And yet...
Were he brutally honest with himself, he would have admitted the truth of the matter. Had he been allowed to have his own way, he would have preferred to navigate through the debris field with his crew alone. The Endless Horizon was a good ship; she handled well. His helmswoman was a skilled and seasoned veteran of many years and was without question one of the most extraordinarily gifted pilots he had ever known. They were a fine assembly and they had an excellent track record. So his ship may be old and, as he often joked, was held together with little more than wishful thinking. But she was certainly reliable. The old girl had many years of service left in her yet.
Abramov had not wanted an escort for this trip, but in the event he had not been given a choice. If there had been the option to refuse the vessel assigned to oversee their passage through the Rift, he would have taken it without question. However, he had not been given the chance to repudiate the suggestion. He had been told in no uncertain terms that he would receive the escort.
Luka Abramov was a shrewd man and an excellent captain – and he knew better than to refuse what was tantamount to a direct order from the Adeptus Astartes. They were, after all, entering the Silver Skulls patrol corridor and to have gone against that one instruction would have been a grave insult that would inevitably have courted disaster. On top of that, from what he knew of the Silver Skulls Chapter in general – and of Captain Daerys Arrun in particular – it would possibly be perceived as more than simple disobedience. The Silver Skulls were noted throughout this sector for their ferocity. To contravene an order was something that would be seen as a challenge, or something that would raise suspicion. It was the sort of activity that freebooters and smugglers engaged in. Abramov, whilst he may occasionally and almost always entirely accidentally have transported the odd microgram over his allowance, was no smuggler.
Not all ships were guided with an escort through the Rift. Most of the time, as long as their presence was made known, that was enough. But when the order had come through that the Endless Horizon was to rendezvous with another ship on arrival in the system, it wasn’t something that could be lightly dismissed.
Abramov had enough problems to deal with – he neither wanted nor needed the displeasure of Captain Arrun adding to his load.
‘Maintain regular augur sweeps,’ he said to the operative at the scanner console. ‘I want to know the very second they show up.’ Unlike some other ships, the Endless Horizon had an almost entirely unaugmented human crew. Abramov had served in ships crewed largely by servitors and had never felt comfortable around them, at least not when he had employed them on his own bridge. As such, the moment he had taken command of the vessel, he had instigated his own rules. Lobotomised servitors still moved around the engineering section in their lifeless way, never needing their morale attending to and keeping the literal cogs of the ship turning. But all of Abramov’s core crew were human. There was not a servitor in sight. He was proud of that fact.
‘Of course, Luka,’ the operative replied. She was more comfortable by far with the informality adopted on board the Endless Horizon. Like Abramov, she was dressed in dull grey overalls emblazoned with the ship’s insignia, that of a sun setting on a horizon. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back from her face in a highly unflattering manner, emphasising the tired eyes and frown lines that marred her handsome profile. Abramov watched her with undisguised affection for a few moments as she expertly worked the buttons and dials on the archaic systems at her fingertips. The cogitators and systems groaned into semi-obedient life and she murmured soft thanks to the machine spirits that she had disturbed from their slumber.
After some time, activity on the bridge of the Endless Horizon resumed some sort of normality. Abramov allowed himself the opportunity to relax a little. The earlier tension had been uncomfortable, but had been inevitable. There was always a brief spasm in the bustle and flow of regular activity after re-entry from the warp. Those moments may have been laden with apprehension, but there was nonetheless a certain peace in the wake of re-entry; it represented a marked change from the usual hubbub of life and animation that dictated his existence on board the freighter.
Information was passed to him both verbally and in the form of printed reports and as things resumed their normal pace, he took great comfort in the perfect symphony of the workings of the bridge crew. It was a familiar, well-orchestrated pandemonium of sound that he could have conducted perfectly without even trying. The chimes on the quarter hour that reminded the machine operators to renew their litanies. The slow, steady growl of the engine’s pulse far beneath them – and the occasional lull in that constant background noise as a slightly worn piston skipped a beat. There was the accompanying sound of the monotone responses of the few engine room servitors as they obeyed orders and relayed information across the ship-wide vox… Abramov leaned back in his command throne and closed his eyes, allowing it all to wash over him like a soothing balm. All was calm. All was well.
Abramov had taken ownership of the Endless Horizon several years ago and although his preference had always been for drawing up his own contracts and working for no master but himself, he had nonetheless served the Imperium well when called upon to do so. Particularly when the agreed contract was as lucrative as the one he had negotiated for this run to the promethium refineries. For all his strong and notable points, Luka Abramov’s head was turned with promises of financial reward. It was not a trait that he ever allowed to display itself, though.
Known for his thoroughness and diligence and an honesty that was almost disarming, he was well respected and had often been entrusted with an assortment of precious cargo. He had spent the first ten years of his ship-board life working solely for the Imperium. It had been long enough to give him a strong urge to work for himself and so he had become freelance. Ironic really, that here he was, back under contract to them once again. He’d developed a taste for the life of a freelancer, however – and had already decided that once he had run a few more Imperial contracts, he would reclaim his independence. He had established that there were many opportunities for ships to make trade runs to the Gildar system. Blessed with a wealth of natural resources, there were always contracts available to this part of the Segmentum Obscurus. It didn’t hurt to run a few more ‘official’ missions. Practice, he knew, made perfect.
There were certainly far more contracts than there were ships willing to travel there. Abramov had no compunction about such a journey. He knew the risks and welcomed them as part of what he considered his responsibility.
For countless centuries this part of space had always presented itself as a major hazard to all vessels entering its vast tracts. ‘The Gildar Rift’ was the name that had been bestowed upon the shipping channel cleaving its way through the area. Comprised of a number of scattered, largely uninhabited worlds, it was a potentially lethal zone to traverse.
Through the centre of the system, an asteroid belt orbited the densely populated planet of Gildar Secundus. The field’s intrinsic dangers were made far more lethal by the vast quantities of space debris drifting eternally through the void. Remains of smashed vessels that had failed to heed warnings not to attempt transit were strewn throughout the Rift, an area that was too hazardous by far to salvage. Any opportunistic would-be looters who had tried to recover the wrecks often added their own ships to the mass.
Ruptured and broken, the ships slowly leached slow trickles of plasma and other toxic wastes into the area. The lethal cocktail created a permanent chemical haze that constantly caused interference with auguries and communications signals.
So the asteroid belt was both a blessing and a curse, presenting difficulties for any who wished to descend to or leave Gildar Secundus, but also offering an excellent natural defence for a planet whose promethium reserves were a critical resource for the Imperium. The challenge faced by visitors to the system in the shape of the swirling band of rock and ship debris was only the b
eginning. Xenos ships were regular trespassers here and, so it was rumoured, pirate activity was increasing not just here in the Gildar Rift but in the whole of the furthest reaches of the Segmentum Obscurus.
Relishing the challenges that maintaining peace in the sector offered, the Silver Skulls had long ago set themselves to the task of patrolling the Gildar Rift. Other Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes would rarely volunteer themselves for such a plain, inglorious duty. But the Silver Skulls considered the sector as part of their territory. And the Silver Skulls were proud.
Their presence loaned an air of safety to what was otherwise a treacherous place. But it came at a cost. The Silver Skulls monitored and maintained control over passage through the system with a rule of iron. The more fortunate vessels, such as the Endless Horizon, followed protocol, alerting the Space Marines to their planned transit in advance. After the necessary approvals and verifications had been carried out, they were granted permission and provided with coordinates where they would be met by an escort. Those who simply translated into real space on the fringes of the Gildar Rift were very swiftly met with a ‘welcoming party’. A misnomer if ever there was one. The stoic Space Marines weren’t known for their warm and embracing natures. They were, however, definitely well known for their adherence to and the enforcing of Imperial regulations and didn’t take kindly to chancers. Woe betide any ship’s captain who thought to argue the point with the Silver Skulls Chapter. No, there were protocols to be followed.
Yet for all he had followed the guidelines and adhered rigidly to instruction in this instance, for all he had dutifully waited a tedious length of time for Captain Arrun’s grudging acknowledgement before he had arranged to travel here... for all he had ensured that the coordinates he had been given had been adhered to most rigidly, Abramov and his crew were completely alone.
The captain’s hand ran over his jaw again. It was a nervous gesture and one that didn’t even begin to hint at the sense of extreme caution that was beginning to eat away at him. They had been told that to traverse the Gildar Rift without an escort or without some sort of acknowledgement to a patrol vessel was a blatant admission of piracy. But there was no escort present and try though they might, no ships were answering their frequent hails. Abramov would be damned before he drifted idly in space, a sitting target for any actual pirates who might chance their arm.
He had always hungered for the autonomy of his own command and so when the opportunity to invest his dead father’s money had come along, he had grasped it with both hands. The years of managing his own contracts and pulling together the best crew he could afford had given him a wealth of experience. Thus it was from this pool of worldliness upon which he now drew.
The choice as he saw it was reasonably straightforward, yet far from simple. He could either maintain his current position and wait for the Silver Skulls to arrive – or he could order engines to quarter speed and continue towards Gildar Secundus. It would not take them long to enter the planet’s atmosphere and Abramov had every confidence in his crew’s combined skill and ability to get them there in one piece. Exactly how the taciturn Captain Arrun would react to such a breach of verbal contract, he had no idea. He could hazard a reasonably well-educated guess.
In the end, compromise won out.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We will hold position for three hours.’ He dropped back down onto the command throne. ‘If we have received no word from our escort by then, we continue onwards to Gildar Secundus. At the slowest speed we can manage.’
‘Aye, captain.’
Abramov let out a rushing breath. With luck, he would not need to risk the wrath of the Emperor’s Angels.
Sleep had been elusive during the journey to the Gildar system and Abramov had taken advantage of the grace period to retire to his quarters in an attempt to catch up on some much-needed rest. There had barely been opportunity for his eyes to close and for him to fall into a deep sleep before he was rudely dragged awake by the bellowing scream of the ship’s alert system. Scant seconds later he felt the ship lurch beneath him. The suddenness of the movement tipped him ungraciously from the bunk, leaving him sprawled on the ground.
‘Captain Abramov to the bridge,’ an insistent female voice was saying across the ship-wide vox system. ‘Proximity alert. Repeat, captain to the bridge.’
‘I heard you the first time,’ he grumbled. Roused into full wakefulness, Abramov hauled himself off the floor and rubbed sleep from his eyes. He caught a passing glimpse of himself in the tarnished mirror above his sink and immediately wished he hadn’t. He was looking dishevelled and tired, many years past his Terran standard complement of fifty. He hardly cut the figure of authority he had always at least attempted to maintain.
He was still pulling his overalls on over his clothing as he strode through the door to the bridge.
‘Report.’ He stifled a yawn and glanced at the ship’s chronometers. He regretted that almost as much as he had when he’d looked in the mirror. He had been asleep for barely any time at all. ‘Is it the Silver Skulls? Have they arrived?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’ Telyna, his pilot – and the most competent woman he had ever met in his life bar none – turned her head to study him with casual indifference. ‘Debris field dead ahead. Mostly small asteroids, fortunately. I’m doing what I can to avoid the worst of it.’
Telyna’s words made their way through his muzziness and snapped him back almost immediately to full alertness.
‘Evasive manoeuvres? Yes. I could tell by the way you woke me up.’
Telyna tossed her long, blonde plait over one shoulder. It was a simple gesture, but there was a lot of suppressed aggression there. ‘Well, captain,’ she said, with heavy sarcasm, ‘I could have just let the remnants of that ship hit us. Would you have preferred that?’
Their eyes locked for a moment and it was Abramov who looked away first, a slight smile on his lips. He considered for a moment. ‘They never showed, then?’
‘No. We’ve been travelling towards Gildar Secundus for the best part of an hour. Hence...’ She gestured expansively, a means of indicating the debris field that lay ahead.
‘Can we not simply go around?’
‘Something’s stirred up the field,’ she reported, turning away from him and this time pointing out of the forward viewscreen. ‘There’s enough junk outside to ensure that no matter which direction we take, we’re going to encounter obstacles of one form or another.’ Telyna fell silent for a moment or two, concentrating on the matter at hand. ‘Most of what’s out there looks pretty old. But we’ve already seen at least one complete vessel. Recently disabled according to the preliminary scans.’
‘Probably the last ship that didn’t follow Arrun’s orders,’ Abramov muttered, then shook his head. Probably better not to let himself wander down that line of thought. ‘Maintain course and heading. Be alert and prepared for anything. It’s a deathtrap out there.’
‘I am well aware of the dangers, captain.’ Telyna’s voice was so insulted that despite his weariness, Abramov’s face split in a broad smile.
‘I love you, Telyna, did I ever tell you that? Even if you do wake me up just to prove how damned clever you are.’
‘You tell me constantly.’ She returned the smile with one of her own. ‘I thought you would want to be awake in the event that I get things wrong and you can say “I told you so” as we’re ripped apart.’
‘Your concern for my ongoing welfare is noted.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
The brief, companionable exchange over, Telyna turned her attention back to the console. Someone, Abramov was too distracted to notice who, put a steaming cup of recaff in his hand and he muttered his thanks. He sipped the bitter liquid with a wrinkle of his nose. If he were brutally honest, he despised the taste of recaff, but its stimulating effects were certainly welcome at this time. He studied the printouts that had been placed on
the arm of his command throne.
His feet settled firmly on the floor, unconsciously reaching out for the pulse of his ship’s engine. Its ever-present hum was there, only just felt beneath the soles of his boots. It was a connection of the simplest kind, but it was a habit he’d never broken. Like most captains, Abramov had his own private superstitions. Like a warrior who would cup a handful of dirt before a battle, he stuck to them rigidly. As long as his ship still had a heartbeat, they would be fine.
Their speed now greatly reduced, Telyna concentrated on avoiding the debris outside the Endless Horizon as best she could. There was certainly a lot of it. Machine parts, chunks of metal, even several human corpses drifted by in an endless parade of the merciless nature of this part of space. Wide-eyed and rimed with a thin skein of ice, the corpses seemed to scream silent warnings to the crew of Abramov’s ship. It was the stuff of nightmares and several of the crew were clearly unsettled and a little distressed by the sight.
For what seemed like an age, the freighter moved with excruciating slowness, its progress painstakingly measured. Telyna’s eyes were watering with the effort of staring from the viewscreen to the console at her command and Abramov’s headache was getting no better. There seemed to be no end to it at all and tempers were beginning to fray.
When the rear port thrusters began to fail, Abramov knew about it several moments before the message came up from the engineering deck. His unconscious connection with the ship’s harmonies and rhythms whispered the news through the vibrations beneath him. Normally, the loss of one of the rear thrusters would have been something easily dealt with. In clear space, he would have sent service drones outside to deal with the problem. In this chaotic cluster though, he wouldn’t risk losing one of his crew – soulless or not – to a glancing blow from the passing flotsam and jetsam. Not to mention that coming to a stop at this point was also no longer an option. If they maintained position, they’d likely be pulverised. He felt irritated more than concerned.
Warriors of the Imperium - Andy Hoare & S P Cawkwell Page 32