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Deathwatch 10: The Known Unknown

Mark Clapham

‘Retreat forty paces before firing,’ said Jensus Natorian, his eyes closed. Here, on an empty deck of the Deathwatch strike cruiser Lethal Intent, he could taste the constantly recycled, stale air, smell the oil on his armour, hear his servant cranking the equipment into place.

‘Forty paces, my lord?’ asked Heffl, his primary mortal servant.

‘That should suffice,’ said Natorian. ‘My aim will not go so far wide.’

‘I am not concerned for myself, lord,’ said Heffl. ‘The payload here is quite large, lord, I worry that–’

‘You overreach yourself, Heffl,’ said Natorian sharply. ‘It is only by pushing beyond our own capabilities that we can know ourselves. Now, be quiet until I give the order, or I really may come to harm here.’

‘Yes, lord,’ said Heffl, and Natorian heard him shuffle away indignantly. Heffl primarily assisted Natorian in the quieter aspects of his life, carrying books and maintaining equipment. It was unusual for the servant to be present when his lord was testing his combat skills.

But a Space Marine Librarian was far more than a preserver of sacred texts. Natorian dismissed these thoughts from his mind. He had left his gauntlets and helmet behind, but he still wore the rest of his power armour, wanting to test his own senses, his own fists. The plates of armour shifted as Natorian flexed his enhanced musculature, the armour an extension of his body. He had set his staff, the conventional extension of a Librarian’s will, to one side. This was a test of his own biomancy, without weapons.

He looked inwards, into his own soul, forgot about Heffl, the cruiser, the smells and sounds of it. Instead he let his mind turn to the galaxy, the Imperium, its borders, and what lay beyond.

Threats: the terrible unknowns outside human space, lurking beyond the Emperor’s Light. The creatures that humans knew of, but would always be unknowable to humanity and the Space Marines who walked amongst them: aliens – xenos – threatening the Imperium by their very vile existence. Natorian felt rage build up within him. He let his mind go to an ancient memory, a painful moment hidden within himself. He didn’t let himself visualise that memory, but got close enough to the emotional wound of it, the ache within that fed his hatred. That hatred built inside him like a fire given fresh fuel.

‘Now,’ Natorian said, and opened his eyes. As he did so the crude launching device pointing right at him belched fire, propelling chunks of scrap taken from a recent battlefield in his direction. Half a dozen sizeable fragments of plasteel and ceramite hurtled towards him, solid and sharp enough to smash in his unhelmed skull.

He raised his left hand, letting his rage out in the form of bioelectricity that flowed down his fingers to be spat out in precise bursts of white-hot energy. Three, four, five bolts burst through the air, smashing into bits of debris, melting metal and shattering material, turning the projectiles into dust and smaller chunks that ricocheted harmlessly away.

One last boulder remained, a block of rockcrete larger than the Codicier’s head, and Natorian brought around his right hand, forming a fist. He let the biomantic energy flood through the muscles of his arm, the punch moving with speed and strength incredible even for a Space Marine, every nerve and sinew inflamed with power. It was less than a second since the projectiles had been fired and Natorian was now moving at a speed where time seemed to slow for him.

As his foreknuckle touched the lump of rockcrete it sent a wave of cracks through it, each one infused with biomantic energy, the block shattering in mid-air.

Then time seemed to resume its normal course, Natorian’s energy was spent, and the fragments of rockcrete, now sharp pebbles, maintained their forward motion, less dangerous but still slashing at the skin of his hand and bouncing off his armour.

‘Very impressive,’ boomed Captain Fakuno, approaching across the deck, boots clanging against the floor. Heffl bowed deeply as Fakuno passed him.

Fakuno, leader of Natorian’s kill team, was a Salamander, one pauldron of his black armour still green-edged and bearing the crest of Vulkan’s sons. Like every child of Nocturne, Fakuno’s skin was onyx-black, and his pupils a simmering red. Those burning eyes did not lack humour, and Fakuno’s face was cracked into a half-smile.

‘You should train with us, Natorian,’ said Fakuno. ‘Not spend so much time alone in the bowels of the ship.’

‘I spar with my brothers,’ replied Natorian, binding the wounds on his hand. He tripped over the word ‘brothers’ as he spoke, the word sticking slightly in his throat, but Fakuno didn’t seem to notice.

‘This is not training,’ he added. ‘This is…’

He trailed off. He could speak of research, of the search for knowledge that was a part of every Blood Raven’s life. Of the deep need to know himself and his capabilities. But he knew that Fakuno wouldn’t understand, and would just nod formally in response, that half-smile remaining on his face. Besides, he knew Fakuno would not have sought him out just to chide him for his habits. Give him a breath and he would get to the point.

‘Very well,’ said Fakuno. ‘Just never forget while out here on your own that you are one of us, a part of the team above all else.’ Those red eyes caught Natorian’s for a second, before Fakuno changed tack, as expected.

‘We have a mission,’ said Fakuno, taking a few paces away from Natorian as he spoke. ‘Genestealers have been sighted on the space hulk Endless Despair. There are Space Marines present on the hulk already, but this xenos threat is of special interest to the Deathwatch, and we have already set a course for the hulk.’ Natorian felt a tightening in his gut at the mention of genestealers. Fast and lethal, those exo-skeletoned, clawed monstrosities first encountered on the moons of Ymgarl were also one of the most mysterious species known to mankind, and had plagued the Imperium for a long time. They represented a dual horror to Natorian in their repulsive alien nature and their unknowable purpose.

His feelings must have been visible, as Fakuno slapped him on the shoulder.

‘I see that has lit a fire in you, brother,’ said Fakuno. ‘Come join us when you are finished here, and we will discuss all the information we have on this infested hulk.’

Heffl was straining to lift the training launcher back on to a trolley as Fakuno walked past him, and without acknowledging the servant’s existence Fakuno lifted the load up with one hand and placed it on the trolley. Heffl bowed again, muttering words of gratitude.

‘If our company is not enough for you,’ called Fakuno. ‘Know that these Space Marines we join on the hulk are of your own Chapter, led by Librarian Captain Lanneus.’

Fakuno didn’t wait for a response to this news, and Natorian didn’t give one. He looked down at his bloodied knuckles, and flexed his hand.

Lanneus, he thought. What was Lanneus doing on a space hulk?

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