by Guy Haley
‘I bid you welcome to the battle-barge Novum in Honourum, Lord Chapter Master Caedis,’ said Galt. ‘In the name of brotherhood, I give you its freedom. If you require anything of the Novamarines, lord, you have but to ask.’ He dipped his head, and clenched his fist over his heart in salute. He then held out his right hand. Caedis reached his own out, and they grasped each others’ forearms in the warrior’s clasp, bone armour to blood.
‘The sons of Sanguinius hail you, sons of Roboute Guilliman,’ replied Caedis. ‘As our primarchs were brothers, let us be brothers also.’
‘We shall fight together, side by side.’
‘And I welcome it.’ Caedis’s dry lips curved into a smile. He spoke well, with something of an aristocratic hauteur. Galt sensed a luxury at odds with the simple aestheticism of the Novamarines. Caedis had very white teeth, and somewhat long canines. Galt found these physical and cultural differences unremarkable. All the Chapters differed a little, those that followed the Codex Astartes closely also. He thanked Corvo silently in his mind that his Chapter was lucky enough to be of the purer sort, descended from the Ultramarines themselves, first among all the Chapters of the Imperium.
The greeting done, the two groups relaxed. ‘Captain, may I present to you my chief aides?’ said Caedis. ‘Reclusiarch Mazrael, spiritual leader of our order, Epistolary Guinian, and Sanguinary Master Teale. Captain Sorael there leads the Fifth Company.’
Each of Space Marines bowed their heads in turn. Galt did not recognise the title of Sanguinary Master, given as that of the one he had taken to be Chief Apothecary.
‘Finally, Veteran-Brother Metrion,’ said Caedis, gesturing to his Chapter standard bearer. ‘Our Chapter Ancient.’
Galt responded, introducing his own men. ‘You see here Brother-Captain Lutil Mastrik of the Novamarines Third, and master of strike cruiser Ceaseless Vigilance. Captain Aresti commands our Fifth Company, and is master also of Corvo’s Hammer. Epistolary Ranial, Chaplain Odon and Master of the Forge Clastrin make up the others of the senior initiates you see here. Master of Astropaths Feldiol, Fleet Chief Lord Navigator Gulfindan Van Heem of House Meld, and my principal serf aides Artermin and Holstak. Finally, Major-domo Polanczek. Should you require anything while you are here, please direct your requests to him.’
‘Anything at all, my lords,’ said Polanczek with a deep bow. He looked behind the blood-red warriors quizzically. ‘You have brought no servants, no Chapter serfs in attendance?’
Caedis essayed his slow smile again. ‘No, major-domo, we have not.’
‘Then I shall assign men to you for your stay, my lord.’ He clapped his hands, and serfs dressed in the livery of the Novamarines stepped forward briskly. ‘Come, we have refreshments awaiting you.’
‘We thank you,’ said Caedis. ‘I am sure the others are as thirsty as I.’
The banquet took place in Galt’s quarters. Diplomacy was a part of the art of war, Guilliman himself had written, and thus the master of the ship’s dwelling space incorporated audience rooms and the like. Galt’s personal rooms were spartan, in keeping with the temper of his Chapter. In contrast the Hall of Welcome where the Novamarines entertained the Blood Drinkers was lavishly appointed. Friezes of the deeds of Lucretius Corvo, founder of the Novamarines, filled every wall. The ceiling sported twin domes, both filled edge to edge with cunning trompe l’oeil. The one above the feasting Space Marines depicted an allegorical interpretation of the Emperor’s ascension. Clad in golden armour, the Lord of Mankind reached up to the sky pointing to where, upon a cloud, a golden throne shot out rays of light, his other hand reached for outstretched hands rising below him, showing his reluctance to leave the mortal world. Winged vat-children of the Adeptus Mechanicus hurried his ascent. His down-turned face was full of authority and regret. The dome nearer the door showed Roboute Guilliman – primarch of the Ultramarines, and through their descent from the Ultramarines, also of the Novamarines. The image depicted him as a thinker, at work in his cell on the Codex Astartes while generals and lords of all kinds waited in animated discussion for his wisdom to be delivered.
Caedis sat in the place of honour to Galt’s right. Care had been made by Major-domo Polanczek to assure the visiting Chapter Master’s high rank was recognised, so although his throne was on an exact level with Galt’s, it was far more heavily decorated.
‘We were beginning to lose hope,’ Caedis was saying. Despite his protestations of thirst, he ate and drank sparingly of the dishes laid before him. ‘We have been tracking the Death of Integrity for nearly three decades, following a trail of infested worlds, always one step behind. Our astrometric data presented us with a pattern that our Master of the Forge was able to untangle somewhat, giving us projected destinations and worlds under threat.’ He sighed, and pushed at the meat on his plate with a silver fork. ‘But we were always too late, arriving after the hulk had departed, and thus our frustrations grew. We were fortunate three months ago, when we were able to confront the creatures in their lair. Epistolary Guinian tore the mind-scent from the thoughts of their young. Only then could we follow the hulk with certainty through the warp, and predict where it would next emerge. I am greatly relieved we have caught it. The worlds we have cleansed thus far are of minor importance, but this is the hulk’s third appearance in proximity to Vol Secundus. A genestealer infestation within the hives there would have been disastrous, and sown the seeds of a greater contagion that perhaps only a crusade could have contained.’
‘Why has it manifested here?’ asked Galt. ‘Master Clastrin knows of nothing special about this star. It possesses only a moderate mass despite its luminosity, not enough to bend the fabric of real space sufficiently to aid the warp translation of such a hulk.’
‘Who knows?’ replied Caedis. He spoke softly, but his words cut through the conversation filling the air. ‘It is however the seventh star of such a class the Death of Integrity has emerged by.’ He waved his hand. ‘This sector is full of them, the young and the radiant.’ Caedis blinked. Even his eyes looked dry. Galt imagined he could hear the eyelids rasping over them. ‘We are close to the stellar nurseries of Gennak Minoris, the stars here were born not so long ago,’ he smiled. ‘At least, not by the reckoning of stars.’
‘Gennak Minoris is the outermost boundary of our patrol routes,’ said Galt. ‘You were lucky that we caught your astropathic plea.’
‘You go no further?’
Galt picked up a morsel of food from his plate and examined it before putting it into his mouth. He concentrated on the flavour, ignoring the wash of information the Emperor’s gifts fed him. ‘We swore eight thousand years ago to the Lord of Macragge to defend the Segmentum Ultima, body and soul, living or dead. Our business takes us far and wide, but does not often take us beyond segmentum bounds.’
‘And yet, were it not for your heraldry, I could be sitting with the warrior-kings of Ultramar themselves. So distant is that realm, but you maintain their culture as if it were your own.’
‘It is our own,’ said Galt with some force.
‘You are exiles then?’ said Caedis casually. His eyes followed a serf as he poured wine for the adepts. Galt frowned slightly at the look in the Chapter Master’s eyes. There was something predatory about it.
‘We are not. We are guardians of the Imperium, and loyal sons of Ultramar. We do our duty gladly.’
‘So it would seem.’ Caedis paused, considering whether or not to say whatever was on his mind. ‘Excepting your tattoos,’ he said.
Galt’s hand strayed to his cheek. ‘A custom of Honourum, and one of the few of our home world we retain after induction as novitiate Scouts. This way we honour those who birthed us, as we honour the heritage of Ultramar in all else we do.’
‘All are the customs of pure men. Who is to judge one higher than the other?’
‘Honourum’s tribes are primitive in the extreme,’ said Galt. ‘Theirs is a harsh existence. Honourum is a bare world.’
‘Primitivism embraces purity of heart and of
mind. You hold the sophisticated ways of Ultramar above those of your parents?’
‘They are self-evidently superior,’ said Galt.
‘Is that so? I doubt I would have received so personal a welcome from Lord Macragge.’
‘Our world is hard, the laws and customs of hospitality are inviolable. The tribes must cooperate, or all would perish,’ said Galt.
‘Ah, so some primitive customs are worth preserving? Another difference between you and your brothers. Interesting,’ said Caedis. He looked around the room. There was an easy elegance to all he did. ‘I see you are not all tattooed.’
‘All initiates are, even those few who were not born on Honourum,’ Galt said. ‘Those servants you see who are not marked do not hail from our home world. Honourum has few people, Lord Chapter Master, we draw serfs and criminals for cyborgisation as tithes from systems all over the segmentum. Those of our servants who hail from elsewhere do not always follow the flesh marking.’
Caedis nodded as if he had known all along and he was testing Galt. It was a self-satisfied nod, a master’s gesture to a pupil, and Galt found it irksome. His guest’s questions were intrusive and irrelevant. ‘And what of your strength?’
Galt was relieved at this change in topic. Battle and matters of war were safer ground. ‘In the fleet: the Novum in Honourum, two strike cruisers, and four escorts. We have approaching three companies here, near the entirety of the First and Third, much of our Fifth also. But the Fifth suffered in our last battle, and bore the brunt of our foe’s retaliation. Many brothers are in the infirmary. Their vessel is badly harmed.’
‘I saw your strike cruiser,’ said Caedis. ‘The damage is extensive.’
‘Eldar raiders, corsair scum. They fought hard in space and on the ground, but they will trouble the Orin Gap no more. Some elements of the Fourth, Tenth and Ninth accompany us. It is an unusual gathering of strength for our Chapter,’ said Galt. ‘Were it not for the damage to Corvo’s Hammer, the fleet would have broken up already, lord. Our tasks are many, we are spread thin.’
‘You spoke of luck before, but I sense the guidance of the Emperor in this,’ said Caedis thoughtfully. ‘We do not have the numbers to either assault or bombard the hulk alone, I called in our Second and Fifth Companies, but the Second were forced to divert. A greater threat was brought to my attention, greater even than the one posed by the Death of Integrity’s stowaways. I am therefore left with little more than one and three-quarter companies aboard Lux Rubrum and our four escorts. I have many of my veterans, thankfully, although the skills of my First Company captain are sorely missed.’
‘He is not with you?’
‘As you, manifold are our tasks also. He has his own mission. But what was taken with one hand has been paid for handsomely with the other.’ He gave his food one last desultory taste, and then pushed it away.
‘And now?’
‘It is our nature to assault the foe at close quarters, blade to blade,’ said Caedis.
‘A direct assault, lord?’ said Galt. ‘Surely, bombardment would be the better strategy? We have readings of dangerous radiation levels in many places within the hulk, only Terminator plate would be proof against that. My Epistolary tells me that there are large numbers of xenos aboard. Let us break it apart with torpedo and cannon, and cast its remains into the sun.’
Caedis gave a laugh. ‘And what would your Master of the Forge say? There could be a wealth of archeotech aboard.’
‘Clastrin?’ Galt said. ‘He will doubtless object, but taking the hulk by force is too large a risk for our forces, even combined.’
‘My Forgemaster also will be displeased.’
‘Forgemaster Clastrin bows first to Ultramar and Honourum, and then to Mars,’ said Galt. ‘I will set out to him that he has little choice; the possibility of forgotten treasures comes with the certainty of losing a strike cruiser, and that he will not countenance.’
‘Although I hunger for the fight, I cannot but agree. Bombardment is the wiser option, and as much as the battle-joy calls to me, wisdom must prevail, is that not what Guilliman teaches?’
Galt nodded solemnly.
‘There is, dear captain, another factor at play; the hulk is never in-system for long, five to ten days at most, before departing. A decisive assault could not perhaps be mounted in such a short time. We would be forced to rush, and such tasks should not be rushed.’ Caedis smiled broadly, revealing his long canines fully. ‘Our combined fleets are more than up to the task. Bombardment and the cleansing heat of starfire it is. We are agreed. Together, we may rid the galaxy of this menace, and be on our way. As you say, our tasks are many.’ He raised his goblet. ‘A toast, then, to our rapid success.’
‘Our rapid success, lord,’ repeated Galt.
Their cups clanked together. The toast was taken up around the table, until it was shouted with approval.
Chapter 3
Bombardment
The two fleets had become one. The hallways of the battle-barges echoed to the sound of servitors as they prepared for war. Ponderously Lux Rubrum and Novum in Honourum manoeuvred around one another, until the vessel of the Blood Drinkers, black-red in the sun’s light, drew ahead of its Novamarines sister. The Lux Rubrum’s engine stack flared as bright and blue as Jorso. The ship pulled ahead, until it became a wink in the dark, the engine little larger than the stars. Novum in Honourum’s reactor rumbled and it fell into line five thousand kilometres astern of Lux Rubrum. Strike cruiser Ceaseless Vigilance angled downward to fly below and to the port of the Novamarines battle-barge. Corvo’s Hammer limped behind. Escorts moved easily above and to the front of two flagships, Thunderhawks flew in formation, full weapon load-outs slung beneath their stubby wings. To the fleet’s portside the hulk continued its orbit around Jorso, massive and squamous, a canker that would soon be excised from the galaxy it so troubled.
Quiet bustle characterised the bridge of Novum in Honourum. A large tactical view of the hulk hung in the air over the chartdesk, reticules in bright red marking points of weakness that should cause the hulk to break apart swiftly. All nine brothers on the bridge wore their full plate. The serfs carried sidearms at their waists, and racks of guns had been extruded from the walls for masters and servants both. Several weapon-servitors stood station at the doors, and squads of battle-brothers patrolled the corridors of the command and gunnery decks. Counter-boarding was unlikely, but all was done as strictly dictated by the Codex.
Armoury savants had calculated it would take two days of bombardment to utterly destroy the hulk.
On the bridge, Ranial stood at Galt’s side. Occasionally he closed his eyes as he eavesdropped on the astropathic chatter among the fleet, catching stray metaphorical images the psykers used to communicate with one another. Odon had retired to his cathedral to lead the serfs there in prayer for their victory, Aresti and Mastrik were aboard their own ships. Clastrin had removed himself to Corvo’s Hammer, ostensibly to monitor the ship’s damage. The Master of the Forge had taken the news of the bombardment with stoic silence, Galt nevertheless knew the tech-priest was sorrowed by the decision and had withdrawn so as not to witness the loss of his prize.
On the long spine of the battle-barge, giant turrets swung to port, pointing squat, broad-muzzled cannons at the hulk between Novum in Honourum and the sun. A symphony of mechanical noises – distant clanking, whines, the muffled sounds of munitions trucks many decks below, the muted roar of weapons powering up – added themselves to the grumble of the ship’s main power core.
‘Brother-Captain Galt,’ said Persimmon. ‘All gunnery decks report ready. You may give the order when you desire.’
Galt reached for his pendant reflexively. Only when his gauntleted hand touched the eagle emblazoned across his chest did he realise it was beyond reach beneath his breastplate. He clenched his fist. ‘We wait for Lord Caedis, he commands here.’
‘As you wish, brother-captain.’
A few moments later Caedis’s voice crackled over the vox.
The systems aboard both ships were more sophisticated than most, but still they struggled with the star’s furious heliosphere. ‘Brother-captain, you answered our call for aid. The honour of the first salvo belongs to you.’
A cheer went up from the non-servitor personnel on deck, the loudest coming from Persimmon, who banged his remaining hand on his throne-cradle.
‘Many thanks, Lord Caedis,’ said Galt. ‘The honour is gladly received. All guns acquire target. Prepare to open fire on my mark.’
His brothers on the bridge stared out of the curved window toward the Death of Integrity. They were composed as warriors of the Emperor should be, but their eyes betrayed their excitement. This was their meaning, to purge the galaxy of alien life, leaving it safe for mankind’s Imperium. To further this goal was the greatest satisfaction a Nova-marines had. Their work never ceased, but each xenos dead was one less to prey upon the children of Terra.
The brothers waited. Galt let the feeling build a moment, to heighten the release. He permitted himself a small surge of satisfaction.
‘Port broadside, fire,’ he said.
The floor shook as the port weapons batteries discharged. Plumes of fire erupted all down the ship from the cannons between its launch bays. The bridge vibrated with every report.
‘Bombardment cannons, fire at will,’ he said. ‘Corvo’s Hammer, Ceaseless Vigilance, commence firing when ready. Thunderhawk wings, await my command.’
The turreted bombardment cannons spat no fire, their munitions, magnetically impelled, shot from their gaping muzzles at a velocity so high there was only the briefest spark of sunlight on metal to tell of their passing.