Read Online False Gods by Graham McNeill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Graham McNeill
Tags: Science-Fiction
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the Warmaster…
Liar.
No matter how much he tried to blot the word out with his battle meditation it kept coming back to haunt him. In response, Euphrati Keeler’s words, from the last time they had spoken, swirled around his head, over and over.
She had stared him down and asked, ‘If you saw the rot, a hint of corruption, would you step out of your regimented life and stand against it?’
Keeler had been suggesting the impossible, and he had denied that anything like what she was suggesting could ever take place. Yet here he was entertaining the possibility that a brother Astartes – someone the Warmaster valued and trusted – was lying to them for reasons unknown.
Loken had tried to find Kyril Sindermann to broach the subject with him, but the iterator was nowhere to be found and so Loken had returned to the training halls despondent. The smiling killer, Luc Sedirae, was cleaning the dismantled parts of his bolter; the ‘twins’, Moy and Marr, were conducting a sword drill; and Loken’s oldest friend, Nero Vipus, sat on the benches polishing his breastplate, working out the scars earned on Murder.
Sedirae and Vipus nodded in acknowledgement as he entered.
‘Garvi,’ said Vipus. ‘Something on your mind?’
‘No, why?’
‘You look a little strung out, that’s all.’
‘I’m fine,’ snapped Loken.
‘Fine, fine,’ muttered Vipus. ‘What did I do?’
‘I’m sorry, Nero,’ Loken said. ‘I’m just…’
‘I know, Garvi. The whole company’s the same. They can’t wait to get in theatre and be the first to get to grips with that bastard, Temba. Luc’s already bet me he’ll be the one to take his head.’
Loken nodded noncommittally and said, ‘Have either of you seen First Captain Abaddon?’
‘No, not since we got back,’ replied Sedirae without looking up from his work. ‘That remembrancer, the black girl, she was looking for you though.’
‘Oliton?’
‘Aye, that’s her. Said she’d come back in an hour or so.’
‘Thank you, Luc,’ said Loken, turning back to Vipus, ‘and again, I’m sorry I snapped at you, Nero.’
‘Don’t worry,’ laughed Vipus. ‘I’m a big boy now and my skin’s thick enough to withstand your bad moods.’
Loken smiled at his friend and opened his arming cage, stripping off his armour and carefully peeling away the thick, mimetic polymers of his sub-suit body glove until he was naked but for a pair of fatigues. He lifted his sword and stepped towards the training cage, activating the weapon as the iron-grey hemispheres lifted aside and the tubular combat servitor descended from the centre of the dome’s top.
‘Combat drill Epsilon nine,’ he said. ‘Maximum lethality.’
The combat machine hummed to life, long blade limbs unfolding from its sides in a manner that reminded him of the winged clades of Murder. Spikes and whirring edges sprouted from the contraption’s body and Loken swivelled his neck and arms in readiness for the coming fight.
He needed a clear head if he was to think through all that had happened, and there was no better way to achieve purity of thought than through combat. The battle machine began a soft countdown and Loken dropped into a fighting crouch as his thoughts once again turned to the First Chaplain of the Word Bearers.
Liar…
I T HAD BEEN ON the fifteenth day since leaving interex space, and a week before reaching Davin, that Loken finally had the chance to speak with Erebus alone. He awaited the First Chaplain of the Word Bearers in the forward observation deck of the Vengeful Spirit , watching smudges of black light and brilliant darkness slide past the great, armoured viewing bay.
‘Captain Loken?’
Loken turned, seeing Erebus’s open, serious face. His shaved, tattooed skull gleamed in the swirling vortices of coloured light shining through the glass of the observation bay, rendering his armour with the patina of an artist’s palette.
‘First chaplain,’ replied Loken, bowing
Liar.
No matter how much he tried to blot the word out with his battle meditation it kept coming back to haunt him. In response, Euphrati Keeler’s words, from the last time they had spoken, swirled around his head, over and over.
She had stared him down and asked, ‘If you saw the rot, a hint of corruption, would you step out of your regimented life and stand against it?’
Keeler had been suggesting the impossible, and he had denied that anything like what she was suggesting could ever take place. Yet here he was entertaining the possibility that a brother Astartes – someone the Warmaster valued and trusted – was lying to them for reasons unknown.
Loken had tried to find Kyril Sindermann to broach the subject with him, but the iterator was nowhere to be found and so Loken had returned to the training halls despondent. The smiling killer, Luc Sedirae, was cleaning the dismantled parts of his bolter; the ‘twins’, Moy and Marr, were conducting a sword drill; and Loken’s oldest friend, Nero Vipus, sat on the benches polishing his breastplate, working out the scars earned on Murder.
Sedirae and Vipus nodded in acknowledgement as he entered.
‘Garvi,’ said Vipus. ‘Something on your mind?’
‘No, why?’
‘You look a little strung out, that’s all.’
‘I’m fine,’ snapped Loken.
‘Fine, fine,’ muttered Vipus. ‘What did I do?’
‘I’m sorry, Nero,’ Loken said. ‘I’m just…’
‘I know, Garvi. The whole company’s the same. They can’t wait to get in theatre and be the first to get to grips with that bastard, Temba. Luc’s already bet me he’ll be the one to take his head.’
Loken nodded noncommittally and said, ‘Have either of you seen First Captain Abaddon?’
‘No, not since we got back,’ replied Sedirae without looking up from his work. ‘That remembrancer, the black girl, she was looking for you though.’
‘Oliton?’
‘Aye, that’s her. Said she’d come back in an hour or so.’
‘Thank you, Luc,’ said Loken, turning back to Vipus, ‘and again, I’m sorry I snapped at you, Nero.’
‘Don’t worry,’ laughed Vipus. ‘I’m a big boy now and my skin’s thick enough to withstand your bad moods.’
Loken smiled at his friend and opened his arming cage, stripping off his armour and carefully peeling away the thick, mimetic polymers of his sub-suit body glove until he was naked but for a pair of fatigues. He lifted his sword and stepped towards the training cage, activating the weapon as the iron-grey hemispheres lifted aside and the tubular combat servitor descended from the centre of the dome’s top.
‘Combat drill Epsilon nine,’ he said. ‘Maximum lethality.’
The combat machine hummed to life, long blade limbs unfolding from its sides in a manner that reminded him of the winged clades of Murder. Spikes and whirring edges sprouted from the contraption’s body and Loken swivelled his neck and arms in readiness for the coming fight.
He needed a clear head if he was to think through all that had happened, and there was no better way to achieve purity of thought than through combat. The battle machine began a soft countdown and Loken dropped into a fighting crouch as his thoughts once again turned to the First Chaplain of the Word Bearers.
Liar…
I T HAD BEEN ON the fifteenth day since leaving interex space, and a week before reaching Davin, that Loken finally had the chance to speak with Erebus alone. He awaited the First Chaplain of the Word Bearers in the forward observation deck of the Vengeful Spirit , watching smudges of black light and brilliant darkness slide past the great, armoured viewing bay.
‘Captain Loken?’
Loken turned, seeing Erebus’s open, serious face. His shaved, tattooed skull gleamed in the swirling vortices of coloured light shining through the glass of the observation bay, rendering his armour with the patina of an artist’s palette.
‘First chaplain,’ replied Loken, bowing
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