for, Pilgrim. You seem very certain I will fail, so you must know what I am going to attempt.'

You are going to Pharos, inquisitor. There is no other way. And if I can guess it, Lord Kolgo can.'

'Lord Kolgo,' said Thaddeus, rising from his bed and dropping the data-slate into one of the trunks he had nearly finished packing, 'would like nothing better than to see me try. If I fail, I will have tested the defences for him. If I succeed, he will know how to crack that particular nut and will probably try to put me under his direct authority so I can do it again if needs be.'

'Perhaps. But you are going to Pharos, inquisitor, that much is so obvious to me there is no reason for your secrecy. If you are found out and survive you could make enemies who will never forget.'

'Are you trying to discourage me, Pilgrim? Don't you want to see the Soul Drinkers found?'

'More than you do, inquisitor. More than you. Never forget that.' A note of irritation crept into the normally inscrutable mechanised voice. You asked my opinion. I believe you will die. But if I were in your position, I would choose probable death too, for otherwise the chances of ultimate success are nil. I am simply saying that your mission is impossible.'

'The Emperor slew Horus at the dark one's moment of triumph. That was impossible, too.

They say Inquisitor Czevak saw the black library and lived. Impossible, again. Protecting the Imperium from a galaxy of evil is impossible, too, but it is an inquisitor's duty to try. My duty. The only weapon I have now against the Soul Drinkers is information, and if I must do the impossible to gain it then that is what I will do.'

'Of course, inquisitor.' The Pilgrim, as ever, was being obsequious. 'Colonel Vinn has his men awaiting inspection.'

'Tell Vinn I trust his judgement. If his men are as dead as you think then I hardly need to inspect them.

Have them embark onto the Crescent and make sure it's fuelled up. I'll be at the s.p.a.ceport in an hour.'

The Pilgrim melted into the darkness beyond the door. Even though he was essential to Thaddeus's hopes of ever finding the Soul Drinkers, there was a constant nagging voice that told him he shouldn't have brought the Pilgrim along with him. Treachery seemed to ooze from him like a stink - and it lin-gered in the chamber after he had gone. But then again, inquisitors had always dealt with the foulest of mutants and aliens as long as they were useful. But the Pilgrim at least was no heretic or daemon, so Thaddeus would have to endure his company for a while longer.

Thaddeus finished throwing his few clothes and possessions into the trunk. He travelled light, and had not followed the holy "orders of the Inquisition long enough to build up a library or collection of artefacts as longer-serving inquisitors had. His only possessions of note were the Crescent Moon itself, his copy of the Catechisms Martial and the heavily modified autopistol he kept on the ship. The pistol had been given to him by the citizens of Hive Secundus on Jouryan after he had wiped out the genestealer cult in the depths of the hive's heatsink complex. He had felt like one of the heroes from the Imperial epics then: a crusader crushing corrup-tion and evil wherever it broke through to threaten the blessed Imperium. He felt very different now.

Had the Ordo Hereticus chosen the right man? Thaddeus was certainly good, there was no doubt. He was intelligent and tenacious, and had the patience to marshal his resources until he could execute a final, critical strike against his opponent. But there were so many inquisitors with more expe-rience. There were some who even specialised in dealing with the s.p.a.ce Marine Chapters - which though they were amongst the Imperium's greatest heroes - possessed an att.i.tude of individuality and autonomy that meant they had to be constantly watched. Was Thaddeus up to the task of finding the Soul Drinkers? Had he been picked for some polit-ical reason, by an inquisitor lord like Kolgo who had to balance a million interests against one another?

It didn't matter. He had the job, and he would do it. A thousand inquisitors were working in the warzone on a hundred different missions, and even agents of the Officio a.s.sa.s.sinorum were creeping across the stars towards targets in Tetu-ract's empire. And that included Teturact himself. Thaddeus had his own mission, and it was no less important than any of the others. He would hunt down the Soul Drinkers or die trying. Was there any greater devotion than his? No, there was not, he told himself.He called for one of the fortress staff to take his trunk to the Crescent Moon and left the cold, draughty fortress quarters for the s.p.a.ceport. He would leave for Pharos as soon as possible - that was where the final pieces had to lie. He would find what he needed there. Because if he did not he would fail, and that was not going to happen.

SEVEN.

For the moment, the fleet was silent. The fighters had paused in a quiet system, waiting for a break in the heavy traffic of Imperial warships and transports between them and their objective. The system was dark and silent, its sole human structures the mine heads on a burned-out mineral world, its star mot-tled and dying.

The alien fighters hung in orbit around the sys-tem's gas giant, the blue-white strata of gas swirling beneath them in an unending storm. The star's sickly light cast the other half-glimpsed planets and moons in a faded greyish glow. The light muted the bright silver of the fighters, so they looked like just one more handful of mining debris thrown into orbit and left behind when the humans departed.

It was only after the rebellion of the Soul Drinkers that Sarpedon had begun to appreciate the galaxy. In some ways, it was a marvel - every remote corner held something new and extraordinary. Even in this washed-out system there were sights of beauty, like the constant torments of the gas giant below or the endlessly complex orbits of the planet's moons. But it was also a terrible and dark galaxy. In every one of those corners darkness and corruption could be waiting, hidden and frozen, ready to wake and rav-enously hunt the stars.

Chaos could be anywhere, and by its very nature it was never in the open but hidden in the galaxy's corners like filth that could never be washed away. That was why the Imperium was such a malevolent thing - it was a part of the galaxy that provided so many hiding places for the Enemy, and most of the best places were within the corrupt structures of the Imperial organisations themselves.

When Chaos had most threatened mankind, it had not sent a tide of daemons from the warp, but had corrupted its greatest heroes - fully half of the s.p.a.ce Marine primarchs - and ripped the galaxy apart in the wars of the Horus Heresy. It had only been men like Rogal Dorn, the Soul Drinkers' pri-march and hero of the Battle of Terra, that had kept mankind from falling completely. Now Sarpe-don saw what Rogal Dorn really was - a heroic man created as such by the Emperor, but a hero who found himself trapped in the decaying hypocrisy of the Imperium when the Emperor was confined to the Golden Throne and the Adeptus Terra turned His master plan into a mockery of humanity.

The porthole looking out onto s.p.a.ce was located amidships on Chaplain Iktinos's ship, where Apothecary Karendin had set up the apothecarion. Pallas, the Chapter's most senior Apothecary, and Karendin worked here tirelessly, because the Soul Drinkers needed their expertise now more than at any time in their history.

Pallas had just completed an examination of Sarpedon himself, the Soul Drinkers' first and most obvious mutant.

'Commander?' came a voice from behind him.

Sarpedon snapped out of his reverie and turned to see Apothecary Pallas reading a.n.a.lysis off a data-slate connected to an autosurgeon. The apothecarion set up in the fighter was comprehen-sive but cramped, packed into what had probably once been quarters for the alien crew. The autosur-geon, servitor orderlies and monitoring consoles were crammed in alongside the bulbous organic ripples of silvery metal. Wires and equipment hung from the abnormally high ceiling.

Pallas looked up from the data-slate. 'You are get-ting worse,' he said.

'I know.' replied Sarpedon. 'I felt it at House Jenas-sis. The h.e.l.l is... changing. If we do not succeed, the day is coming when I will not be able to control it any longer.'

'Nevertheless.' continued Pallas, 'you're not the worst. Datestan from Squad Hastis has increas-ing abnormalities in his internal organs that will kill him, or turn him into something different. We've had to take two Marines from Squad Luko off-duty entirely - one has claws that can't hold a bolt gun and the other is growing a second 'And you?'

Pallas paused, put down the data-slate and removed one gauntlet and the forearm of his armour. Ruddy scales had grown from the skin on the back of his hand and spread up past his elbow. 'They go up to my shoulder,' said Pallas, 'and they're spreading. Marines like yourself and Tellos have the most obvious mutations, but there's hardly a Soul Drinker left who isn't changing in some way. Most of them are getting worse quicker and quicker.'

Sarpedon looked down at his spider's legs. There had been a time when, his mind clouded by the Daemon Prince Abraxes, he and his fellow Marines had thought his altered form to be a gift from the Emperor. Nowhe knew he was just another mutant, no different in many ways to the number-less hordes of unfortunates who were enslaved and killed in the Imperium to protect mankind's genetic stability. Sarpedon had killed enough mutants himself and, if any servant of the Imperium were to so much as look at him, they would try to kill him, too. 'How long do we have?' he asked.

Pallas shrugged. 'Months. Certainly not more than two years before the Chapter ceases to exist as a fighting force. We're already losing Marines to unchecked mutation and that number will only increase. I don't know what you're planning, com-mander, but it must be our last chance.'

Sarpedon knew what happened to the Soul Drinkers who could no longer function properly. Most were put down when they lost their minds, taken in chains to the plasma reactors on the Bro-kenback to receive a bolt round through the brain before being incinerated. There had been few so far, but Sarpedon had felt every one as keenly as the needless deaths of the Chapter war. 'Our last chance in more ways than one.'

agreed Sarpedon. Teturact's empire is sustained by forcing the Navy and the Guard into battles that neither side can win, because Teturact has the numbers and the capacity to raise the dead. And we're heading right into the middle of it. From the information Salk brought back from Eumenix it'll be a meat grinder wherever Teturact's armies fight. This Chapter won't die out to mutation, Pallas, it'll die in battle or it will be cured.'

*We can't carry on like this, can we?' said Pallas unexpectedly. 'We have no support. The Imperium will destroy us if it can and Chaos will see us for the enemy we are. No Chapter can survive like this.'

'Carry on with the tests, Apothecary.' said Sarpe-don. 'Let me know of any changes.' He turned and left the apothecarion, eight talons clicking on the metallic floor as he headed back towards the bridge.