The Chief Apothecary stood in front of a cylindrical tube, standing upright and bathed in aqua-blue light. He still wore his Legion robes, rather than his armor. It was too difficult to work in, and unless he was in battle, or in danger of coming across some kind of enemy, he did without it. Most of the Captains of his Company were stuck in their armor, whether it was a literal medical condition or an endless preference, they all seemed content with the way they were.
They had been in the Warp for some time now, on their way to the Pelexis System. Brother Coeus had begun his investigation without hesitation. He had begun with those in Second Company. More specifically, he started with the members of Brother Rorke’s squad, having them secluded and bound.
One of them, Brother Hadrius, had been sent to his care. Coues had delivered him personally, saying that a wound was found but it was too difficult to decipher whether or not it was from training, or taint. The Librarian had searched the Iron Warrior’s mind, of course, but despite his near mastery of the art, wanted to be sure. Lugerev had to hand his compliments to the Seer, for withholding his personal opinions and not simply killing off members of the XIX without making sure there was true reason for it. He likely knew whether or not Brother Hadrius was guilty of taint, but also realized a second opinion would only help his cause in the rest of the Grand Companys’ eyes.
Hadrius was strapped with thick metal cuffs attached to the table around the wrists and ankles.
‘Is this really necessary, brother?’ Asked Hadrius.
‘Absolutely. I don’t know your agenda. You seem calm and unworried, but so do I, at times.’
‘Nevermind. This shouldn’t take long. You’ll be back to training with your Company soon enough.’
Lugerev took hold of a pair of instruments, and walked to the side of the slab table. He only had to bend over slightly for a good look at the scratches on Hadrius’s shoulder. He looked into the wound with magnifying optics over his eyes. He poked and pulled, here and there. The tools were cold to the touch. If Hadrius wasn’t an Astartes, he may have even shivered a bit.
‘You were wearing your armor when this happened?’
‘No.’ replied Hadrius.
‘Indeed. A silly question, perhaps.’
Lugerev’s eyes seemed frozen for a moment, as Hadrius tried to look at them, enlarged in the small lenses over his face.
‘You have an infection.’ stated the Apothecary, very matter of fact.
Lugerev took a step back, pulling off the lenses and placing the instruments in a small sink.
‘Brother Hadrius, what does it mean to be an Iron Warrior, in your opinion?’
‘Master Apothecary,’ he hesitated, ‘It means to-’
‘Don’t interrupt me.’ Said Lugerev, annoyed, raising his hand quickly to the Marine’s face.
‘Being an Iron Warrior, means never giving up. It means no matter what the enemy throws at you, you trudge on, you move forward through the thick of it. It means you break down any obstacle in your path, or die trying. It means being strong. I have seen Iron Warriors get one of their arms blown clear off, and still march, bolter firing, as if nothing had happened to them. I have seen legs blown off, and they crawled, still firing. Do you want to be one of us, Hadrius?’
‘How dare you ask me such a question!’ he yelled in response, squirming in his restraints.
‘Free me from your slab. I must inform my Captain of such disrespect to one of his men!’
‘Oh you want to yell?’ asked Lugerev, grabbing one of his drills.
‘No!’ yelled Hadrius as Lugerev turned it on.
‘Yes! Yes you bloody fiend, yes!’ the Chief Apothecary screamed in Hadrius’s face as he pressed the tip of the spinning drill into the center of his bare chest.
Hadrius roared, more out of anger at first, but soon enough out of pain as his reinforced ribcage was churned and twisted. Lugerev's rage poured out, a sudden wash of fury.
‘Where is your god, brother!? Where is he!? Is this what you prayed for!?’
His spittle shot Hadrius in the face, as his blood did to Lugerev in turn.
Hadrius’s fought the restraints as hard as he could between shouts and grimaces. Sweat was beading, dripping, over his features.
‘You like death so much? Then go! Leave us! Leave your brotherhood of Iron Warriors. Go join Nurgle and his mindless slaves!’
He finished drilling, and with his fingers plucked something out of the profusely bleeding wound. He held the geneseed up to Hadrius’s barely conscious face.
‘This is your your geneseed, and you’ve ruined it. Precious, Hadrius! And you’ve ruined it!’
It popped in his fist, splattering Hadrius in the face at the end of his remark.
He stood firmly over his former brother, breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling beneath his blooded robes. He put down the drill, and grabbed his largest scalpel. Without another word, he plunged it into Hadrius’s throat where it connected to the back of the chin. He listened intently, twisting here and there as the Astartes choked, trying to breathe, dying slowly.
Another of the Second Company lay dead on his table. Too many, for too many reasons, he mused.
He had reported his findings to The Seer without any happiness whatsoever. A few days later, Pelegon finally called for council once again.
Lugerev walked onto the decking of the bridge, immediately spotting the group of cumbersome individuals. It was difficult to tell due to the XIX’s impeccable hologram technology, but upon stepping into the circle, Iapetus was just that, a Hologram. The 7th Captain, not surprisingly, had chosen to remain aboard his own ship with his own Company. His friend had kindly assigned two squads of honour guard, one squad of five terminators and a squad of ten breachers, to the Ferra to watch over Lugerev during the Grand Company’s travel to Pelexis. They had stayed in the Apothecarium, though, for now.
In the Eisenschloss, Pelegon had promised to reveal how he had come across all of this information once everyone met on the Ferra, but of course, this did not happen. he had to admit, the Warsmith’s tactics of using the mortal population as a type of shield was rather clever, given the enemy, but was also cowardly. Pelegon often had layers of motives and reasonings behind his orders and plans. Lugerev forced himself to be content in this, until he saw the information on his data-slate, which gave him absolutely nothing more to work with then what he was told on Medrengard and an irritating threat to boot. Lugerev tossed the data slate before him as he walked, crunching it under his foot in his stride. A servitor almost immediately appeared from the shadows of the corridor, and cleaned up the mess he had made.
You disappoint me every time you speak. He thought. He noticed Some of the Captains had stayed behind, or turned around. Perhaps they were unhappy as well. The Primus Medicae decided it might be time to speak to some of these Commanders. In truth, it had been a while since he had met with any of them.
He turned around, making his way back to the systematic Bridge. His head passed unerneath the archway’s shadow just in time to hear the Warsmith’s last words to Adriun.
"Loakk may have as much Wolf gene-seed as he desires, but on the express condition that it is not implanted in any of my recruits, and that it never sees the light of the Imperium again. I was planning on destroying it; an experimental substrate seems a far better use of that resource"
The Master of the Forge very suddenly became the first one Lugerev wishes to speak with, and upon the techmarine’s exit, the Chief Apothecary would be waiting.
You can never be prepared for the unexpected
Last edited by unxpekted22; 10-03-14 at 12:56 PM.