mem, theY were c°ld and starving. What was I supposed to do? Order diem back into the ice wastes to attack an enemy-held fort with empty stomachs?'
That's kinda what happened to you, Gappo/ I say to the ex-preacher, making a pillow out of my thin blanket and lying down with my hands behind my head.
The haves and have-nots?' he asks, not expecting an answer. 'I can see why Franx here did what he did, but to this day I have not the faintest clue what made me denounce a cardinal in front of half a dozen Imperial Guard officers/
Think you were right/ Franx says. 'Cardinal shouldn't have executed men who were laying down their lives for the defence of his palaces/
'But you had to go and accuse the whole Ecclesiarchy of being corrupt/ I add with a grin. 'Questioning whether there really was an Emperor. How stupid are you?'
'I cannot believe that such suffering could happen if there were such a divine influence looking over humanity/ Gappo replies emphatically. 'If there is an Emperor, which I doubt, the cardinal and odiers like him representing such a figure is patently ridiculous/
'Can't imagine being able to carry on if there wasn't an Emperor/ Franx says, shaking his head, trying to comprehend the idea. "Would've killed myself as soon as I was hauled in by the Colonel if that was the case/
"You really believe that you have a soul to save?' Gappo asks with obvious contempt. You believe this magnificent Emperor cares one bit whether you die serving the Imperium or as a disobedient looter?'
'Hey!' I snap at both of them. 'Let's drop this topic, shall we?'
It's at mat point that Poal walks over, face scrunched up into a vicious snarl.
'He's done it again/ he says through gritted teeth.
'Rollis?' I ask, already knowing the answer, pushing myself to my feet. Poal nods and I follow him towards the far end of the prison chamber, where he and what's left of Kronin's old platoon usually eat now. Kronin is sitting there looking dejected.
'I shall steal from the plate of decadence to feed the mouths of the powerless/ the mad lieutenant says.
That's the sermons of Sebastian Thor. I know that one/ puts in Poal, standing just behind my right shoulder.
"Where's Rollis?' I demand.
One of the men lounging on the ground nods his head to the right and I see the traitor sat with his back to the cell wall about ten metres away. Trust them to leave it up to me. Most of them hate Rollis, just like I do. They're just scared the treacherous bastard is going to do something to them if they stand up to him, and the Colonel's wrath is another factor. Well, I won't stand for it, having to breathe the same air as him makes me want to rip his lungs out. I march up to stand in front of the scumbag. He's got a half-full bowl in his lap.
I stand there with my hands on my hips. I'm shaking with anger, I detest this man so much.
'Slow eater, aren't you?' I hiss at Rollis. He looks slowly up at me with his tiny black eyes.
'lust because I'm more civilised than you animals, I don't have to put up with these insults/ he says languidly, putting the dish to one side.
*You took Kronin's food again.' A statement, not a question.
'I asked him if he would share his ration with me/ he says with a sly smile. 'He didn't say no/
'He said: "And the bounties of the Emperor shall go to those who have worked hard in his service"/ Poal interjects from behind me. 'Sounds like a big "frag off" if you ask me/
'I warned you last time, Rollis/ I say heavily, sickened at the sight of his blubbery face. 'One warning is all you get/
His eyes fill with fear and he opens his mouth to speak, but my boot fills it before he can say anything, knocking bloodied teeth across his lap. He clamps his hands to his jaw, whimpering with pain. As I turn away I hear him move behind me and I look back over my shoulder.
'Bashtard!' he spits at me, halfway to his feet, blood and spittle dribbling down his chin. Til fragging get you back for thish, you shanctimonioush shon-of-an-ork!'
'Keep going and you'll need to ask for soup in future/1 laugh back at him. I'd pity the piece of grox crap if he wasn't such a scumbag piece of sumpfloat. He slumps back down again, probing at a tooth with a finger, eyes filled with pure venom. If looks really could kill, they'd be tagging my toes already.
'If he tries it again/ I tell Poal, 'break the fingers of his left hand. He'll find it even harder to eat then, but he'll still be able to pull a trigger. I'll back you up/
Poal glances back at the traitor, obviously relishing the though.
'I just hope he tries it again,' he says darkly, glaring at Rollis.
'I just hope he does...'
In the dim ruddy glow of an old star, the tyranid hive fleet drifted remorselessly onwards. The smaller drone ships huddled under the massive, crater-pocked carapaces of the hive ships, the larger vessels slowly coiling in upon themselves to enter a dormant state that allowed them to traverse the vast distances between stars. The clouds of spores were dispersing, scattering slowly on the stellar winds. One hive ship was still awake, feeder tentacles wrapped around the shattered hull of an Imperial warship, digesting the mineral content, the flesh of the dead crew, leeching off the air contained within to sustain itself.
Across the heavens the flotilla of bio-ships stretched out, impelled by instinct to hibernate again until they found new prey and new resources to plunder. In their wake, a bare rock orbited the star, scoured of every organic particle, stripped of all but the most basic elements. Nothing was left of the fanning world of Langosta III. There were no testaments to the humans who had once lived there. Now all that was left was an airless asteroid, the unmarked dying place of three million people. All that remained of them was raw genetic material, stored within the great hive ships, ready to be turned into more hunters, more killing machines.
TWO
FALSE HOPE
+++ Operation New Sun in place, ready for your arrival. +++
+++ Operation Harvest preparing to progress to next stage. +++
+++ Only the Insane can truly Prosper. +++
You could say that dropping out of warpspace feels like having your body turned inside out by some giant invisible hand. You could say it's like you've been scattered into fragments and then reassembled in the real universe. You could say that your mind buzzes with images of birth and death, each flashing into your brain and then disappearing in an instant. I've heard it described like this, and many other fanciful ways, by other soldiers and travellers. You could say it was like these things, but you'd be lying, because it isn't like any of them. In fact, you hardly notice that you've dropped out of warpspace at all. There's a slight pressure at the back of your mind, and then a kind of release of tension, like you've just had a stimm-shot or something. You relax a little, breathe just a little more easily. Well, that's how it's always been for me, and nobody else seems to have come up with a more accurate description that I know of. Then again, maybe you don't even actually get that; perhaps it's all in your mind. I know that I'm damned well relieved every time we drop back into realspace, because it's a whole lot less dangerous than on the Otherside. Considering the outfit I'm in these days, that's saying a hell of a lot, because each drop is just a prelude to the next blood-soaked batde.