[Warhammer 40K - The Horus Heresy 53] - Titandeath by Guy Haley

Author:Guy Haley [Guy Haley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Military Fiction, Science Fiction, Warhammer 40K
ISBN: 9781780308722
Published: 2018-11-06T15:36:30+00:00

The Space Marines hauled Etan, Reming and a score of others into the corridor. There they arranged them into pairs—Etan next to Reming—manacled their hands together and marched them off into parts of the Warding he had never been in before. The colours of their captors were clear now: sea green, marked with eyes of brass—the Sons of Horus themselves.

The legionaries were giants beyond Etan’s ability to tolerate. They towered over him, their massive suits of growling armour amplifying the terror he felt. He had to run to keep up with their stride. When the captives slowed, the Space Marines responded with ungentle handling. Armoured, transhuman grips broke human limbs. Fear of bodily harm kept him moving as they headed down from the cargo hold. He had no idea which direction they were going in, or what part of the ship they had entered, but the air grew hotter, and echoing up the way came the sound of machinery, and screaming. He glanced at Reming. He was staring wide with terror, skin white, eyes bulging, his crotch dampened by his fear-loosened bladder.

‘Don’t look at me!’ Reming said from the corner of his mouth. They were the last words the two ever exchanged, for shortly after they were herded into a chamber full of smoke and fire, and separated. Hundreds of improvised medical tables lined the room in neat ranks, tended to by terrified menials and blank-eyed servitors. The tables had been cut from iron plating and equipped with cargo straps refashioned as restraints. All save a handful at the centre of the room were unoccupied. It was from there that the screaming came, and it was to them that Etan and the others were inevitably taken.

The legionaries drove them with fists and curses into a circle of light surrounded by machines. Blood spotted the rusty floor. Despite the medical appearance of the equipment, it was filthy. Whatever horror awaited Etan, he did not expect to survive it.

A lone tech-adept in black robes oversaw procedures. Five men lay strapped to nearby tables, small devices fashioned from silvery metal clamped to their left temples. Servitors and frightened serfs stood over them. Four were either dead or unconscious; the other strained against his restraints, motionless and arch-backed as a fiddle bow, screaming endlessly.

‘The last batch of test subjects,’ said the legionaries’ leader disdainfully. He clearly thought the duty beneath him. His two men shoved the prisoners into one line that curved around the circle.

The adept pulled back his hood, revealing a face of such advanced age that Etan was reminded of the caricatured marionettes from the theatres back home. He remembered the smell of the street outside. He remembered holding his father’s hand.

‘Hup hip! Here’s old father time!’ sang the story master, stalking around the small, round stage with his puppets dancing. ‘Down, nown, the Aged King.’

Young Etan enjoyed the story, but the old puppets gave him night terrors. The memory impinged upon him with such immediacy he forgot for a second where he was.

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