Into Exile - Aaron Dembski-Bowden by Warhammer 40K

Author:Warhammer 40K [40K, Warhammer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781785722769
Published: 2016-10-10T08:42:48+00:00

3

It’s difficult not to be insulted, really. A single Space Marine.

The Mesatan Complex unlocks and unfolds before them via a series of grinding, whirring doors resembling void-sealed bulkheads – a design choice that Arkhan Land attributes to radiation shielding and disaster containment rather than a consideration of security. Given what’s happening across Mars – the insanity so poorly draped in the rags of revolution – he’s unsurprised that the complex has been automatically locked down.

‘We are being followed,’ the Space Marine says at one point.

Land, who has heard nothing at all, gives a tired grunt. The pace is punishing. He has no augmentations. His throat is raw. His legs are burning.

The technoarchaeologist and his companion move swiftly, their boots striking echoes through the empty colonnades. It’s a disappointment, to be sure. Despite using the deserted complex as nothing more than a subterranean avenue for the sake of convenience, Land can’t help but feel an irritated melancholy at what he’s seeing. The emptiness reminds him of the underground mantle-cities he so keenly explores, where his only companions in the Search for Knowledge are the dungeon-slaved defence systems of a forgotten age, and the serenity of his own thoughts.

Will he ever know that peace again?

And how long will the power last here in Mesatan? Without the complex’s thrall workers, the air filtration gargoyles mounted within each chamber will cease to breathe sooner rather than later. Anyone still down here within a few days will likely expire from asphyxiation.

And this, Land reflects, would be a truly pointless place to die.

On the run from his own contemporaries, no less. Omnissiah have mercy, it is almost maddening enough to be amusing.

The Imperial Fist leads the way across a bridge stretching over a storage repository, where thousands of crates and containers make up a township below.

A single Space Marine…

Land draws breath to ask why the Imperial Fist is alone, why it was deemed appropriate for a mere lone warrior to defend and escort him… when their pursuer makes itself known.

The Vorax strikes when they’re halfway across the span with nowhere to go, its nasty and near-feral cognition aware that they can hardly leap from the high bridge to safety.

The first sign of its presence is when the walkway judders on its support beams, and both Land and the Fist break into a run. Land’s frantic stride takes him forward in flight – not for a deluded second does he believe that the machine is here to save him – and the legionary immediately turns back the way they came.

The Imperial Fist is a blur of grinding armour as he passes Land, while the technoarchaeologist is a flapping silhouette of austere robes and simian howling, the latter from Sapien rather than Land himself. Even as he’s fleeing for his life, Land feels a tickle of embarrassed dread for believing that they had lost their pursuer for good.

‘Get behind me,’ the Fist demands.

Land obeys without thinking. The Vorax leans into its awkwardly graceful sprint, its bulbous sensoria-domes locked in a cold, animal glare.

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