'I would speak of Genestealers." the big man said quietly. 'I would speak of Genestealers, their terror and their cruelty…"
Chapter III
Two Heads Talking wandered the nighted streets. They seemed empty now that the workers had returned to their barracks. A slight breeze had sprung up, blowing flecks of ash through the streets, clearing the smog slightly. A bitter ash-taste filled his mouth.
He passed by the factories where giant steam engines stood, still working. Their din filled the air. Their pistons went up and down like the nodding heads of maddened dinosaurs. He knew they never rested.
He strode down a street of rich mansions, driven by morbid curiosity. He felt as though he had been shown the pieces of a vast puzzle, and if he could only locate the last piece, it would all fall into place.
Each mansion he passed had wrought-iron gates which bore the signs of the Night-owl, the Puma and the Rat. These were the totem animals of the Hill Clans. Two Heads Talking wondered whether the chieftains of these people dwelled within. He could well believe that they might make pacts with whoever had done this. Those people had dark reputations.
He felt anger grow within him, driving out the sense of bewilderment. His life had been rendered meaningless. His people had been betrayed. His world had been stolen. Even the Dark Angels had been destroyed. Ten thousand years of tradition ended here. There were no more bold huntsmen of the plains for the Sky-Warriors to recruit.
The Chapter might continue, but its heritage had been destroyed - it would never be the same again. Two Heads
Talking was of the last generation of Marines recruited from the Plains People. There would be no more.
As he moved beyond the mansions, toward the polluted river, his spirit senses warned him he was being followed. Part of him did not care, he would welcome confrontation with whatever watchers shadowed him. From up ahead. he heard a groan of pain.
"We do not know where they come from." said Lame Bear. "Not even the Curators of the Administratum know that. They appear without warning, carried in the mighty space hulks which drift on the tides of warp space."
A shiver passed through even these hardened Terminators. Cloud Runner saw the gaze of those who had faced the
Genestealer turn inward. Their faces reflected the grim memories of the encounters.
Unconsciously, they sat up straighter and looked around nervously. For the first time, it was brought home to the
Captain that they really did face the Genestealers once more. They faced a threat that could kill them.
"They are dreadful foes: ferocious, relentless, knowing neither pity nor fear. They do not use weapons, perhaps because they do not need them. Their claws are capable of tearing adamantium like paper.
"They do not use armour; their hides are so tough that they can survive, for a time, unsuited in vacuum. They have the aspect of a beast, yet they are intelligent and organised. They are the most terrible enemies any Marine has faced since the time of the Horus Heresy.
"How do I know this? I have faced than, as have others here."
Cloud Runner shivered, recalling the times he had faced the Stealers. He remembered their chitinous visage, their gaping jaws and four rending claws. He tried not to recall their blinding, insect-like speed.
"It is not their fearsome battle prowess that makes the Stealers such dreadful opponents. It is something else. I will tell you of it.
"One hundred and twenty years ago, before ever I donned Terminator armour. I was sent with the fleet that investigated the strange silence of the hive world 'Thranx.
"The Imperial Governor had not paid tribute for twenty years, and the Adeptus Terra had decided that perhaps a gentle reminder of his sworn duties was in order.
"The fleet arrived bearing sections from the Dark Angels, the Space Wolves, the Ultramarines and an Imperial Guard regiment from Necromunda. As the fleet moved into drop position we expected resistance, rebellion. But the orbital
monitors did not fire at us, and the Governor spoke fairly to us on the comm-link."