Chapter 314: The Diversity of Mankind

The officer continued speaking about his family.

Chen Ye listened carefully, and piece by piece began to understand what, exactly, was unfolding before his eyes within the upper reaches of the hive-spire.

That stubborn old man really had been a Marshal, though one long since stripped of rank and authority. He had once served as Lord Marshal of the Planetary Defence Force, until he uncovered proof that the current Governor had colluded with Genestealer infiltrators embedded within the Spire’s noble houses. For that discovery, he was dismissed, politically buried, his name struck from official records, and quietly erased from the chain of command.

Unfortunately or perhaps inevitably, he was also impossibly stubborn.

Seven years earlier, when the other spire noble houses fled en masse to the Upper Hive, seeking safety behind sealed gates and private void-shields, his family alone refused to abandon their ancestral holdings. They remained in their fortress at the Spire’s crown, convinced that he was still the rightful Marshal of the PDF, and that the Governor and all who followed him were traitors to the Imperium.

And so he did what only a true Imperial relic could do when reality refused to cooperate: he declared it wrong.

He gathered his family’s sons and daughters, their household retainers, and the remaining armsmen, reorganised them into what he proclaimed to be the reconstituted Planetary Defence Force, and spent every waking day plotting to expel the “traitors” and reclaim the hive city in the Emperor’s name.

The only reason this delusion had been tolerated was the family’s immense prestige.

The former Marshal had entered service at thirteen as a bodyguard to the previous Governor. After rising through the ranks, he had served that Governor faithfully for one hundred and twenty years, a lifespan extended by juvenat treatments and relentless discipline. Even after his disgrace, the current Governor dared not simply exterminate such a lineage. Instead, he ordered a formal blockade zone established around the family fortress, sealing it off from the rest of the Spire.

Before the arrival of the Emperor’s Angels and the guests from the Talon Sector, the noble guard forces stationed within that blockade had suddenly launched an assault on the fortress. They breached the main gate with alarming speed, using breaching charges and armoured carriers, and fierce fighting followed.

Under the “Marshal’s” personal command, the self-proclaimed Planetary Defence Force managed to drive the attackers back out, at significant cost on both sides.

That, apparently, was why two slaves had earlier been sent out to dispose of bodies.

“…What the hell kind of madness is this?” Chen Ye muttered, deeply shaken. “Is there anyone normal left in the Spire?”

“Everyone in my family is normal,” the officer said helplessly, shaking his head. “Except my father. There are two other families still holding their territories up here, and they’re perfectly sane. But my father insists on assigning them PDF unit numbers, and keeps granting their patriarchs ‘General’ ranks whether they want them or not…”

Chen Ye was left speechless.

Yet, remembering his past campaigns alongside the Salamanders Chapter, and the extremes of belief he had witnessed across a thousand war zones, he found himself able, reluctantly, to accept it.

Among the Salamanders there were warm, compassionate warriors… and then there was the cold, merciless Third Company.

Where there were normal people, there would always be lunatics.

Humanity was nothing if not diverse.

“My lord, you... ah, forgive me. Please wait a moment.”

The officer had been about to ask Chen Ye something about the Adeptus Astartes when his vox-bead crackled to life. He listened intently, then hurried over to his father.

“Report, Father! Your two ‘Generals’ have already led their forces out of their camp. They will rendezvous with you on Toth Street!”

“…Hmm?”

“Marshal. Marshal!”

“Excellent,” the old man growled at last. “All forces, advance!”

With that command, infantry columns and ageing Centaur Armoured Carriers rolled out from the fortress, thundering toward the Governor’s presumed hiding place, their engines echoing through the hollow upper-spire streets.

The Marshal was far too old to command a battle in person, but utterly refused to stay behind. His son could not dissuade him, and in the end had no choice but to place him aboard a Centaur transport. At the very least, those slow, lumbering vehicles would keep the old man from charging headlong into the front lines.

Before boarding another Centaur, the Marshal’s son sought out Anruida.

“My lord Thunderborn,” he asked quietly, “is my younger brother still alive?”

“Your brother?” Anruida replied, puzzled. He had never seen the former Marshal’s youngest son. “I don’t believe I’ve met him.”

“When word came that the Emperor’s Companions were arriving, the noble houses of the Upper Hive sent two hundred people to find you. They intended to inform you of the truth during yesterday’s parade. My brother guided them through the Spire. You… didn’t see him?”

Anruida shook his head once more.

“I see,” the man said.

He nodded, his gaze hardening, and whatever hope remained drained from his expression, then climbed into the transport without another word.

....

There were, indeed, two other noble families still holding their ancestral ground at the Spire’s summit. Their household guards and armed retainers converged on a wide thoroughfare known as Toth Street, joining forces with the former Marshal’s column as they advanced on the Governor’s refuge.

At last, they reached Spire Shelter No. 88.

“The Governor is inside!” the old Marshal shouted as he clambered out of the Centaur. “Prepare to attack!”

“Are you certain?” Grey asked, pointing at the open entrance to the shelter. “There are over a hundred and twenty shelters like this. What makes you so sure?”

“Trust me,” the Marshal said with absolute conviction. “That bastard is just like his father. Whenever the Spire is threatened, he always hides in Shelter Eighty-Eight. There’s a rumour that the number eighty-eight is lucky!”

Grey had little choice but to accept it. They would have to search them all eventually anyway.

Besides, the auspex readings showed twenty thousand life-signs underground. The old man was probably right.

The force entered the shelter’s access tunnel.

It was wide, sloping steadily downward.

When the red blips on the scanner drew near, Grey warned them of enemies ahead.

The former Marshal slammed his fist against the Centaur’s armour plating, roaring at the driver to push forward to the front line.

The enemy had fortified the bend in the tunnel ahead. As soon as the Centaur rolled into view, four twin-linked heavy autoguns opened fire at once, their overlapping fields of fire filling the passage with tracer and ricochet.

“For the Emperor!” the Marshal bellowed, chainsword raised with great difficulty.

The servants who had humoured his “PDF” fantasies had no real combat ability and dared not advance. Only the family youths, raised under his influence since childhood, steeped in his delusions and zeal, charged forward with him.

But Grey’s group needed no assistance.

As Yoan prepared to surge the gunners, his reflexes already slipping into the bullet time, Chen Ye moved first. He stepped sideways into the fire, his Astartes pauldron deflecting incoming rounds, and fired four precise shots in rapid succession.

The bolt shells detonated.

The four heavy-weapon crews were obliterated by mass-reactive detonations, leaving more than two hundred defenders still fighting in the tunnel.

“Drive through!” someone shouted. “Smash us a path!”

The Centaur surged forward, carrying the roaring Marshal into the fray.

He was still shouting orders when one of the defenders finally recognised him. The man raised his autogun and fired point-blank.

One shot.

A clean kill.

The driver realised the shouting had stopped and immediately reversed the Centaur.

“Stop making things worse!” Yoan snapped, rushing to the vehicle’s front and raising his gravitic shield, blocking the incoming fire. He turned and barked orders to the others. “Secure the shelter entrance!”

The household servants were only too eager to comply. They dragged their master’s corpse from the transport and fled to the rear.

From that point on, the fighting was handled solely by Grey, Yoan, Anruida, and Chen Ye.

The four advanced in rotation, boltguns, las-rifles, and Thunderborn shoulder-mounted cannons firing in disciplined sequence. They did not bother to clear every position, their objective was the Governor himself.

No force within a normal hive city could hope to stop three Thunderborns and a Space Marine.

The tunnel fortifications might as well not have existed. In short order, they reached the deepest level of the shelter.

The Governor of Beisu I was indeed there.

He sat upon an improvised throne, surrounded by his confidants and blood relatives. There were few soldiers, only sycophants, nobles, and those who believed themselves untouchable.

And none of them could save him now.