The surface of KX122/13 was cratered and scarred. Ice glistened dimly in the faint starlight, but Korvane could make out nothing obviously artificial or out of place. He checked the readout above the pilot’s station once more, and saw that they were closing in on the source of the signal.
“Sensors, I want a full, active scan the moment we reveal ourselves, understood?”
The crewman at the sensor station at Korvane’s side turned and looked straight at him. “Sir, standard doctrine is to…”
“I gave you an order!” Korvane spat, anger once more welling up. He felt his frustration growing steadily as the Navy crew felt it reasonable to question his orders. He would not have accepted such a lapse in discipline on the bridge of the Rosetta, and he was damned if he would do so here.
“But sir,” the crewman continued, evidently prepared to risk Korvane’s ire, “if they have any local defences they’ll be able to lock onto us in seconds.”
“I am fully aware of that,” Korvane replied, barely able to keep his voice steady as his anger threatened to boil over, “but an entire fleet is relying on us. We need only confirm the tau’s presence, and then we can return to the fleet and report our findings. Do as I order, now, or your career is ended.”
“Understood, sir,” the crewman replied, turning from Korvane and working the controls at his station. Korvane watched for a moment, satisfying himself that the man was in fact preparing his instruments to perform a full, active scan the instant the scout vessel came into range of the signal source.
“Range?” Korvane asked. He felt a growing tension, but was damned if he’d let the Navy crewmen detect it.
“Three seventeen,” the pilot responded, not taking his eyes from the view outside.
“Descend to fifty metres,” Korvane ordered. He was determined that the scouts would have the advantage of surprise. If the tau did have any local air defence, then coming in so low might gain precious seconds in which the active sensors could scan the outpost. Any intelligence that Korvane could bring back would be invaluable in furthering the cause of the Arcadius against that of Cardinal Grand and his faction.
Korvane braced himself once more. The pilot pushed forward on his control column, the vessel descending so that the craters and ridges flashing by below lurched up into close proximity. Korvane could make out individual boulders on the surface, and could see that the deep blue colouration of the ground was caused by large dunes of drifting blue particles. A low, mountainous spine reared up on the horizon.
“Twenty seconds, sir,” the pilot intoned.
“Good,” Korvane replied. “Sensors, prepare for…”
“Contact at three-three-six!” called out another crewman. Korvane spun to his right, looking over the shoulder of the man who had spoken.
“Identify,” Korvane replied.
“Four, belay that, five fast moving class fives, range… three kilometres and closing.”
Korvane forced down a mounting panic. “Heading?”
The crewman turned to look Korvane right in the eye. “They are inbound on our position, sir.”
Before Korvane could answer, the pilot spoke. “Five…”
Korvane’s mind raced to keep pace of events. He took a deep breath and forced himself to steady his nerves. He thought fast.
“Pilot, perform one pass and then break for orbit. Sensors, get as much as you can, while you can. Understood?”
Neither man answered him. As the countdown reached zero, Korvane felt the scout vessel lurch suddenly upwards, the low mountain range sweeping by beneath.
Then, Korvane saw the source of the signal. Beyond the ridge lay a wide depression, an ancient crater, the flanks of which were all but obscured by the drifting blue particulates. A tall, sail shaped structure soared into the sky at the centre of the crater. Korvane had only tau starship design to go on, but he knew instantly that this structure was of tau manufacture, the clean lines already familiar to him.
“Scanning,” called the sensor operator as the pilot brought the vessel down into the crater, skimming a mere twenty metres above the ground before bringing the ship upwards in a wide, banking roll.
“Comms,” Korvane said, addressing another crewman, “I want a short burst transmission ready the instant we get clear.” Even as he spoke, Korvane tapped his report into his command terminal, sealed it with his personal cipher and shunted it on to the comms operator’s station.
“Contacts closing at seven fifty kilometres per hour!” the sensor operator called out.
“Sir,” the pilot said, “at this speed and heading I can’t evade. We need to get clear, right now!”
Korvane forced down the urge to snap back at the man, knowing that the pilot was correct. He knew that they would not obtain a full scan if they pulled out now, but at least they would escape with their lives. “Take us home, pilot,” Korvane ordered, hearing sighs of relief from the bridge crew behind him as he spoke.
“Hold on,” the pilot warned, before hauling back on the control column. The horizon dropped and the black of space hove into view through the canopy. Korvane felt his body forced back into the acceleration couch and straggled to fasten the harness.
“Contact closing,” the sensor operator announced, an edge of alarm in his voice. “Speed increasing…”
“Incoming!” called out another crewman. Korvane looked around desperately for the cause of the warning, before the pilot heaved upon his controls and the vessel lurched violently to port. An instant later, what was obviously a high velocity missile streaked past upon a billowing contrail, before veering off and disappearing from view.
“It’s coming round!” a voice called in outright panic. Korvane looked to his tracking screen, and saw that the missile was indeed beginning a wide arc that would bring it back on to the scout vessel’s tail.
“Pilot,” Korvane called, “bring us back around on heading seven six nine.”
“Towards the contacts, sir?”
“Towards the contacts. They clearly outmatch us for speed and reach. Call in the rest of the wing and close on enemy contacts.”
Korvane tightened the lock on his acceleration harness. If it’s a fight they want, he thought, then it’s a fight they’ll get.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Signal?” Lucian asked, not taking his eyes from the view through the forward viewing port.
“None as yet, my lord,” replied the newly appointed communications officer. “All commands at alert status alpha crimson. We’re on track for the assault when the Blade gives the word.”
“Thank you, Mister Katona,” Lucian replied, grateful that a flesh and blood human was manning the comms station. Lucian had petitioned Jellaqua for an intake of seconded officers following the disaster that had decimated his bridge crew during the crossing of the Damocles Gulf. The admiral had obliged, and not a moment too soon, in Lucian’s opinion, for things were about to get very serious indeed.
Lucian continued his vigil at the armoured port. The scene was quite spectacular, even to one with the heritage of a rogue trader line behind him. The entire battle line of the Damocles Gulf crusade fleet was arranged against the lambent blue nebulae, ready and waiting to begin its attack on the tau system into which it had arrived. The Blade of Woe, Admiral Jellaqua’s four thousand year old Retribution-class battleship lay mere kilometres to the Oceanid’s prow. Several kilometres long, the vessel was slab sided and sharp-prowed, and bristled with weapons turrets and sensor arrays. She bore the scars of hundreds of battles. Lucian knew the battleship to be a fearsome opponent in a fight, her broadsides easily the match for any tau vessel he had yet to witness. Furthermore, Lucian had spoken with the admiral several hours earlier, and knew he would be taking a direct hand in his ship’s operation when things got heated. Jellaqua might be a senior admiral of the Imperial Navy, but Lucian knew he would not be able to resist the urge to captain his flagship in person, leading from the front in a glorious example to the other captains of the line.
; A kilometre off the Blade of Woe’s starboard bow lay the Niobe, an Overlord-class battlecruiser captained by one Captain Joachim, whom Lucian had met once at council and had taken an instant dislike to. Joachim, it transpired, was the youngest son of the Cabiri dynasty, a rogue trader clan that Lucian’s family had clashed with over trading rights three centuries earlier. Though Lucian bore the man no ill will, Joachim evidently felt that some form of feud existed between the two. Lucian had been in no mood to pander to Joachim’s folly, and had given him no more thought since. He had decided, however, to keep a weather eye out, lest the son of Cabiri decide to renew his imaginary feud at some inopportune moment in the coming battle.
A pair of cruisers, the Gothic-class Lord Cedalion, and the Duchess Mclntyre, which was commanded by Captain Natalia, lay to the Niobe’s starboard side. Lucian had gained a solid respect for Natalia, viewing her as one of the most proficient and reliable captains of the fleet, and a definite ally in the incessant political manoeuvring that went on, even amongst the ships’ masters.
The Lunar-class cruiser the Honour of Damlass, and her consort, the Dauntless-class cruiser Regent Lakshimbal rested at a distance, forming a pair of spiked, black silhouettes against the glowing blue backdrop of the region’s nebulae. This pair would form a cruiser squadron tasked with guarding the fleet’s port flank while the heavier vessels engaged the enemy head on.
Lucian’s vessel sat at the rear of the formation, the Rosetta and the Fairlight in echelon to port behind her. Though he could not see her, Lucian knew that his stern was covered by the Centaur, a newly commissioned Lunar-class cruiser yet to fire her first shot in anger.
The nine escort squadrons that the capital vessels would rely on to provide close protection against enemy vessels seeking to get in amongst their formation were scattered throughout this impressive armada. Each squadron consisted of three or four sword frigates or destroyers of various types, and each was led by a squadron leader proven in battle many times over.
Yet, even as Lucian looked out at the fleet, each of its vessels bristling with mighty weapons and laden with crew eager to fight for the cause of humanity, his mind drifted back, weeks before, to the encounter he had had with the derelict battlecruiser Ajax. Following Master Karaldi’s prognostication trance, Lucian had been left in no doubt that the vessel was lost in the warp. Yet, when the fleet had mustered at its fourth waypoint during the crossing of the Gulf, the Ajax had been there too, intact and fully operational. He had heard tales of such things, read cautionary accounts passed down generations of rogue traders from father to son, but never before had he been so close to witnessing such a phenomenon first hand. Lucian had withheld his account of his encounter with the Ajax, lest the morale of the fleet be adversely affected. He could not, and would not, tell anyone that he had seen the Ajax dead in space, before she had been seen alive and well and operating as part of the fleet, before disappearing once more at the final muster. The warp had inflicted some terrible fate upon the vessel, and he would keep his own counsel on the matter. He knew, however, that the event would stalk him in nightmares for many years to come.
For now, the position in the line normally covered by the Ajax would be covered by the Oceanid and the Rosetta, with the Fairlight in close attendance. Lucian was perfectly able to fulfil the role of a captain of the line, and he had briefed officers placed in temporary charge of the Rosetta and the Fairlight. Both were capable men, eager to prove their worth, and both had served the Arcadius for many long years. Though it pained him to entrust the two vessels to any other than his own blood, Lucian was glad that they were in good hands.
As he watched, Lucian saw the mighty plasma drives of the Blade of Woe flare to life. The armoured glass of the viewing port dimmed automatically, affording Lucian a view of the final jostling for position before the fleet moved to attack the tau world towards which they were ploughing.
“Any moment now, sir,” Katona said, anticipating Lucian’s question. “All commands have called in their final telemetries.”
“Well enough, Mister Katona,” Lucian replied, affording himself a wolfish grin at the prospect of the coming scrap. Turning from the port, he strode the length of the bridge, taking the time to look over the shoulder of each of the Navy bridge crew. All was well, each officer going about his duty as if born to it. They probably were, he mused, knowing that each man would hail from a naval line as old as the Arcadius.
“Let’s get things moving, shall we?” Lucian asked no one in particular. “Mister Ruuben,” Lucian addressed the seconded navy helmsman, “you have control of my vessel. I care for her very deeply. Treat her well, understood?”
The helmsman, evidently a veteran of several calamitous battles by the terrible burn scars that marred his bald pate, turned at his station and bowed to Lucian. “I’ll take care of her like she’s my own, my lord. You have my word.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Mister Ruuben,” Lucian replied. He liked the man already, though he deeply mourned the loss of Raldi, and above all the manner of that loss.
Settling in to his command throne, Lucian savoured the feeling that few others could understand: to command a warship, to order her into battle, to hold in one’s hand such awesome destruction as she could unleash, and to bear the responsibility of thousands of lives. It was his birthright and his burden, and he would not trade moments such as this for all Macharius’ gold.
“Signal from fleet command,” Mister Katona called out.
“Patch it through,” Lucian ordered.
The bridge was suddenly filled with the open master command channel, the echoes of a thousand communications bleeding through the signal to produce a cacophonous riot of distorted and unintelligible noise. Then, the channel cleared, and a single voice rang out.
“Masters and officers of the Damocles Gulf crusade fleet.”
Lucian smiled, recognising instantly Admiral Jellaqua’s proud and authoritative voice. Gurney might exercise control over the council, but out here, in the cold of space and the heat of battle, it was Jellaqua and the ships’ masters that wielded true power. “We have come a long way, all of us together, but we now stand at the point of decision. Soon, we shall do battle with the tau. Where previously these xenos have infiltrated our systems and skirmished with our patrols, now we shall truly show them the might of the Imperial Navy. We know not what we might face here, but I know this: every one of you, I have no doubt, will give his all in the service of our cause. Whatever they throw at us, we shall counter them, with fire and shell, with blood and honour, with hatred and bile!”
Lucian saw the men and women of the seconded Navy bridge crew smile, as he had a moment earlier. Though they maintained an appropriate formality and discipline, he saw in the eyes of each a heartfelt respect and affection for the admiral, a genuine love of their master and commander. Such a thing was rare indeed in a Navy that relied as much on indentured or outright press-ganged labour as it did on the noble lines from which these officers were drawn. Many a ship’s master was a figure of hatred and fear amongst his crew, and admirals even more so, for they wielded, and frequently exercised, the power to condemn thousands of souls to cold oblivion with but a word.
“The order is given, loyal servants of the Throne,” Jellaqua’s voice continued. “I charge each of you with this sacred duty. Bring the tau to heel. Show them the fire in your souls. Do so with nobility. Be glorious in victory, and show honour to the defeated. Do this, and live forever at the right hand of the Emperor!”
“And one more thing,” Jellaqua continued, just as Lucian was sure he must be done, “good hunting.”
The bridge crew erupted in cheers, even old Batista, Lucian’s ordnance officer, joining in the impromptu show of emotion. Lucian caught Batista’s eye, and the old man appeared suddenly guilty. Lucian smiled, and the man nodded. It was not Lucian’s place to share in the moment, but he welcomed it. He realised with a heavy heart that it had been too long since such a crew had served on his bridge. Over the past de
cade he had become too used to a station occupied only by mute servitors.
“Now then!” Lucian said, raising his voice to restore order to his bridge. The bridge fell silent. “Jellaqua might be the master of this fleet, but I am master of this vessel.”
Lucian watched with a glint in his eye as the crew returned to their stations, each with a face stricken with guilt, apart from old Batista, who was clearly well aware of what his captain was up to.
“If we’re to get through this, we all need to understand one thing. I’m in charge here, and you do as I order, the instant I order it.”
Lucian looked to Mister Batista. “My Master of Ordnance here will tell you what happens to bridge crews on the Oceanid when they fail to do as I say. Mister Batista?”
“They get turned into servitors,” Batista grinned.
“Aye,” Lucian said, nodding his thanks to Batista, pleased that the man had discerned his intention so well. “And what type of servitor do they get turned into, Mister Batista.”
The ordnance officer’s face twisted in grossly exaggerated concentration. “Waste ingestion servitors, my lord.”
Very good, thought Lucian, very good indeed. “So, any of you wishing to avoid such a fate had better ensure that your station is one hundred per cent battle ready.”
Lucian leaned back in his command throne, enjoying the scene on the bridge before him. The Navy crew were all veterans, and set to their task with efficiency bred of endless hours of training. Outside, he watched as the Blade of Woe’s plasma drives flared to full power, and the massed banks of manoeuvring thrusters that lined her cliff-like flanks brought her to her final heading. Within minutes, the other capital vessels of the line were orienting themselves to Jellaqua’s flagship, whilst the escort squadrons of smaller vessels moved to their own positions around the armada.
“Helm,” Lucian said. The bridge went silent in anticipation. “You have your course laid in?”
[Rogue Trader 02] - Star of Damocles Page 20