The attackers soared down in massive waves, hundreds of their
number being shattered by the streams of explosive shuriken discs, but
with thousands more taking their place. Behind the waves of biopods,
the huge Tyranid warships continued their relentless advance towards the
stricken Eldar craftworld of Zaran. Its gleaming hull now scarred by
blasts of acid, its shield walls buckling against the strain of the
thousands of tiny ships slamming against them, the Eldar seemed no
longer to be able to postpone their defeat. One by one the shield walls
collapsed, and the biopods flew through the gaps, boring into the
wraithbone hull to release their deadly cargo of warriors.
Over the constant whirring of the shuriken cannon batteries,
Luther heard the crash as another biopod breached the craftworld's hull.
Ahead, the giant holographic viewscreen showed the Tyranid mothership,
slowly closing in, the hail of cannonfire bursting harmlessly on its
outer skin. He glanced again at the screen to his side, but the image
was unchanged: the webway portal remained closed, its iris shield locked
in place. There would be no help for Zaran now. Hearing the sounds of
combat from across the skybridges, Luther gripped his shuriken pistol
and prepared to meet the enemy.
Again and again he joined his fellow officers at the portals
leading to the bridge complex, his pistol running dry of ammunition
countless times, forcing him to pause for a second while he slammed
another cartridge into place. There seemed no end to the terrible
creatures swarming across the bridges. Turning back to the battle after
reloading for what seemed like the hundredth time, he saw a new enemy
emerge: standing tall over the hormagaunts and genestealers were
towering warriors, their claws clutching unnatural living weapons.
Luther aimed at one, feeling some satisfaction as its head was cut off
by the spinning metal discs, but already another one was firing, and he
felt the impact as the blast shattered the outer bulkhead. He opened
his eyes to see the lifeless body of the Admiral, the old man's head
torn from his shoulders by the impact.
A strange calm descended on Luther as he realised that he was
now the commander of the craftworld. He reached down, picked up the
Admiral's blood-splattered comms unit, and attached it to his uniform.
Instantly, he saw tiny representations of the defences, heard the
shouted orders and cries for help. A part of his mind reeled in
distress, but his training took over: find our strengths, he heard his
instructor's voice, drive them at our enemy's weakest point. His eyes
flickered over the displays that the command unit projected into them,
even as he turned back to the portal and sent another hail of shuriken
fire towards the monsters clustered across the bridges. His eye came to
rest on one of the tactical displays, and with a thought the image
enlarged, filling his vision. The craftworld's main energiser sail,
soaring up from the nose of the giant ship, had been damaged beyond
repair; troops has evacuated and sealed off the portals leading to it
- and beyond the darkened sail, the bulk of the Tyranid mothership,
still advancing with the slow inevitability of a planet.
A desperate plan formed in Luther's mind, and he sent the orders
for its execution flying across the communications channels before he
had a chance to decide it was insane. He felt, in his mind, the surge
as the craftworld's engines fired to full power, felt the burst of power
as it leapt forward. Concentrating all his mental strength, he took
control of the ship's guidance thrusters, forcing himself to do the
thousand calculations that were needed, compensating for those jets that
had been damaged, manually adjusting the structural fields that were
straining to hold the scarred ship together under the sudden burst of
speed. He saw, with a final moment of satisfaction, the mothership
begin to bank, but it was too slow. As he felt the impact, he blacked
out.
The giant, abandoned energiser sail tore through the
mothership's hull like a hot blade through butter, as the craftworld
flew by, mere metres between its hull and that of the stricken Tyranid
vessel. To a chorus of deafening metal groans, the entire sail was
sheared off the top of the craftworld, its momentum burying it deep
inside the mothership. Fluids leaked from a thousand gashes in the
ship's organs, as within the craftworld the millions of Tyranid
creatures screamed at the sudden interruption to their group-mind.
Emerging from the expanding cloud of fluid and gas, Zaran flew beyond
the reach of the Tyranids, leaving the devastated mothership in its
wake. Safely hidden in the warp, a dozen Imperial battlebarges watched
the Eldar make their escape.
"Nevertheless," continued the droning voice, "the Tyranid attack
represents a clear threat to Imperial worlds in several surrounding
sectors." A thousand sectors from the scene of the recent battle, the
High Lords of Terra had been locked in debate for what seemed like
hours. Above them a holographic map rotated slowly, a red stain showing
the latest reports of attacks.
"Your anxiety is premature, Lord Administratum," interrupted the
Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy. "In over twenty engagements, our
star cruisers have driven off the aliens with minimal damage. I hardly
think we need be concerned with them overrunning us." He sat back in
his chair, as the Lord of the Administratum sat back down, glaring
across the table at him.
"Twenty engagements," said another of the Lords, wearing the
blue robes of the Astra Telepathica, "out of how many reported advances
along the alien frontier? My sources tell me that alien fleets have
been moving into Imperial sectors on over a hundred fronts."
"If they advance, Lord Astra," replied the Grand Admiral coldly,
"we will destroy them. That much we know."
"Oh really?" The Lord of the Astra rose from his seat and
touched a set of controls, swinging the holographic map around and
enlarging the section of it where the red zone was located. Fleet
information was overlaid at the points where the frontier was slowly
being pushed inwards. "I invite you to look at these, Grand Admiral.
Your precious Navy has done battle with approximately two hundred alien
ships, only five of them classed as capital ships. In the advances you
have not, for some reason, moved to intercept, there are over a thousand
capital ships alone! You may well be able to maintain your illustrious
image of your fleet by nipping at the aliens' heels, but the fact
remains that you do not have the resources to even delay the main
advance. A thousand capital ships, and those are only the ones we can
see! The Astronomicon and the telepathic intruder web are being forced
back every day!"
"Your intruder web," answered the Grand Admiral, "is inadequate
then, by your own admission, and yet you tell me ship numbers you
supposedly see with it. How many ships are there really? Do you even
know? A thousand, you say, well, how can you be so sure, if your
almighty intruder web is being dismantled so effectively?"
"Our Oracle probes report similar numbers, Grand Admiral." It
was the Lord of the Mechanicus who spoke, his voice hissing slightly as
tubes fed oxygen into his throat. He cast the sight of his electronic
eyes across the table, taking in all those present. "Are we forgetting
the point, possibly? The aliens continue to advance. The Navy's
efforts, successful though they may be, are not causing any significant
delay in the loss of sectors. This is not the time to argue over who is
to blame. We must act, now, while we still have an Imperium to
protect."
"What would you have us do, then?" asked the Lord Astra. The
Lord Mechanicus fixed him with a stare, the ceramic irises closing to
let only pinpoints of light emerge from his eyes.
"I have received a proposal that may assist us in this matter.
In the past, Marine chapters have formed crusade armies to eliminate
specific targets: a chaos warband, an Ork force, any military group who
have angered the chapters in question. These crusade armies have been
very effective in achieving their objectives."
"Of course they have, they're marines," the Lord Administratum
interrupted.
"Even accounting for the increased combat proficiency of the
marines, the crusade armies have a vastly superior ratio of results to
resources. We would use them more often, but they have the drawback
that they are organised to attack and defeat one enemy alone. A crusade
against a chaos lord would operate below standard efficiency in combat
against Orks, or Eldar."
"We know all this," interrupted the Lord Administratum again.
"What I am proposing," the Lord Mechanicus raised his voice
slightly, ignoring the interruption, "is that an entire chapter be
formed into a crusade army to combat Tyranids. Given the resources of
the Administratum and the Mechanicus, this chapter's command hierarchy
and equipment could be converted to specific anti-Tyranid purposes
within two years."
There was silence for a moment as the Lords digested this.
Finally the Lord Administratum spoke up.
"It would take at least a year even to formulate the directives
for such an operation." The Lord Mechanicus nodded.
"The directives have been formulated, as have the structural
reports and procedural analyses. They reside in your databanks now. I
suggest you study them at your leisure. Our logic engines predict a
ninety-six per cent probability of success. I believe your procedures
will indicate a similarly favourable result. With your leave, I propose
we adjourn, and return in a week to decide whether this proposal will be
accepted."
"One thing," said the Lord Astra, as the Lord Mechanicus rose to
his feet. "You said this proposal was received by you: who sent it?"
"The individual in question has the highest credentials we
ascribe to those outside the Mechanicus itself," replied the Lord. "I
am confidant in this individual's abilities in this area. I attach the
Seal of the Mechanicus to the proposal as validation. I do not believe
any further assurance is required."
Later, Lord Augustus, Master Fabricator Lord of the Adeptus
Mechanicus, slumped into the padded chair in his office and waited. He
did not have to wait long. His hand leapt out and slapped the control
almost as soon as the communication console before him signalled.
"I'm here," he said, without looking to the screen. He knew he
would see nothing anyway.
"I know," said the calm, dispassionate voice speaking to him
across the light-years between them.
"I did what you asked. The proposal has been..." he began to
say, but he was cut off.
"I know. I have been monitoring the council. Your debt is
repaid, Fabricator Lord. I need not remind you that this must remain a
secret. Be assured that I act with the best interests of Terra at
heart. You will not be contacted again." With that, the console shut
down. Augustus closed his eyes and tried to fight off the headache he
could feel setting in. He pushed a button on his wrist, and felt a
soothing serum flow into the implant at the back of his neck. He knew
that no-one who attained high office within the Imperium did so without
making deals, playing politics, and inevitably owing favours here and
there. Blackmail and extortion were well known to be the determining
factors in the careers of most planetary governors, but this was
different... a marine chapter... Augustus knew he had had no choice,
knew that there were many good reasons why this should be done, as well
as the centuries-old secrets that had been used against him...
he offered up a silent prayer to the machine god that the universe knew
what it was doing. He pressed another button, releasing a sedative.
His last thought, before drifting off to sleep, was 'this could go so
wrong.'
Tigrus looked around him. His brother marines were preparing to
leave the hiveworld Lethe. Just as well, he thought, this world had not
been kind to them. They had arrived fifteen days earlier, in response
to a signal indicating the presence of a chaos warband. The message had
said a seven hundred, maybe eight.
Veteran Sergeant Tigrus, of the first company of the Imperial
Marine Chapter the Furies, now knew there had been over two thousand
fallen marines on Lethe, waiting for them. The fighting had been
horrific, especially in the Primus hive, where the dark lord's retinue
had been and where the Furies' Commander had led the attack. Both were
dead now. All of the renegades were dead, unnumbered thousands of
civilians with them. Almost three hundred loyal marines had fallen to
protect this world. But it would be the loss of Commander Malachite
that would be felt most severely in the months ahead. He had been the
best of them, the most courageous, most loyal, most devoted - he had
never walked away from a fight in his life. It had been the death of
him, in the end. He had attacked the chaos lord, alone, while the lord
was still surrounded by his elite warriors. Malachite had fought like
the Emperor himself - they had found the bodies of the chaos veterans
later - but it had not been enough.
Tigrus's eye fell on a small figure boarding an orbital
transport. His eyes narrowed as he recognised her: the assassin. He
had been told the day after Malachite had been killed that the chaos
lord had been eliminated by a Callidus. This must be her. Liela was
the name he had been told, but assassins were known to call themselves
whatever suited their mission. She turned in the outer airlock of the
ship, looking back across the devastated hell that had consumed three
hundred of the Emperor's finest warriors. Her long hair, braided and
ending in a slim steel buckle, curled around her leg as she turned. The
poisoned needles on her thigh glittered in the morning light. From her
belt hung the bulky Shredder, the weapon of choice of her temple. The
gauntlet containing the phase blade she fought with was still around her
forearm. She wasn't wearing her mask - Tigrus knew that Callidus
assassins seldom bothered. During a mission, they would transform
themselves totally, becoming the person they wanted to replace -
polymorphine had made disguise obsolete, and the Callidus alone among
the assassins knew how to use it, and so they alone needed no mask to
hide themselves. Tigrus wondered who she had been. Had this slim young
woman been a chaos marine, to get close enough to the dark lord to kill
him? One of the elite? He frowned. Had she stood by and watched, as
Malachite died by their hands? Her eyes caught his for a moment, and
she gave a mock-salute. He glared as she spun on her heel and boarded
the transport. This, he thought sourly, was not how warfare was done.
Lord Talvarus attached his ceremonial seal of office to his
robes and stood, ready to face the Council. As he strode towards the
door bearing the yellow seal of the Adeptus Administratum, they opened,
and someone else came in. The two came face to face, and Talvarus found
himself looking into a face he had not seen in sixty years.
"You!" he exclaimed. The figure nodded. "How did you get in
here?"
"I never had problems before," replied the intruder calmly.
Talvarus scowled and turned back to his desk.
"You haven't aged much. I see you're still as arrogant as
ever."
"Arrogant? There's a difference between that, and knowing one's
abilities. Besides, have you forgotten already? This face is just a
mask. A facade, if you'll forgive the pun. Would you be more
comfortable if time had been as unkind to me as it has been to you?"
The stranger tapped a button on a bracelet set with several such
controls, and Talvarus saw lines of age creep across the rugged face he
had come to know and despise. The man knew too many tricks. Talvarus
remembered him claiming that the mask was the envy of the Callidus
temple of assassins. He had reason to believe it.
"Don't try to impress me, I've seen it all before. What do you
want?"
"You're going to vote against the proposal to reform the
Furies."
"The who?"
"They're the chapter that will be the subject of Augustus's
experiment. He'll receive word in several hours that their commander
has been killed in action. You did read the proposal, at least?"
"Wait, are you telling me you want me to change my vote? I know
we've had arrangements in the past, but this is the Council!"
"You will vote for the proposal. This will give it a majority.
In return, all the materials I have relating to your family will be
destroyed."
"All? Everything?"
"Everything. For your vote. Is it agreed?"
High above Earth, a small transport was completing its docking
at a giant orbital station. The ship backed into the docking clamps,
its pilot facing back out into space. Only the passenger airlock made
contact with the hull of the station. There were no lights, no
viewports, only the faint glimmer of starlight reflected off the black
metal. With a low thump the ship docked and the airlock slid open. A
figure emerged inside the station, and immediately the docking clamps
released and the transport ship was detached.
Liela made her way through the docking area of the orbital base
that housed the Officio Assassinorum. She was waved through the various
security stations, barely glancing at the dark-armoured guards who
watched her pass. Only once did she stop, to place her hand on a
bio-reader. The machine whirred, then a green light blinked on and the
portal in front of her opened. She entered the central operations
chamber of the Callidus temple, which occupied an entire branch of the
base. She stood in the centre of the chamber and waited.
A doorway to her side opened and a robed figure stepped through.
She turned to face him. His long, dark robes marked him as an
Inquisitor, the badge of office trailing from his neck confirmed this.
He walked quickly to her and stood before her, reaching up to remove his
hood. The face beneath was not particularly old, but its expression
made it seem so. The Inquisitor wore his hair short, and his face bore a
thin beard. His nose was a little too pronounced for his features, and
he seemed to maintain a constant sneer, as if in contempt of the
universe. His left eye squinted slightly, his right was obviously
sightless, a blank white expanse that the assassin guessed would be
unnerving to most people. She was rarely unnerved herself.
"I am Inquisitor Lord Julius," he said. "I have been reviewing
your reports, including your latest mission on Lethe." He stopped,
seeming to think that this would draw a response. Liela stared at him,
her features immobile, and he eventually continued.
"I am concerned at your lack of performance in regard to the
mission objectives of the battles you participate in." He stopped
again, and this time Liela answered.
"I do not participate in battles. I carry out assassinations.
If my targets are engaged in warfare, that is of no consequence to me."
"I would draw your attention," the Inquisitor continued,
seemingly oblivious to her words, "to the details of your last mission.
Your target, the renegade warlord, was surrounded by a bodyguard of
considerable size. You surely could have disposed of them as well. I am
told they fought for some time after the death of their leader at your
hands. They had to be dealt with by forces which would have been better
engaged elsewhere in the battle." Again he stopped. Liela stared
directly into his eyes, making sure she had his full attention before
answering.
"As I said, I do not participate in battles. My target was the
warlord, and I killed him. My mission briefing did not specify any
actions towards his bodyguard, and I found it unnecessary to take any
such actions in the course of completing my mission." Julius opened his
mouth to speak, and Liela found herself intensely irritated with his
presence. She cut him off before he could get a word in.
"I am an assassin. My business is the death of individuals. If
you would like large areas of an army to be demolished, may I suggest
you enlist the aid of heavy weapons. If you have a valid complaint,"
she stressed the word 'valid', knowing it would annoy him to have his
words scorned, "then I suggest you file it with my temple officers. As
I am aware of no business you have with my temple at the moment, this
conversation is concluded."
Liela turned on her heel and marched quickly out of the chamber,
through one of the twisting corridors through which the Inquisitor knew
he would not be allowed to follow. He stared after her for a moment,
then left through the portal she had entered by.
A ripple appeared in space, a ripple which opened to a gaping
hole into a realm of shifting colour. From this hole, a dark shape
emerged, glowing faintly with reflected light from the nightmare it was
leaving.
The Imperial transport closed its warpgate and settled into
orbit. Below it, the planet Semnai slowly rotated, its green continents
slipping into the light of its distant sun. Its seas, deep blue and
radiant in the new light, glistened faintly. The transport turned
slightly, and fired several thrusters on its leading edge, cutting its
speed.
The fortress-monastery headquarters of the Furies stood out in
stark contrast to the lands around it. Above green hills rose grey
steel and stone towers, their highest points nearly touching the low
clouds that drifted in from the nearby coastline. On a normal day, it
would have been alive with activity: new recruits training in the
expanses of jungle enclosed by the high defence walls, sentries
patrolling the miles of perimeter fortifications that separated the base
from the rest of the world. Today, the only movement outside the walls
of the fortress was the fluttering of pennants bearing the winged fury
symbol of the chapter, and the double-headed eagle of the Imperium.
Just over seven hundred warriors stood in perfect formation in
the great hall, the huge central chamber of the largest building in the
fortress. From galleries above, unnumbered support personnel watched,
scribes, clerks, administrators, observers. At the front of the hall, a
figure in power armour nodded to a technician, and stood back. The
figure was Octavian, the lieutenant commander of the Furies. His armour
gleamed in the morning light that filtered through the high windows of
the hall. Icons on his shoulders told a tale of many campaigns on a
hundred worlds. By his side hung an ornate power sword. His armoured
hands flexed as he watched the technician work the teleport controls,
then relaxed as a shimmer of light appeared on the dais in front of him.
Slowly, vague shadows in the light formed into people. The light died
away, leaving three figures in front of him. To the left was a Navy
officer, whom Octavian assumed to be
the captain of the transport. To the right, an administratum official.
Standing in the centre was a figure in armour - not power armour, but a
less bulky variant, a silver suit that covered its wearer completely.
Smooth protective plates slid noiselessly against each other as the
figure turned to look out across the assembled ranks of marines.
Octavian approached the visitors.
"I am Octavian. You may call me lieutenant commander. I have
been instructed to prepare the chapter for the arrival of out new
commander."
The armoured figure stepped forward. Octavian guessed he was a
rogue trader; it would explain the exotic armour, and his presence with
the landing party. Octavian stood half a head taller than the trader,
who stood in front of him and addressed him directly.
"I wonder how you feel about an outsider being placed in
command," said the trader. Octavian noticed his voice was carefully
neutral, and a little flat; he guessed that some sort of voice
synthesiser was being used. He decided to be civil to the stranger,
despite his impatience to get on with the task at hand.
"The Furies have not held a crusade for many centuries. If the
High Lords believe that a leader from another chapter would be better
suited to lead us now, that is their will. I serve the Emperor, and his
will is mine."
"Admirable," said the trader, with a slight nod of his armoured
head.
"Does the Commander require any preparations to be made before
he teleports down?" asked Octavian.
"No. I am your Commander," said the trader. Octavian blinked,
then rallied.
"You have the seal of the High Lords?" he asked. He found
himself making a closer inspection of this stranger who, it seemed,
would be their leader. He was not lacking in stature, for a human.
Octavian had fought alongside traders before, and had found that there
were some of them deserving of his respect. It was not unknown for a
trader to be given field command of a marine force, for a particular
mission. For one to be given rank, though... Octavian wondered what the
High Lords knew about this strange person, that they would allow him to
take command of a chapter.
The trader produced a thin scroll, bearing the elaborate seal of
the High Lords of Terra. Octavian took it and read it carefully, then
looked back at the trader. He bowed his head and saluted.
"By your orders, Commander." he said. The commander returned
the salute and Octavian lifted his head to stare into the expressionless
green eyes of the silver suit. He turned and followed as the commander
walked down the steps towards the ranks of marines. As they neared the
front of the ranks, one of the marines, a Terminator, blocked their
path.
"I am Tigrus, Sergeant of the first company," he said, standing
at his full armoured height. "I have served the Emperor for two hundred
years, and I have never seen a trader who could fight as well as a
marine. You are not one of us. I say you are not fit to lead us." He
folded his arms and stood defiant.
"Sergeant," barked Octavian, but the commander raised a hand and
the lieutenant commander fell silent. He found himself admiring the
trader as he stood toe-to-toe with the massive sergeant. If nothing
else, he carried himself like a marine.
"Then we have a problem, Sergeant Tigrus. I am your commander,
and a commander cannot be doubted by his troops. It seems I must prove
myself to you. What would you suggest?" Octavian wondered if the
trader knew what he was doing. Tigrus was sure to suggest a duel, and
Octavian knew for certain that the veteran sergeant had not been beaten
in a duel since he had left the tenth company and become a full-blooded
marine.
"Honourable combat holds no fear for a marine. I challenge
you." Tigrus held his hands before him and clenched them into fists, in
the ritual challenge. The commander copied the gesture, accepting the
challenge.
"Shall we begin," he said, backing to the regulation starting
distance for personal combat. Tigrus looked at him incredulously.
"Do you not require a Terminator suit to fight me?"
"We'll see."
Tigrus nodded, a hint of respect creeping into his eyes. The
two circled each other warily, closing in slightly with every step.
Octavian watched from one side, wondering if their new commander really
could hold his own against the massive armoured warrior. He had fought
the sergeant himself, several times, and found him an unnaturally fast
opponent. Octavian nodded as he noticed Tigrus tense, in preparation to
strike. The trader hadn't noticed it, it seemed.
There was a sudden rush of movement as the Terminator lunged
forward, one arm sweeping around at head height, the other making the
strike, just below chest height. The trader hardly seemed to move, but
Tigrus's hands passed through nothing but air as he stumbled forward.
The commander, as Octavian was starting to think of him, had somehow
bent around the blows, evading them by fractions and allowing the
massive warrior to pass by. He stood, waiting for the next attack. He
did not have to wait long.
This time Tigrus grappled with the commander, trusting the power
of his armour, augmenting his own impressive strength. The two stayed
immobile for a moment, hands locked around each other's arms, then the
sergeant pulled back and twisted his body, his intent obviously being to
throw the commander to the ground. The smaller warrior waited until it
seemed he would be thrown off his feet, then leapt, passing over
Tigrus's head and landing behind him. Without pause, he leapt again,
this time using his own body weight as leverage, throwing the terminator
backwards and landing with barely a sound in front of him. Tigrus
nearly lost his balance, but regained it, and charged again.
This time there was no delay, no testing of each other's
abilities. Tigrus threw himself forward, kicking out viciously as he
reached his target. His armoured boot missed its mark by a fraction,
but he followed it with a fist, which slammed into the commander's
stomach. His second blow was aimed at the head, and Octavian fully
expected it to end the combat. Instead, it was stopped an inch from the
face of the impassive silver mask. The commander had taken the blow to
the body without apparent effect, and now held the Terminator's fist in
his hand, resisting the power of the warrior and the ancient armour.
Tigrus paused for a split second, then the commander's arm swung in a
low arc, connecting with the ornate chest-plate of the Terminator's
armour. The marine was hurled away from his opponent, landing on his
back with a crash that seemed to shake the floor. Octavian noticed the
stone beneath the sergeant had cracked.
The commander was before his fallen opponent. He held out a
hand to Tigrus. The marine looked at it for a moment, then grasped it
and was pulled to his feet. He stepped back and saluted smartly. The
commander nodded and turned to Octavian, who had approached once it was
evident the combat was ended.
"The first company lacks a captain, does it not?" he asked.
Octavian nodded.
"Captain Lucien and his lieutenant both died in the final
assault on the Primus hive."
"I see. Sergeant Tigrus fights well, and his record is
exemplary. He will make a fine captain." Octavian nodded again. The
commander stood before Tigrus, who met his stare, but without his
earlier defiance.
"You are a fine warrior, Tigrus," he said. "Lead your company
with the spirit you showed today."
"Yes commander," replied Tigrus smartly.
"Many people in your position might have taken Captain Tigrus's
actions to be insubordinate in the highest degree," said Octavian later,
following the commander along one of the twisting corridors half a mile
beneath the surface, where most of the fortress was located. The
commander nodded.
"I've studied the records of all of the ranking marines in the
chapter," he answered. "Tigrus is a warrior, first and foremost. He
has considerable strategic skill, but in a crunch he will trust his
strength above statistics. Exactly the kind of man who should lead the
Terminators. I'd expected him to challenge my leadership."
"But not me?" Octavian asked, somewhat surprised that he voiced
the thought. He had noticed that his new commander made no effort to
prevent debate, and had decided to test him in this regard.
"No, not you. You are a tactician, then a warrior. Tigrus is
the other way around. You will observe me, over the next few weeks.
Decide if I am able to fulfil my duties as commander. Your challenge to
me is the running of this chapter. If I fail, then you will let me know
about it in no uncertain terms." Octavian couldn't dispute any of this.
After a moment they arrived at the ornate door to the commander's
quarters, located near the command centre of the fortress. Octavian
stood by the doorway as it opened, and the commander looked inside.
"Brother-commander," he said after a pause, "if I may ask, the
orders concerning your command, and the authorisations from Terra, do
not carry your name." The commander turned his head, and Octavian
thought he saw a glimmer of amusement from behind the glassy eyepieces
of the silver mask.
"Yes. I have my reasons for that. Brother-commander will do
fine." Octavian nodded and saluted. The commander returned the salute
and disappeared through the doorway. The lieutenant commander stood for
a moment, waiting for the door to close, then turned and walked back
towards the command centre, shaking his head. He had wondered what the
effect would be on the chapter of being assigned an outsider as
commander. It seemed it would be interesting.
Luther Aranthiel, Farseer Admiral of Zaran, waited. The
watchers of the webway portal had received the signal two hours ago, and
had summoned him immediately. The first thing that had caught his
attention was the power that was being drained into the portal. He
guessed that the gateway it was generating was spanning almost a quarter
of the galaxy now. The other thing had been the single rune that had
accompanied the initiation signal. It was one not used often, and never
used without need. Luther looked again at the screen by his side, which
showed a tiny image of a bird, rising out of a fire. He shifted his
gaze back to the portal, which was almost glowing now. One of the
Phoenix Lords would soon be here.
He had been standing, motionless, for so long that he was caught
momentarily off-guard when the giant portal shuddered into life. He
glanced at the monitoring stations, where the watchers maintained their
vigil over the ancient technology. He saw the holographic displays,
showing the gateway latching onto its opposite at the other end of the
webway, intertwining with it and forming a stable bridge between two
points thousands of light-years apart. He again looked forward as the
portal spun, locking its thousands of tiny elements into place, then
opened like an iris. Light spilled out of the circle, and in the light,
shadows moved.
Two figures stepped lightly out of the portal, moving quickly to
take up guard positions by either side of it. They were followed in
quick succession by another pair, and another, each one taking up its
position in the webway chamber. Their armour was finely crafted, inlaid
with patterns of wraithbone that shone in the reflected light from the
portal. The fluid black liquid-metal of the aspect armour was covered
by ghostly-white armour plates, which seemed to float on its surface.
Jewels glimmered from their belts, and red capes flowed from a single
clasp on one shoulder, in which was set a brilliant red gemstone. Their
hands held ornate pistols, lighter and more lethal-looking than the
weapons used by the craftworld's warriors. From their belts hung slim
swords, seemingly fashioned from silver but for the spiderweb-thin
network of conductor crystals that covered each blade, and would project
the disruptor field if the power weapons were used. From each blood red
helmet flowed a black mane, each one contrasted with a white braid on
each side. The eyes of their masks glowed green. The Exarchs moved
with a steady grace, supremely sure of themselves, elegant but
nonetheless deadly in the extreme. Seeing them, Luther had little doubt
who was about to emerge from the portal.
A final figure stepped out of the light, and the portal shut
off. Luther blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sudden return of normal
light, and then he saw his visitor. Her armour glowed, the black metal
catching the light and returning it in shades of blue and purple, the
red plates along her legs and left arm shining, the reflected light
flowing across the subtle patterns carved on them. She walked directly
to Luther and stood before him. He realised it was up to him to welcome
her formally.
"Phoenix Lady, we are honoured by your presence," he began. He
knew the traditional welcome, and was about to continue when a slight
nod from the Phoenix stopped him. She raised her hands, and reached
behind her head, through the white mane that cascaded over her
shoulders. Luther heard a click, and then the helmet was lifted away,
its curved spires folding in on themselves, the mane disappearing into
its back. One hand hung the remaining mask on her belt, then Jain Zar
smiled at the dumbstruck Farseer and spoke.
"Your welcome is appreciated, Farseer," she said in a voice that
was low, carrying with it a complex mix of undertones that seemed to
suggest many voices speaking at exactly the same time, and also a husky
little harmonic that hit the ear with the same power her appearance
projected. She was beautiful. Her dark hair flowed around a face that
was at the same time imposing and full of expression. Her eyes shone a
clear crystal blue, a reminder in the vision of bronzed beauty that she
was one of the deadliest beings in the galaxy, for they seemed to look
straight into Luther's soul via his eyes. He found himself momentarily
without words. The Phoenix's lips quirked into a lopsided smile.
"Forgive me if I ignore tradition for a moment, but I don't have
much time. I have a message for you, Luther. You must know that you
are approaching a choice, one which could affect our entire race. We
have always seen the future laid out before us, our path to armaggeddon
has been clear. This does not have to be our fate. An unexpected
branch has appeared in the workings of the future. Watch carefully.
Grasp that branch, and hold it with all your strength. Avoid the fall
beyond it." She paused, and turned to one of the Exarchs, who responded
to her barely perceptible hand motion and approached. Jain Zar turned
back to Luther.
"You will need help. This is Solari. She is the most
accomplished of my chosen ones. I will return when I am able to do so.
Until then, she will help you." The Exarch bowed to Luther and then
held out a hand, palm down. Luther immediately unsheathed the slim
witchblade at his waist and held it to her, the blade horizontal between
them. Her hand rested on the blade.
"On your honour," he said, and she nodded and withdrew her hand.
The formality complete, she stepped away from the Phoenix and stood by
Luther's side, facing her. Jain Zar glanced at her, then looked back at
Luther.
"I wish you success, Farseer. For all our sakes," she said
quickly, then turned, her mask folding out in her hand, forming the
helmet by the time she had raised it to cover her head. The portal
flashed open an instant before she stepped through it, and she
disappeared, followed by the bodyguard of Exarchs. Luther watched the
portal close, then turned to the one remaining by his side.
"I thought Exarchs couldn't remove their armour," he said. In
response, Solari nodded, and motioned for them to leave the webway
chamber. She followed behind him.
"Aspect warriors dive into the path of the warrior," she said,
as they passed through the labyrinthine passages of the craftworld. "It
is possible to lose oneself in the path, and then the armour is as much
the warrior as the body. All aspect warriors fear losing themselves,
but it is a risk they take for the good of their people. Exarchs are
powerful warriors, totally devoted to the protection of their homes.
But the most powerful are those who could lay down their weapons, but
recognise that they must fight to protect what they believe in. This
can happen. Sometimes, when a warrior is lost, it is not forever. Some
of us find ourselves again."
"Us?" said Luther, turning back to face Solari. Her helmet
under one arm, she looked back at him with a crooked smile.
"It can happen," she said. "Sometimes."
Five seconds, Octavian decided, until he sent a message over the
fortress comm-net summoning the commander. He began to count. After
three seconds, he heard the door behind him open, and turned to see the
commander enter. He knew that the commander's quarters had information
links to every system in the fortress, and guessed that they were not
going unused. The commander seemed to know whenever he would be needed
anywhere, and turned up just as someone was about to summon him. It
showed a commendable dedication to duty, in Octavian's mind, to keep
such a watchful eye on chapter operations when it would be months, at
least, until they were again placed on active duty.
The commander persisted with the silver helmet, but had
otherwise taken to wearing the artificer armour that was traditionally
the uniform of the chapter master. It had taken several days during
which the commander spent most of his time in consultation with the
chapter's finest engineers to complete the suit. It was a combination
of red and black, the black with a slight hint of blue, the red shining
as if it were alive. Golden patterns crossed the flat surfaces of the
suit, swirling around, complimenting the natural shapes of the armour.
One shoulder bore the Fury icon of the chapter, the other a complex
pattern of armour and decoration. Octavian had guessed that the armour
was built so as to protect mainly from the right, although when the
commander trained, both with ranged weapons and at close quarters, he
seemed to have no dominant side. He crossed the command and control
chamber and stood beside Octavian.
"You have something unusual on the long-range probe satellites?"
he said. Octavian nodded.
"This entered range of our surveillance systems several minutes
ago. We just received clear images of it now." He pushed a button and
a screen flickered from a starmap display to show a starship. It was
large, according to the scale information that was being displayed
alongside it, almost the size of a capital ship, but it was not bulky.
Two slim engine nacelles extended from its sides, glowing a faint green.
Octavian recognised a standard fusion drive on the rear of the ship, in
front of a downward-projecting communications tower. The front of the
ship was streamlined, similar to the cruisers of the Imperial Navy, but
where they had been designed to absorb or deflect damage with their
long, curving bows, this ship looked as if it had been built for speed.
The commander nodded thoughtfully and tapped a button on the
communications console, connecting the system to the audio equipment in
his suit.
"This is Semnai, Adeptus Astartes homeworld. Identify
yourself." The response was almost immediate, an indication to
Octavian, who rarely missed that sort of information, that the ship was
carrying sophisticated transmission equipment.
"Semnai, this is the free trader vessel Thunderchild. Our
captain requests permission to enter orbit and teleport down."
"Permission granted, Thunderchild," replied the commander.
"Good to see you again." He closed the link. Octavian turned to him.
"You know this ship, Brother-commander?"
"I've seen her once or twice. I know her captain. There's no
security risk. They'll be teleporting down soon, we should meet them."
Octavian followed his commander out of the C&C chamber towards the
teleport chambers.
They entered one of the chambers that was kept on standby, and
the commander touched a control, lighting up the teleporter's interface
console. Octavian set the console to automatic, and turned to see the
usual columns of light. When they dimmed, a single figure stood on the
teleport dais. Octavian blinked in surprise.
The woman standing on the teleport dais was clearly the ship's
captain, just from the air of authority she broadcast without any
apparent effort. She wore a black jumpsuit that would have looked like
leather were it not for the small silver connectors at her waist, which
Octavian recognised as standard links for a pressure suit. She was not
armed, but an empty pistol holster rested against her hip. The
commander approached her.
"It's been a while," he said. The woman nodded, and extended
her hand, which the commander took.
"Aren't you going to introduce me?" she said, stepping off the
dais.
"Of course. Lieutenant Commander Octavian, my second in
command."
"Hello," she said, shaking Octavian's hand. "I've heard of
you," she continued, "you led the Daran expeditionary force, yes?"
"Yes, I did," he answered smartly.
"That was an impressive piece of work, especially against the
Black Legion. They aren't often forced to give ground."
"Thank you, Captain..."
"Captain Warfield," said the commander.
"Callee," added the woman with a smile.
"I've arranged for the crew of the Thunderchild to assist us
over the next month," continued the commander. "We have a lot of work
ahead of us, especially on the fleet, and Callee has some of the best
engineers outside Mars. I've prepared a schedule for diagnostics and
preliminary structural work on the cruisers, and we'll start working on
the combat equipment once everything's settled."
"Yes Commander," said Octavian.
"Return to C&C, I'll send Captain Warfield along to help
coordinate personnel and equipment landing when we're done." Octavian
saluted and left the teleport chamber. The commander and Callee
followed him, but turned into another corridor, heading for the
commander's quarters.
"I like the armour," said Callee.
"I used that matrix element we developed. It works surprisingly
well."
"A new mask?"
"Yes, the old armour took a beating on Cordan last year. I
rebuilt it once I got off the planet. Not so much plating, I don't need
it with the power armour."
"You're using a voice synthesiser."
"Not much choice, really. I had it built in just before I went
to Terra. It's a variant on the type I used in the chameleon field. I
had to use that on Terra, but I don't think it would have held up for
this long. Hence the mask. It gets tedious after a while, but there's
really no other option. Here," he added, as they drew level with the
door to the commander's quarters. The door opened and Callee stepped
inside, followed by the commander. The door sealed behind them.
"Engage Alpha security," said the commander. A soft beep and a
red light on the door indicated that the rooms were secure. The
commander tapped a button on the power armour's wrist, and the silver
mask retracted smoothly. Callee smiled at the familiar face.
The commander of the Furies chapter let her hair down and put it
into a loose ponytail, allowing her power armour to disengage itself.
When the suit had connected to its support systems in the room's back
wall and the chest plates slid open, she pulled her arms out of it and
lifted herself free of the suit's legs, dropping lightly to the floor.
She unclipped the silver band around the neck of the grey outfit she
wore under the power armour and handed it to Callee, then stretched her
arms.
"Power armour's all very well for the battlefield, sister," she
said, "but day-to-day, it badly needs redesigning."
The Council Chamber of the High Lords was darkened. The thin
beams of moonlight from the high stained-glass windows did little to
shift the shadows that blanketed the room. A robed figure stood in the
centre of the room, waiting. Another figure was briefly outlined in the
light from an opening door, then he stepped through and the door closed
behind him. The two walked towards each other and nodded in
acknowledgment of each other's presence.
"This is most irregular," said Talvarus.
"This is necessary," said his opposite number from the Adeptus
Astra Telepathica. Covarrus was known to many in the ranks of the
Adeptus Terra as a schemer, a dealer in information and favours, and he
had risen to his current position purely because he was a very good one.
It was said that he knew the minds of his opponents inside out, without
having to resort to telepathy. Talvarus had a feeling that he would
regret agreeing to meet the Lord Astra here.
"Why contact me like this," he began, "and not through the
Council?"
"What I say in the Council is known to all there. That would
not be acceptable, in this case. What I have to say is for you alone.
I am concerned about the Furies crusade project." Talvarus kept his
face carefully expressionless. Inside, he was wondering how much
Covarrus knew. It wasn't a question of whether he knew, just of how
much.
"I have received reports that the retraining of the marines is
not proceeding along the lines detailed in the submission made by Lord
Augustus," Covarrus said quietly. "My psykers are not with the chapter
at the moment, and they will not return until it is on active duty
again. The Council may require additional information before that
occurs."
"You suspect heresy?"
"I have my doubts as to the loyalty of the chapter's new
commander. Lord Augustus seems eager to convince himself that the man
is unquestioningly faithful. His record is certainly impressive, but
such things can be misleading. We are relying on Lord Augustus's word,
and I do not believe that this is wise. Contact this office," Covarrus
said, holding out a dataclip to Talvarus, "and give them these orders."
Talvarus hesitated, then took the clip.
"Who are they?" he asked.
"An Inquisitor. Naturally the Astra Telepathica can have no
contact with the Inquisition, but their services seem to be necessary at
this point. I believe you should have no trouble in enlisting the aid
of this particular Inquisitor. I have reviewed his record, and found it
perfect for this task."
"Are you sure that..." Talvarus began. Covarrus interrupted
him.
"This Inquisitor," he said, in a voice that seemed suddenly to
carry a touch of menace, "will investigate Lord Augustus's chapter
master, and return with a full and detailed report. Another Inquisitor
might feel inclined to investigate the exact nature of the chapter
master's dealings with others in the Adeptus Terra." At that point
Talvarus was certain that the psyker knew of his involvement. He nodded
and turned to leave. Behind him, he heard Covarrus turn to watch his
back.
Octavian was halfway through programming an engineering
diagnostic cycle when the commander passed through C&C.
"I'll be on Thunderchild," she said, her face and voice again
concealed by the mask. "I need to have a close look at the power relays
for the new drive systems before we can start installation on the
cruisers. Which teleporter is active?"
"Chamber three, Brother-commander," replied Octavian. The
commander left, headed for the teleport chambers. Octavian turned back
to his console, shifted a few pieces of structural programming, and then
unplugged the data module and handed it to Callee, whose head and
shoulders had emerged from the depths of the C&C chamber's logic engine
at the sound of the commander's voice.
"One more module," she said, handing it to him and disappearing
into the computing core again. "You were saying?"
"Hm? Oh, yes, the artillery. I don't care what the Imperial
Guard's generals say, it just doesn't work sometimes."
"They seem to think that you can do anything with enough tanks.
I've met a few."
"You can't. A tank can blow up buildings and roll over trenches
and kill people, which is fine if that's all you want to do. What if
you want to get something intact? A demolisher shell can't tell the
difference between an enemy soldier and a prisoner. A marine can, and
until they invent a bomb that can tell the difference and only blow up
the enemy, you cannot replace soldiers with machines."
"You could use robots."
"I know it's not exactly loyal to say so, but the robotic
control units that come out of Mars are not even close to the quality
they should be. The things get their targets mixed up, their weapons
jam and they don't realise it, they get confused by things that just
haven't occurred to the adepts testing them. Do you know I once saw an
entire squadron of Prometheus assault robots shut down completely
because of the sun? They were tested on Mars, and they'd never operated
under anything but an industrial dustcloud. Something in their logic
circuits couldn't handle the way the light was coming from a single
point, or something." Octavian shrugged to himself as he moved pieces
of code around on the screen connected to the malfunctioning data
module.
"The problem," he continued, "is that the bureaucrats who
organise armies like the Imperial Guard don't understand the point of
warfare. They think that if you want to win a war you just kill all of
the enemy. Don't try to tell me that's right. If that was true, we'd
have to wipe out every last Ork, Eldar and Tyranid before we could stop.
Granted the bugs aren't exactly friendly, and the Orks are a problem,
but the Eldar aren't necessarily warlike. We've just been having
on-and-off skirmishes with them for so long that the Adeptus has piled
up so many reasons to attack them that they don't think not to. The
Eldar aren't the only ones, there are thousands of other races like
them. They order Exterminatus on whole civilisations because of it.
One day they'll order me to do it." Octavian lapsed into an uneasy
silence. Callee appeared by his side.
"What would you do?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I've always been loyal to the
Emperor. He was a great man, and he wanted a great future for the human
race. I'm just not sure if this is it. I wonder if we went wrong
somewhere, without his guidance, and now we're just getting further and
further away from what he wanted. If the order came, in his name... I
pray every day it doesn't."
"Alisha, chief engineer," said the young woman, holding out her
hand. The commander clasped her hand, looking around the small teleport
bay of the ship.
"Callee told me the basics," she continued, leading the
commander through several corridors before they emerged into the vast
engineering deck complex. "I'll just call you 'commander', okay? Now,
you need to see the power relays. We've been installing faster units
through the fusion drive, so we'll start with them."
Three hours later, in a conduit junction somewhere between the
engineering decks and the fusion reactor, Alisha replaced the housing on
the last power relay control node and sat back contentedly. The space
was not quite large enough to stand in, being packed with cables and
control clusters. To the commander's eye, the interior workings of the
ship looked decidedly non-standard, but they had a certain elegance, as
far as the term could be applied to the several miles of power transfer
grids that wound their way through the ship.
"Do you mind if I ask you something?" said Alisha.
"Go ahead."
"Why the mask? The armour I can understand, but I'm curious
about the mask." The commander had re-engaged the full-body armour
before leaving her power suit to go crawling through the service ducts.
"It's a long story. You've dealt with the Imperium?"
"Yes, a few times. When we can't avoid it."
"They don't like unfamiliarity. Anyone unlike themselves is
considered untrustworthy at best. I had to work very hard to get the
authorisation to command here. If the Adeptus Terra knew more about me,
they would complicate what I'm trying to do. As long as they don't know
who I am, they have to take me on the strength of my actions. It puts
me on level ground with them." She paused, then continued in a lighter
tone, "I'm not saying I'm a daemon, or an Ork in disguise, or
something." Alisha laughed.
"You'd be the most intelligent Ork I've ever met. Not that I've
met many, just enough to know that they're not good company. I know
what you mean, about the Adeptus. Whenever we have to deal with them, I
get the run-around for one reason or another. Not Imperial merchants,
not listed with the guild, not using Imperial equipment, not a man. If
I was just non-human, I'd have the full set. It's not really what I'm
used to. I grew up on the Selene colony, it was always a case of do it
yourself or it doesn't get done. Unofficially, of course. There was an
Imperial outpost there, but they didn't pay much attention to us
colonists. Just so long as we didn't take up daemon worship, they were
happy. All us young girls were supposed to be educated by the
Ecclesiarchy. There were only a few of us that were suitable for them,
though, and the rest just got the basic religion and then dumped back
home. They told us all about the Emperor, and how he was this wonderful
god and everything, and how he watched us all, all the time. I asked my
father if he had some sort of surveillance system set up," she said with
a smile. The commander laughed. "Hey, I was seven. My father had been
an officer on the colony ship. He knew how the Imperium worked, and I
sort of picked it up from him. I figured out early on not to ask the
Sisters any questions when they said something that sounded unlikely, so
we got on well, from their point of view. I didn't show any promise,
though, so they never moved me off-world. Just as well, I suppose."
"How did you become an engineer?"
"Pure chance. Our food processor broke down when I was eleven
and I had a fiddle around inside it while we were waiting for someone
from the outpost to come and pray at it. Loose wire or something, but
it got me interested. Father got me a few bits a pieces to play with,
unofficially. I don't remember what was supposed to happen if a female
touched a machine, but it probably wasn't good. The outpost would've
gone nuts if they'd found out, but they didn't care what we did. They
were probably glad not to be getting so many calls for their adepts to
come and fix broken processors and sterilisers and things. My father
guessed I had a natural talent for the machines. He did a few deals,
and got hold of some documents from the Mechanicus, through the outpost.
Simple blueprints, mainly, basic thruster drives and relay grids, that
sort of thing, but it was a step up. I taught myself to read Gothic
Tech."
"Really?"
"It's not as hard as people think. It's not really a language,
and it doesn't work if you think of it like that. It's half words, and
half engineering specifications. Anyway, it got me ready to have a go
at the real thing. That was Callee's transport corvette. She knew
someone who'd served with my father on the colony ship, and he got me on
board to take a look at a real ion drive. This was when I was about
fifteen. You couldn't have gotten me off that ship with a laser cutter.
I'd started fiddling with it almost before we took off. After a year,
it was the fastest ship in the sector."
"What happened to it?"
"It's down in the docking bay. Just between you and me," Alisha
leaned closer, "we've broken the light barrier in that corvette."
"Seriously?"
"Yep. Has she told you about your new drive systems, for the
cruiser fleet?"
"Yes, but..."
"That's them. I got the idea from an Eldar field coil on one of
the craftworlds we visited. You just invert the field, boost the
structural grid, and introduce some field harmonics which it took me
about ten months to work out, and you've got effective zero mass. No
relativity, no light barrier. You wanna see it?"
"I can't wait," said the commander. She followed Alisha, who
had already ducked into one of the service conduits leading away from
the junction.
Callee walked into the communications chamber set to one side of
C&C to find the back of the Council of Lords. She stepped sideways,
looking around the hologram floating in the middle of the room, and saw
Octavian addressing the High Lords.
"We are on schedule," he was saying. "The chapter will be
operational on time."
"And what of your new commander," said one of the robed figures.
Callee couldn't tell which had spoken from her position behind the
image.
"The commander has my full trust. He is as capable as any I
have served with."
"I see," said one of the Lords. Callee saw the one in
Administratum robes move, and assumed that he was talking. "You have no
reason to doubt his loyalty? We have received reports of unorthodox
activity within the chapter."
"This chapter is loyal to the Emperor. We are modifying our
adherence to the Codex Astartes only in order to present a more
effective fighting force when the times comes for us to engage the
enemy. That is all."
"Very well. Remember your oaths of loyalty, and serve the
Emperor," said one of the Lords, a split second before the hologram
disappeared. Octavian shut down the projector array.
"Our lords and masters are unhappy about something?" asked
Callee. Octavian nodded.
"They know that your ship is here. I told them we were using
several trader ships to bring new equipment. They won't bother trying
to unravel the sector traffic reports to find out whether you were one
of them. I'm not convinced that was all, though. I think they're
getting information from somewhere else. I'd thought that the Council
was unanimous in its support for our crusade, but I may have been
mistaken. It's all politics at that level. I shouldn't say this, but I
don't trust them."
"What's this," said Callee lightly, "one of the mighty marines
doubting his lords? What happened to the religious devotion I keep
hearing about?"
"Some chapters, yes. Terra thinks we're all just warriors, to
be sent to do their bidding without question. It's true, we are bound
to follow the Emperor, that's in our blood, but we're not robots. I've
never met a marine in this chapter who fights because he is told to. We
fight because it is for the good of our people. There are some who
follow orders blindly, either because of the Codex or because it's just
their way. A lot of chapters never leave their homeworld unless they're
ordered to go and fight somewhere, and then they go, they fight, and
they come back. They don't care why they go, they don't even care who
they fight. It worries me."
"You sound like your commander's been giving you a crash course
in galactic politics."
"No, we've always been like this. It's probably something in
the gene-code. We're not primary successors, you know, there are
several incarnations between us and the Ultramarines. I've heard the
Mechanicus biopriesthood say that every marine is genetically identical.
It doesn't happen," he finished pulling himself to his feet and looking
across the projector array at Callee.
"How many diagnostic cycles do we still need to do today?"
"About fifty, but they can wait. You," she added, taking his
hand and leading him out of the communications chamber, "could do with a
break. I know I can do with never seeing an analysis coordinator module
again. There must be more to this planet than the C&C complex. Why
don't you show me?"
Julius watched through an infra-red visor as a bulky shape
silently approached its target from behind. An arm raised, preparing a
long, thin blade to strike. The assassin whirled around, her phase
blade cutting through the training drone's chest. Its arm dropped, but
hit nothing as she rolled out of the way, slashing back at it as the
drone's blade struck the ground. Its mechanical hand dropped amid a
shower of sparks that briefly lit up the training zone. A final cut
severed the power cords along the drone's neck. Julius raised the visor
as overhead lights came on, illuminating the zone. Tech-adepts began to
move through the simulated terrain, noting the damage to the dozen or so
drones that had been disabled in total darkness. Julius approached the
assassin as she deactivated her phase sword and moved to retrieve her
other equipment from the storage chamber it had been left in before the
exercise.
"What can I do for you this time?" she said, without turning
around.
"I have need of your services."
"What's this? I thought you disapproved of my methods."
"I do. But the particular assignment I have for you requires
strict adherence to the orders you will be given. Your lack of
initiative..."
"Lack of bloodlust," she interrupted.
"Call it what you will," Julius continued with barely a pause,
"is an asset in this situation."
"I assume you have enlisted the service of my temple? The
orders have been recognised?"
"Of course."
"Then why bother telling me? I will prepare when I receive the
orders. You will receive a report when I have completed my mission.
Good day, Inquisitor." The assassin disappeared through a doorway.
Julius wondered briefly if she could be charged with heresy, or
sedition. Unfortunately, he knew full well that her status as an
assassin, indeed one of the finest of her temple, protected her from the
possible consequences of her behaviour. He left the training zone,
followed by the echoing chant of one of the tech-adepts who had found a
drone too badly damaged to be repaired.
The first sign that they were under attack was an explosion from
one of the garden domes. Air rushed out of the gaping hole in the
transparent shield, taking several of the dome's caretakers with it
before containment fields snapped into place. After that, the battle
had begun.
Guardians rushed to their defence stations as the bridge tower
of Ulthwé reported in excess of twenty incoming cruiser-type starships.
A hundred turrets, each carrying banks of shuriken cannon and plasma
pulsars, swivelled to meet the threat. The lead ships appeared out of
the sensor blind-spot caused by the nearby star, and the gunners saw,
through their long-range target enhancers, the marking of chaos on their
hulls. There was a moment when both sides watched, waiting for the
other to make a move, then the chaos warships entered range of the
defence turrets and space lit with the fire of hundreds of weapons.
Showers of missiles leapt from the sleek torpedo rams, leading the chaos
fleet, to be met by the dense hail of fire from the shuriken batteries,
the molecule-thin discs cutting through the warheads, sending them
spinning off course or detonating them harmlessly in space. Several
missiles made it through, and the craftworld's energy shields flickered
over its surface, aligning themselves to absorb the blast of the
impacting warheads. The pulsars sent brilliant bolts of light tearing
into the bows of the chaos ships, melting armour in seconds, but the
charge did not falter. When it seemed that the warships would collide
with the massive city-ship, they banked sharply around, skimming across
the surface of the craftworld, energy lances tearing at its shields.
For a few frantic moments the battle swung back and forth, then
a squadron of Eldar cruisers appeared behind the chaos fleet and
attacked. Caught between the incoming warships and the unrelenting fire
from the craftworld, the chaos ships scattered, trying desperately to
escape the deadly crossfire.
One of the chaos warships, a light cruiser, looked like it was
going to break free, but an Eldar cruiser leapt forward, blocking its
path and unloading the full charge of its prow pulsars. Behind it, the
chaos fleet's command cruiser was veering off course, its internal
atmosphere burning off from a dozen hull breaches.
"I don't see what this has to do with us," said the Grand
Admiral of the Imperial Navy. Some of the other High Lords murmured
their agreement.
"This city-ship," said Covarrus calmly, as the holographic
battle played itself out, "is three weeks from entering the core systems
of its sector. I need not remind you that we have an obligation to
resist all contact with aliens? I believe that this battle could be
used to our advantage."
"You're not suggesting that we attack them," snorted the Grand
Admiral. "This is not some little pirate fleet, it's a craftworld! I
don't care how soon after a chaos attack we move, we don't have the
resources to drive them off."
"We don't have to do anything, Grand Admiral," replied Covarrus,
"except allow events to take their course. You are thinking of ways to
defeat the situation as it stands, when we should be looking to alter
the situation." He pressed a button, freezing the image of the battle.
There was a brief blur, as scan lines ran across the image, then the
chaos warships were replaced by similar-shaped merchant cruisers and
freighters. The battle resumed, the Eldar cruisers tearing apart the
merchant vessels.
"You see, our problem is that, no matter what we do here, people
out in the systems insist on attempting to deal with these aliens. The
lure of their technology. But, after seeing an Eldar fleet attacking,
without provocation, a peaceful merchant fleet," Covarrus waved a hand
at the hologram, where two Eldar cruisers were firing pulsars into a
freighter that had been, a moment ago, a chaos heavy cruiser, "I very
much doubt whether a merchant captain will risk his life and his ship on
the chance that he will be able to acquire some interesting
technological toys." Covarrus sat back in his seat and ignored the dark
glare thrown at him by the Admiral.
"Will it work?" asked Crassus, the Inquisitorial Envoy.
"Tell me, Lord Inquisitor," said Covarrus, "what is the truth?
You know we regularly accuse these Eldar of demon worship, whenever it
suits us to stir up some fear and resentment. Is that true? They're as
hostile to chaos as we are, and we both know it. But a governor, out on
some colony world, thinks that this is the truth. And the governor's
officers believe what he tells them, and they tell their subordinates,
and so on. By the time information reaches the common menials and
scribes, does it even matter how accurate it was to begin with. It is
the truth. At a stroke, we alter the galaxy. And," he added, casting a
glance at the Admiral, "we don't even have to send any ships."
The commander stood on a high walkway, looking out over the last
space. Below was one of the chapter's massive command cruisers, its
running lights dark, its engine section in pieces. Small tugboats
pulled massive pieces of machinery around in the weightless spacedock,
carefully manoeuvring around each other in a complex dance. The arrival
of the dock's elevator distracted the commander from watching one of the
sleek hyperlight nacelles slowly being spun into position by the side of
the cruiser.
"Brother-commander. This just came in over the stellar
broadcast system," he said, holding up a data module. Its small screen
showed the Eldar cruisers and merchant ships, along with various status
icons in one corner and a commentary in Imperial basic. The commander
watched the screen for a moment, then touched a control on the console
mounted on the railing in front of her. Callee appeared on the screen.
"I saw it," she said, without waiting for an explanation.
"Ulthwé attacking merchants? I can't recall this ever happening
before."
"I've been running an analysis on the video sections," said the
captain, turning away from the screen for a second. "The heavy ore
freighter that gets attacked at about two minutes twenty is the Light of
Mercury, a Beta-pattern neutronic carrier. It was destroyed thirty
years ago by an Ork warband. So far three more of the merchant ships
have been tracked down, all confirmed destroyed."
"Meaning they can't have been attacked now."
"No. Someone has used their images to replace something else."
"I've got to get back to the surface."
"Why?" asked Captain Valerta, master of the ninth company. The
commander turned away from the holographic array and faced the assembled
company leaders.
"The Eldar are an alien race that the Adeptus Terra wants no
dealings with. Evidence of an attack on human shipping will stop the
merchant captains from trying to make contact while their craftworld is
within the core systems."
"But the freighters can't have been there. What were they
attacking?" The commander crossed in front of the conference table to a
data terminal and retrieved a dataclip, plugging it into the hologram
projector.
"These are long-range scans made by a trader corvette of the
battle." The screen lit up again, showing another view of the Eldar
cruisers, their outlines slightly blurred by the distance. As they
swung around, their targets came into focus, and the marking of chaos
were clearly visible.
"Renegade warships," said Tigrus flatly.
"Watch," said the commander. She pressed a button, and the
images blurred backwards. They stopped just as the craftworld's garden
dome reassembled itself at high speed. The images again moved forward
at their normal pace, and the captains watched as the dome shattered and
the warships swooped in towards the Eldar.
"The chaos warships attacked the Eldar, destroyed this dome and
several towers on the craftworld, and were eventually driven back by a
cruiser group returning from a patrol. The original images of the
battle were probably recorded by the Navy cruiser Lunar Sword, which was
assigned to patrol the sector. The images of the merchant ships were
then used to replace the renegade cruisers, and the battle was
rebroadcast to prevent humans from contacting the craftworld."
"Who did this?" growled Captain Norton, the imposing master of
the fourth company. The commander paused for a second.
"The broadcast was made from Terra. The only people with the
power to authorise such a broadcast without waiting weeks for security
clearance are the High Lords."
"The High Lords," mused Tigrus. "The Eldar have destroyed
nearly two-dozen renegade warships, sacrificed their own lives to end
those of the traitors. This deserves respect. To turn it against
them," he shook his head slowly, "cannot be the will of the Emperor."
"But what can we do? This is the Adeptus Terra," said Valerta.
"We all know what the Emperor wanted the Imperium to be," said
the commander after a pause. "And we know this is not it. The Emperor
has not spoken in almost ten thousand years. He has no voice that we
can hear, and follow, yet the Adeptus sends orders in his name. You
must decide, for yourselves, whether to follow the Adeptus, or to follow
your belief in the Emperor. It is belief, only. There will be no voice
from Terra to say you were right or wrong, no guide but what you
believe. But you must decide, now, what you believe in."
A week later Callee stood on the teleport dais, waiting for her
ship's teleporter to lock onto the fortress's beacon. Around her stood
several engineers, returning to their ship after helping with the refit
of the cruisers. Not by her side was Alisha, who stood instead with the
group watching them from the side of the control console. Callee
flashed her a smile.
"Sure you won't get lonely?" she asked lightly. Alisha grinned
and shook her head.
"Nah, I've made a few friends down here," she answered, glancing
at the commander briefly. "I'll manage. It's not every day you get to
work on Imperial systems, either."
"Don't tell the Mechanicus, they'll have a fit."
"I wouldn't worry about them," said the commander, "we're
keeping well clear of the forgeworlds until all this is over." The
technician operating the console nodded, indicating the link was ready.
"Well then, time I was on my way. Thank you for your
hospitality," she said, with a touch of drama. "Be seeing you," she
added to Octavian, blowing him a kiss. He was standing to formal
attention, but couldn't help a smile from passing briefly across his
face. The teleporter powered up, and the party disappeared in the
glowing lights of the teleport beams.
Light-years away, Julius watched as a tiny image of Thunderchild
pulled out of orbit and accelerated away from the planet. He nodded
thoughtfully, then turned his attention to the device in his hands. It
was surprisingly light, for its size. He held it in one hand, swinging
its single closed iris around, judging his aim with it. He pressed a
button and the iris opened, revealing a tiny dark star inside the short
barrel. Brief flashes of purple light arced from the pinpoint of black
to the inner surface of the tube, and the star itself turned and pulsed
in its containment fields. He smiled with satisfaction, and snapped the
iris closed.
"Install it in the prototype," he said to the adept who stood by
his side, "but I will keep this one. I have a use for it."
It was winter on the iceworld of Fenris. The harsh winds were
colder than usual, the driving blizzards tore at the forests with more
than their usual rage. Ragnar Blackmane stood outlined by the light
spilling through the single window, looking out from his tower over the
brute force of the elements. The massive walls of the Fang, his
chapter's ancestral fortress-monastery, held the snowdrifts at bay, but
the wind whipped across the defence walls, curling between the towers
and gun emplacements, sending a chill through the very stone the
imposing bastion was made from.
A sound distracted Blackmane, and he turned from the window to
the communication unit beside it. After a moment, a face appeared on
its dim screen.
"We have received word of an Eldar craftworld moving into the
gamma sectors," said the face. The room behind it was light, in
contrast to Blackmane's sombre surroundings. "This is unacceptable to
us. Merchant shipping can be diverted, but there are several
installations on its projected course whose operations cannot be
suspended. Furthermore, if the aliens turn hostile, several prominent
worlds could be affected. We are transmitting details of your orders
with this message, but the essence of your mission is to destroy a
significant portion of the craftworld's defensive fleet. We have
monitored a large section of the fleet conducting patrols, you should
have no trouble isolating it from the craftworld itself."
"The craftworld is not to be attacked?" asked Blackmane,
disapprovingly. The official shook his head.
"No, it is too risky."
"It is not too risky for us."
"I mean in light of the attention it would generate. We are
engaged in delicate dealings with several local governors regarding the
expansion of the gamma sectors into a key production zone. The Imperium
cannot be seen to condone attacks on civilians at this time. An
encounter between military forces can be explained away. Weaken their
fleet, and let the pirates finish them. Without their cruisers, the
craftworld will be open to raider attacks."
"How many cruisers?"
"We need you to destroy thirty of their defensive cruisers.
You'll be fighting ship-to-ship against the heavy cruisers, so you'll
need troops."
"My company is already engaged in operations around Cadia. We
only have three squads in reserve."
"Yes, the Ork wars, I know. How many troops do you have, and
how many ships can they take?"
"Twenty seven men. Three heavy cruisers in one engagement."
"That many?"
"They are Space Wolves. We are not like you, we are better."
"Very well. We need at least eight of the heavy cruisers
disabled or destroyed, preferably without resorting to bombardment.
Stand by to receive instructions for rendezvous with a detachment from
the Furies. They've been refitting their fleet and ground forces for
the past year, we think they're ready for operations."
"The Furies... the Tyranid crusade force?"
"Yes, the war room thinks they should get a test-run against the
Eldar before we commit to a campaign along the alien frontier. They'll
be notified to have forces ready to assist you by the time your ships
are in position. You will have command of the operation, of course."
"Of course," replied Blackmane. The link shut down and he
watched as detailed orders emerged from the data output of the unit.
The last set to be loaded into the unit's data storage module was the
surveillance data on the position and course of the main elements of the
defence fleet from the craftworld Zaran. Blackmane took the module and
headed for the Fang's shuttle dock.
The captains of the Furies had assembled by the time their
commander arrived in the briefing chamber. The warriors took their
seats as the holographic display flashed into life. It showed an
official from the war room, Terra's coordination facility for the
thousands of wars that the Imperium was involved in.
"As of now," he began without waiting, "your chapter is on
active duty. Your first assignment, before you are deployed along the
alien frontier, is to send a detachment of three transport vessels to
accompany the fleet of Ragnar Blackmane's company of Space Wolves in the
gamma sectors. Your transports will contain ten squads outfitted for
boarding and ship-to-ship combat. You will proceed, under Blackmane's
command, to attack the defensive cruiser groups attached to the Eldar
craftworld Zaran. When you have destroyed a significant percentage of
Zaran's defensive fleet, operations against them will cease, and you
will recall your ships are prepare for your campaign on the frontier.
That will be all."
The projector shut itself off. Octavian looked towards the
commander, who was still staring thoughtfully at the space left by the
hologram.
"I've fought alongside Blackmane," he said, "and he won't stop
at the cruisers. Once he has enough forces under his command, he'll go
after the craftworld itself. Terra knows it, or they'd never have
ordered us to send ten whole squads. That's too many for," he glanced
at the data readout set into the conference table, "eight ships, even if
Blackmane didn't bring any troops of his own."
"Why would they order us not attack, and then give Blackmane the
resources to go ahead with it?" asked Valerta.
"They want the craftworld destroyed. They know Blackmane will
do it, but they don't want to be held responsible. He's probably got
his orders by now, so they'll have told him to attack the cruisers only.
That gives them deniability. If there are objections to the
destruction of the craftworld, the Adeptus can claim they had no prior
knowledge of it."
"This has been happening for the past six months," said Tigrus.
"Ever since the Ulthwé broadcast, the Adeptus has been more and more
insistent that contact with the Eldar be avoided. They need to keep the
governors hostile to the Eldar, but they're afraid that the Eldar will
become hostile to them."
"But now we're involved," said the commander quietly.
"We can't be," said Tigrus simply.
"Agreed," said Norton. "This chapter has never been involved in
the slaughter of civilians. I won't stain my brothers' hands with
innocent blood now."
"We cannot avoid serving under Blackmane's command," said the
commander, "unless we disobey a direct order from the war room. A
chapter can be as distant as it wants, but this is straight from Terra.
If we do this now, there's no going back."
"We do it," said Tigrus. The other captains nodded their
agreement. All eyes were on Octavian.
"Agreed," he said finally. "For the Emperor." He turned to the
commander.
"Very well," she answered, "make preparations to mobilise the
chapter." With this, the captains stood and departed the briefing
chamber, headed for their companies. Octavian stayed a moment, and the
commander looked up at him.
"Are we ready?" he asked simply. The commander stood and
crossed the room to one of the large windows looking out over the
fortress.
"We must make ourselves ready," she answered. "How many ships
will Blackmane have?"
"He'll bring in everything he can spare. I'd say he'll leave
two battlebarges to support his company against the Orks near Cadia, and
everything else will be used to attack the Eldar. Twenty ships, maybe
ten of them cruisers. He could pull destroyers from one of the other
companies, but I think he'll want to do it alone. He won't be happy
that he's had to use our troops to begin with."
"Go to C&C, oversee the evacuation. Make sure everything goes
as planned. I'll meet you on the ship." Octavian nodded and left. The
commander stood at the window for a moment, then crossed back to the
conference table and pressed a button. After a pause, the holographic
projector lit up again, this time showing the interior of the bridge of
Thunderchild. It seemed empty for a second, then Callee entered the
frame of the image.
"You've heard of the attack on Zaran?" the commander asked.
Callee nodded.
"Blackmane's been moving his ships into position for two days
now. We had to divert around one of the destroyer groups. He's going
after the craftworld, for sure."
"We've been ordered to provide support for the attacks on the
cruisers. Ten squads."
"Damn. No way out?"
"No way out," answered the commander. "We have to mobilise,
now. The first strike is in three days."
"We'll be there. Take care."
"You too," said the commander as the image disappeared.
The commander stood on the darkened observation deck of the
heavy cruiser Artemis, staring out into space. In the distance, more
ships were moving around, the tiny shapes of transport shuttles flitting
between them and down to the planet below. Alisha entered from a
doorway to one side of the deck and joined the commander in the centre.
"So, it's time. We're going into battle. Not with the Eldar?"
"Not with the Eldar. It seems we can't avoid this any longer."
"And you're wondering if you're doing the right thing," she
continued. The commander turned to look at her.
"Hey," said Alisha, resting a hand on the shoulder of the power
armour, "it's me. That mask doesn't hide you. Just your face." She
leaned over as the commander looked again out into space.
"I'm wondering if I've done the right thing. It's too late to
stop it now. I suppose history will judge who was right. And who was
being a fool."
"Who cares about history?" replied Alisha. "You're not doing
this so that the historians will remember your name. Do what your heart
tells you. It'll keep you on the right track." She rested her head on
the commander's shoulder as they continued to stare out into the void.
After a moment the commander spoke again, in a soft voice.
"I can see the ground below,
The places that I know, disappearing.
I can see the winter fade..." The voice dropped away.
"I don't feel so afraid, it's clearing," finished Alisha. The
commander's head turned to look at her, the green eyes of the mask
seeming to ask a question. "You're not the only one who knows the
ancient classics," Alisha answered. "You leave behind everything that
you know, your whole life, because you don't see any other choice. That
doesn't mean the future won't hold some promise."
"Not my whole life," said the commander, still looking at
Alisha. She turned and looked down at the planet spinning peacefully
below them. "But I'll miss this place. We won't be able to come back
here."
"Then we'll go forward," said Alisha simply. "It's better that
way."
The commander entered the bridge with a definite sense of
purpose. Octavian stood aside as she sat in the centre chair,
swivelling around to face the communications stations.
"Are we ready?" she said. The officers at the comms consoles
nodded. "Good," said the commander, "begin the evacuation. Command and
support units launch immediately and rendezvous here. Lieutenant
Commander," she said to Octavian, who was standing by her side, "take
command of the Xenophon. Bring the HQ sections on board there. Send
orders to the companies to launch as soon as their transports are
cleared. First company to the Pallas Athena," she continued, as the
orders were relayed down to the planet, "second company to the
Agamemnon; third company to the Castalia; fourth company to the Eudora;
fifth company to the Sarpedon; sixth company to the Amazon; seventh
company to the Bellerophon; eighth company to the Ixion; ninth company
to the Clotho; tenth company to the Medea. Begin launches. Helm, bring
us around to take on transports from the surface, minimum time to
rendezvous. Clear Lieutenant Commander Octavian's shuttle to depart the
hangar and signal the Xenophon to be ready for him. Navigation, plot
courses for the fleet to the Space Wolves task force, warp engines only.
Have the support vessels stand by in neutral territory, and place the
fleet on yellow alert, silent running for all non-combat vessels.
Engine room," she said into the communicator mounted on the arm of the
bridge's command chair, "prepare to engage sublight drive systems and
power up the warp drive for gateway generation."
The massive viewscreen, as wide as the bridge itself, was
already filling with course data and flight paths for the dozens of
transports that were lifting off the surface and heading for their
assigned ships. The commander sat back in the command chair and watched
them for a moment, then turned to her tactical officer and issued one
final order.
"Battle stations."
Luther looked up as the display screen of Zaran's bridge flashed
into life. Instead of the usual starfield, he saw several dark shapes
moving silently forwards. He looked at one of the officers operating
the bridge's tactical systems.
"Human battlebarges," the officer reported, "twelve cruiser
class, a further eight destroyer class. No contact." Luther nodded and
turned to the seer standing at the back of the bridge.
"It is as you saw earlier," the seer answered Luther's unspoken
question, "they mean to attack us. Their minds are unclear at this
distance, but there is a hatred there."
"I thought as much," said Luther. He turned to his
communications officer. "Send standard signals of peaceful intent.
Automatic translation to the human basic language." The officer nodded
and ran his hands across the complex array of crystal controls in front
of him. After a moment he looked back up at Luther.
"They're receiving the signal," he said, "but they're not
sending any reply. They remain on course to intercept our primary
cruiser group in one hour." Luther turned back to the display screen,
his expression hardening.
"And so it begins," he murmured to himself.
Onboard the heavy cruiser Artemis, the commander of the Furies
watched as her ships neared the point where they would drop from warp
space and rendezvous with Blackmane's fleet. Outside the warp pulsed
with energy, brilliant reds and yellows flowing in contrast to the dark
lances of energy from the warp currents around them. The light from the
viewscreen spilled into the bridge, which lit itself in calm shades of
blue, at battle readiness.
"Signal Blackmane's ship," the commander said. The
communications officer nodded as the channel opened.
"Captain Blackmane, this is the Furies commander," she said
towards the image of the warp. After a second it disappeared, replaced
by the bridge of the Asgard, Blackmane's personal battlebarge. The
Captain stood in the centre of the bridge, his officers attending to
their stations around him. He nodded to the commander, as if to a
subordinate.
"Yes commander? I didn't expect you to accompany your forces."
"Call off the attack captain. The Eldar aren't enemies of the
Imperium. We don't have to fight them."
"May I remind you, commander," said Blackmane, sneering as he
said the title, "that I am in command of this operation. It makes no
difference that you've led your forces in person, your ships and their
crews are under my orders. You will carry out those orders. Clear?"
"Listen to me," the commander said, her voice low through the
synthesiser, "no-one has died yet. There is still time to prevent all
of this. Stand down your ships, and no-one has to die here today."
"No, you listen to me. I don't care for you marines who think
that just because some scribe on Terra handed you a title you're the
Emperor's gift to the galaxy. If you want the name marine, you will
earn it. My brothers earn the right to call themselves marines every
day they struggle to live on Fenris. They do not turn around and start
questioning orders just because they get it into their heads that aliens
are better than us! The Eldar are a threat, and we will destroy them,
that is final! Now, if you still have a problem with your orders, I
will personally see you charged with sedition, treason, mutiny and
heresy, and you will be handed over to the Inquisition. Now, carry out
my orders!"
The commander stayed silent for a moment, then answered in a
quiet voice.
"Alright. We'll do this your way." Ragnar made a motion to one
of his officers, and the link vanished, replaced again by the swirling
warp on the viewscreen. The commander turned to her tactical officer.
"Relay orders to the fleet. Attack pattern delta."
"Pattern delta, aye. Time to intercept, fifty-three minutes."
"How soon after the Space Wolves encounter the Eldar?"
"Less than a minute. Tactical databanks estimate no significant
damage to either side in that time."
"Any other ships in the area?"
"Not yet. Scan range in realspace is limited by interference
from the warp."
"Red alert. Raise shields as soon as we're clear of the warp
gate, give the captains clearance to fire as soon as they have a lock on
their targets."
Blackmane watched as his lead destroyers opened fire on the
Eldar battle group. Three Eldar cruisers had turned to meet the attack,
and it was on these ships that the destroyers concentrated their fire.
The prow lances lashed out at the Eldar, impacting on their forward
shields. Missiles streaked towards the cruisers, most being cut down
before they reached their targets, some striking the armoured surfaces
of the Eldar ships. The destroyers broke away, passing to the sides of
the cruisers and aiming themselves at the Eldar second line. Ragnar
felt the acceleration as the main cruiser group, led by his ship, began
its attack run on the Eldar cruisers.
He watched the tactical display impatiently, cursing the range
finder for moving too slowly as it counted down the distance between his
ship and firing range on the lead Eldar cruiser. He was vaguely aware
of his tactical officer announcing the arrival of the Furies battle
group to the rear of his fleet, but he only turned when he heard the
note of uncertainty in the marine's voice.
"What's wrong," he growled, "they're all there, aren't they?
They haven't tried to pull out?"
"No sir," said the tactical officer, still looking at his
console, "but there five heavy cruisers emerging from the warp. More
warp gates forming," he added.
"On viewer," barked Ragnar, turning again to his screen. He
felt the jolt as his ship's weapons fired at the Eldar, but his
attention was now on the screen which showed the ships appearing behind
his fleet. Five heavy cruisers, larger than even his command cruiser,
were already advancing. As he watched, more holes into the warp opened,
and another cruiser group appeared, this time accompanied by destroyers,
torpedo rams and strike cruisers. He turned back to the tactical
officer.
"Signal the lead ship," he said, "find out what in the Emperor's
name..."
"Sir," interrupted the tactical officer, "they're targeting us.
Their weapons have locked on to..."
His next words were drowned out by a massive roar as the lead
cruiser, Artemis, fired a full spread of torpedoes directly into
Asgard's unshielded engine core. Blackmane was hurled to the deck as
the ship rolled, the screech of sirens echoing around the bridge. Over
the muffled yells of the officers reporting damage to the engines,
Blackmane bellowed to the tactical officer.
"Return fire! Bring us about one eight zero and fire all
weapons!"
"Main power is down," the officer yelled back, "weapons are
going off-line. Three cruisers have been disabled! The fleet is
breaking up!"
"Break the Eldar line! All power to secondary thrusters, get
the aliens between us and them!"
The officer nodded and Blackmane staggered as the ship lurched
into motion again. The viewscreen, now flickering with static, showed
the Eldar ships drawing nearer as the staggering marine fleet surged
forwards, driving a wedge through the Eldar line. The bridge rocked as
one of the Eldar cruisers fired a stream of pulsar shots past Asgard,
clipping its edge. Blackmane was about to turn away from the screen
when a flash of light erupted from space dead ahead of them, momentarily
blinding him. He blinked rapidly, clearing his eyes, and then saw a
streamlined, graceful shape where a moment ago there had been nothing.
The new ship spun quickly to meet their charge, faster than any Imperial
ship could have moved.
"Where did that come from?" yelled Blackmane.
"Unknown," answered the tactical officer, "there was nothing in
warp space, nothing close enough in realspace. Orders, sir?"
"Fire!"
"Lances are inactive, missiles are on manual targeting only..."
"Fire the damn missiles!"
He watched as a cloud of missiles streaked towards the new ship.
Slim beams of energy scythed through the salvo, detonating the
warheads. After a second, the missiles were gone. Ragnar thought he
saw a glow at the front of the ship, below the streamlined prow, then he
was thrown off his feet as beams of light momentarily connected the two
ships. He heard a crash somewhere below him, and looked back at the
screen to see the ship fire again, this time severing the engine section
from one of the cruisers on his left flank. More weapons fired, bright
bolts slamming into the hulls of his ships, leaving jagged holes. He
heard another explosion from behind him, and the bridge light dimmed for
a moment and then cut out. For a moment there was darkness, then the
emergency lighting activated, bathing the bridge in red.
"Sir, we've lost all weapons, and the reactor has gone," the
tactical officer was yelling. "Fleet control reports nine cruisers have
taken critical damage! The destroyer group has fallen back, we're cut
off! Sir, we have to retreat!"
Blackmane's head snapped up, his eyes boring into the tactical
officers skull, then he turned and looked at the viewscreen. One of his
cruisers was veering off course, its engines torn to shreds. Another
was firing its thrusters, trying to bring its side armour to bear
against the new attacker, its weapons arrays in ruins. As he watched,
the screen flickered, and sparks erupted from one of the bridge control
stations. He let his head drop.
"Signal the retreat," he said. The tactical officer nodded.
From the bridge of the heavy cruiser Artemis, the commander
watched as the remnants of the Space Wolves fleet took their disabled
companions in tow with flickering tractor beams. A handful of warp
gates formed, and the ships limped through, leaving the battle to the
Eldar and the Furies. Thunderchild swung around to join the Furies
heavy cruisers, and the commander signalled to her tactical officer to
stand down from alert. The bridge lights faded from blue up to their
normal simulation of natural lighting. After a moment, the viewscreen
changed to an image of Thunderchild's bridge.
"That was quite a show you put on," said the commander as Callee
appeared at one side of the bridge. The captain nodded with a smile.
"Best we could manage. They won't come near us again, at least
not without a full cruiser group. That's quite a fleet you've got
there."
"Only the best for the Emperor's finest. Did you contact
Zaran?"
"They're standing by. I'll put them through."
The commander nodded and waited. A moment later the image
changed to the spacious control bridge of the craftworld. Luther was in
his seat at the centre of the bridge, waiting for the contact. Behind
him was Solari, and at the back of the bridge were a group of seers and
advisers. The commander waited for the Eldar Farseer to begin.
"You must be this commander I've heard of," he said. "You are
certainly not what I have reluctantly come to expect from the Terran
marines. My people and I owe you our thanks. You have saved many lives
today."
"We hope to save many more," said the commander. "I would like
to meet with you, face to face. We have much to discuss."
"This would seem to be the case. Very well. We are in your
debt, so in return I extend our trust to you. Approach our home at your
leisure. I will meet with you at your convenience."
"I am honoured," concluded the commander. "Until we meet." The
channel closed, the viewscreen returning to its image of the Eldar and
Fury ships regrouping. The commander stood from her seat, nodded at the
tactical officer who then moved to take command of the ship, and left
the bridge in deep thought.
The door chime in the commander's quarters sounded. The
commander looked up at the closed door, then across the room at the
stasis tube that currently housed her armour.
"Who is it?"
"It's me," said Callee's voice from outside.
"Are you alone?"
"Yes," the voice answered. The commander walked over to the
door and pressed a button by its side, deactivating the lock. Callee
entered, touching the button to close the door as she passed. She
slumped into one of the chairs looking across the room, to where a
portal looked out past one of the engine nacelles into space. The
commander sat on the edge of a table.
"Wondering how to break the news to your chapter that you're not
a seven-foot-tall he-man?" The commander chuckled and leaned back on
her elbows.
"They know I'm not that tall. I'm not really worried about
them. They're more open-minded than I'd expected. Quite a contrast to
a chapter like the Wolves. Or the Dark Angels."
"Don't remind me. You'd think they'd appreciate someone willing
to run munitions through an Ork fleet to them."
"Well, the Angels are set in their ways, I suppose. No, it's
not the chapter. There are... other difficulties. That I hadn't
anticipa |