Barsabbas climbed onto a hydraulic elevator and ascended to the mezzanine level. Dark eldar waited for him there in various states of undress, shooting him. The boltgun fired heavy‐calibre, self‐propelled explosive rounds into their frail naked flesh, a scattering of tiny detonations that misted the air with fine blood. Barsabbas surged past and ran shoulder‐first into a locked metal door. It flipped off its hinges, buckled by the impact.
In his rage, he found himself in the generator room. His rush to find Sargaul made him careless. He barely knew where he was. He only noticed fragmentary details, as if his mind was clouded. The room was well‐appointed, for the derelict power facility. Dark eldar were purveyors of fine living, and satin sheets lined the wooden floor boards. Incense burned.
He saw warlike dark eldar soldiers, not mere raiders but heavy infantry, in the periphery of his vision but he ignored them. He saw slaves: human females that others would consider facially attractive, robust warriors, a plainsman child with amber eyes. He saw all these, but none of it mattered.
At the far end of the room, chained to the behemoth silos of coal generators, he saw Sargaul.
THE BONE TABLET was small. It was no bigger than a thumb, and upon it was carved a single ophidian coil. Even those within the Chapter who were prophetically obtuse understood the symbolism of the bone.
It was an unsettling portent and one that could have only come from the coven. The bone had been passed through the dungeon cells, slipping into the tiny venting grates at the top of their cubicles.
From there, the tablet had been passed between cells. Each receiver understood full well the meaning of the message. It was a rallying call, a message that reassured the fragmented brothers that there was still cohesion in their ranks.
Reassurance of their cohesion was what the Blood Gorgons needed to spur them into action. Captain Hazareth was of the opinion that he could access the central security block if they could provide some form of distraction to occupy their guards. Baalbek was not sure how Hazareth could break free from his cell, but the captain was adamant he would be able to, and he had never been one to make claims he could not honour.
Baalbek began to push the bone tablet through the venting grate.
A Plague Marine strode past, peering closely through his bulbous goggles at the occupants of each cell. Hearing the rubberised clip of his boots, Baalbek wadded the bone tablet tightly into the meat of his palm.
‘What have you got there?’ the Plague Marine asked, stopping at the Blood Gorgons’ cell.
Before Baalbek could answer, his bond, Brother Hybarus, cut in. ‘We’re bored, brother.
Our bodies should not be bound like this. Let us out to stretch our limbs.’
The Plague Marine ignored Hybarus. ‘What’s that in his hand?’ he asked, pointing at Baalbek.
Baalbek was suddenly very conscious of the tablet clenched in his fist. They had no means of distraction yet, and now the plan would become undone. Baalbek’s face remained impassive, but he cursed fluently in his head.
129
The cell door slid back and the Plague Marine squeezed his bulk through. ‘Show me your hand,’ he ordered, raising his boltgun.
Stepping in‐between them, Hybarus shoved the Plague Marine on the chest. ‘You dare threaten us in our own home?’ he growled.
The Plague Marine struck Hybarus across the jaw with the pistol grip of his bolter. The clash of metal on bone was clearly audible. Reeling from the blow, Hybarus spat teeth. He could only turtle up, splaying his fingers across his head and keeping his forearms tight to his ribs as the Plague Marine struck him again and again with the pistol grip and solid, reverberating backfists.
In the brief episode of violence, Baalbek slipped the shard under his tongue.
‘Show me your hands!’ the Plague Marine shouted, snapping his attention back to Baalbek.
Freezing, Baalbek dared not swallow under the Plague Marine’s stare. The Plague Marine stood over Hybarus, pressing his boltgun to the back of his skull. Even the bob of Baalbek’s throat would likely admit their guilt. Slowly, deliberately he opened his hands and held them out before him.
‘Mouth!’ shouted the Plague Marine. ‘Open your mouth!’
Baalbek hesitated. He opened his mouth slowly.
‘Under your tongue!’ the Plague Marine shouted.
Baalbek lifted his tongue slowly in defiance. But bared for all to see, there was nothing hidden beneath. Hybarus snorted up at their tormentor through a mouthful of blood.
The Plague Marine pressed the bolter barrel into the hollow of Baalbek’s