House of the Rising Son - 3

III


"Something on your mind?" Syrene muttered from the doorway to the balcony. Tyran Karr was watching the twilight settle in over the city. Spires of metal, towering chimneys and columns of smoke snaked their way into the coming night. In the distance the cathedral Chapter House of the Seraphim glowed.

"Many things. None of which matter now." He turned to face his wife. The gulf of time lingered between them like a barrier, a force of will denying intimacy and corrupting whatever affection they had once shared. He thought he'd loved her once, when he was much younger. Now he felt that they respected each other as fellow matyrs. He did his duty for the Imperium as did she, and that at least kept him content.

"Come." She held out a hand for him to join her. The light from within glowed around her like a halo, reminding him of another time. He joined her in the living space where their children had cleared away the dinner plates. As a gesture of good will Tyran kneeled on the carpet and waited until they all joined him.

"Cthyn, will you lead us in prayer?" he asked humbly, looking up at his eldest. The boy stood there in his unnaturally white robe, his shaved head glowing in the harsh artificial light. Cthyn nodded and kneeled next to his father.

"We thank the glory of the Emporor for providing us with the bounty we have enjoyed this night. May His blessings rain down on us all." Cthyn said reverentially. Syrene and Tyle nodded their thanks, rose and departed from the room.

"Here boy, help an old man to his feet." Tyran held out his arm to Cthyn, who put all his weight into pulling his father up. "Thank you." Tyran said, noting the boy's strength. "Join me on the balcony."

Dread filled Tyran's chest as he led his son onto the balcony. Cthyn smiled distantly at the sight of the Chapter House dominating the skyline.

"Your mother tells me you're still persuing entrance into the Adeptus Astartes." Tyran began the conversation he'd been dreading ever since he'd received Syrene's last letter.

"I am." The boy replied defiantly. Tyran blanched uncomfortably at the defensiveness of the reply.

"It's a worthy aspiration." Tyran said hollowly, "I've served with them many times. I'd go as far as to say that some of them are my friends, after a fashion."

Cthyn snorted.

"War does strange things." Tyran snapped, angry at his assumption. "Men and Astartes fighting together in the name of the Emporor. It's a wonderful thing to behold."

"I know." It was Tyran's turn to snort at the origin of his son's knowledge. His books and writings. The record of ten millenia's worth of fighting, written in glorious detail.

"Do not put your faith in books to tell you the whole truth."

"Then whom should I trust?" Cthyn muttered. They were both tired before the argument even began. It didn't need to be voiced. Tyran disapproved of Cthyn's choice to join the Chapter, to undergo the staggering physical transformation to become an Astartes and Cthyn disapproved of his father's lack of ambition. Even now the boy was clearly struggling to understand why his father had chosen the Guard over the Seraphim. Why choose the lesser glory? Why indeed, Tyran though, casting his mind back to when he was young.

"I was an urchin. No more than a rat, living off scraps in the gutter. No one thought about joining the Space Marines – I didn't even know what they looked like until years later." Tyran said, gazing up at the Chapter House, wondering whether he'd have chosen the mightier path had it been offered to him. "The fact of the matter is the Guard got to me first. They offered me a way out."

"You were unenlightened?" Cthyn muttered, horrified.

"Oh yes. I didn't know the Light of the Emporor until I was educated." Tyran replied, hoping this would have the softening effect he desired.

"You were one of the unfortunate. That makes sense." Cthyn nodded. "I misjudged… I am sorry."

"Know this." Tyran said, sensing the breakthrough. "I do not disapprove of your decision, I am merely uneasy – jealous in many respects of what you are about to embark on."

Cthyn smiled, relief unwinding the knots in his shoulders. "I haven't passed the tests yet."

"Together we will guarantee your place in the annals of our history." Tyran said humbly, clasping his son around the shoulders.

**

Translation from the warp always made Xar ill and this time was no exception. Every four steps he found himself doubled over and retching into the machinery that filled every space that wasn't taken up by the living.

"Keep up, scrivener – I haven't got all day to indulge your weaknesses." Valdus Arten chided, striding down the corridor in full battle-plate. His gold armour glistened under the bright red interior lights of the ship. Xar coughed pitifully and moved as quickly as he could to catch up.

A draft hit him in the face as the door opened to reveal the embarkation deck. One wall of the massive hangar was open space – a string of asteroids loomed in the distance, menacingly highlighted with light from a distant nebula.

Xar watched as Sergeant Karr ordered his men onto the Thunderhawk transport ship.

"Ah, Valdus, I was wondering when you'd arrive. I thought you were going to miss the fireworks." Hyr Urukhan boomed jovially, stepping out of the bow of a support column.

"We haven't seen action in nearly a year Hyr. I wouldn't miss this for all the glory of the Emporor." Arten replied, laughing with his comrade. Xar grimaced, he'd had to put up with their comradely shows of unity and affection all the way here.

"Apparently there's an unknown craft in this sector, hiding behind one of the outlying moons. The scrivener thinks we should hold back." Arten chuckled. Urukhan gasped in a show of mock horror before cocking his bolter in a show of bravado that made Xar feel even more ill. He couldn't quite believe at times, that these beings were the holy architects of the Emporor.

"I only wanted to wait until we were certain WHO they – oh never mind." He gasped with frustration. They were already parrading away, arm in arm. Singing, no less.

Xar followed them onto the Thunderhawk. A servitor adept handed him a rebreather and showed him how to put it on. "There'll be little to no atmosphere where you're going. Precaution, you understand." Xar nodded imaptiently, eager to be away. The sooner they could find the source of this damned signal the sooner they could be on their way home.

He was directed to a cage chair and assisted into its industrial grip. Safely encased and ready to go he barely felt the take-off or the shift in atmosphere as they glided out into space. Several holo-screens lit up in front of him and a vox-communicator put him through to the Astartes veterans and the pilot crew. Space encompassed his vision in stunning clarity. Every star was visible and the nebula seemed to pulse with hidden energies. "We're on a alpha-seven descent vector for planet Index - 44173.445." One of the pilots announced. In the distance Xar could see the planet looming, its grey atmosphere highlighted with swirls of silver. It looked awful and barren, but at least he didn't have to trudge through it like the Guard and their Space Marine overseers.

The closer they got to the signal the more Xar was filled with unease. The signal pattern wasn't entirely unknown, he recognised it as being an Imperial signal, albeit very different. The problem was that this signal pattern wasn't on any record he could summon from the Imperium's data network; which left one of two very unsettling possibilities, either it was so old it pre-dated the records or it was so new it had yet to be integrated into the system. Uncertain of how to proceed he had opted to keep this information to himself. In due course the source would be found and the answer would reveal itself. He just hoped they were prepared for what they found.

**

Tyran adjusted his low-environment suit uncomfortably, wriggling under the itchy membranes that were designed to protect him from the vacuum of space – not, he regretted from the irritation of chafing.

In his hands he held the weight of his lasgun and ran his hand over the reinforced wood body. The habit was comforting and a little ritualistic, it was something he'd never have admitted to an Inquisitor, they took thse things far too seriously he felt.

The ardours of the journey had taken their toll on him. A lot of time had been spent contemplating his fate leading up to this point. He was a nobody, an urchin drafted from the streets of his homeworld, inducted into the ranks of the Imperial Guard, given an education, a structure and a sense of self-respect. But he was still a nobody. No family, nobody to remember his name or his actions should the inevitable happen – all except one. Unconsiously he felt for the pict of his beloved pressed to his chest. Dearest Syrene. Even now he could see her face, the soft contours of her chin, the way her hair fell onto her shoulders. He would make her proud. He would carve himself a history that she would be proud to remember.

**

The wind gently played at the net curtain that lined the window. The room was dark and Syrene was lying down on her bed, waiting.

After an age she heard the sound of boots on the floorboards and from the corner of her eye she noticed the shadow in the door frame. Slowly he took off his coat, uniform, gloves, boots and cap, all neatly lined up on the simple dresser. She could smell the musky leather and suede from across the room. He had a distinctive smell that she remembered. It was that above all else that confirmed that this was her husband. The time they'd spent apart was so long she'd almost forgotten everything else about him. All apart from her duty and the memory of something she'd felt a long time ago.

Did she love him? It didn't seem to matter anymore.

She held her breath as he paused before getting in next to her. Suddenly she wished the bed was twice as wide so the presence of his body so close to hers wouldn't throb between them. She listened as his breathing slowed and drifted into sleep before allowing herself to fitfully doze before dawn.