by Andy Hoare
Stunned by the ferocity of the battle raging before him, it took Korvane a moment to realise that he was hearing his father's voice addressing him over the communications system.
'…peat, get moving the pair of you, now! Good luck'
Korvane opened an intercom channel to Adept Mykelo, his Navigator. 'Awaiting your order adept. You have the vessel'
A pause, before the adept replied. 'This is against my better judgement sir, but given the circumstances I shall undertake the manoeuvre. Pray for us all'
Korvane closed the channel and leant back in his command throne, watching as the bridge crew made the final preparations for the emergency warp jump. This was the second time the vessel and her crew had undergone a warp jump recently, and it appeared as if Mykelo would reject Korvane's order. It was entirely within his rights as a Navigator to do so, Korvane knew, for any and all matters relating to a vessel's passage through the warp were entirely the province of its Navigator, by ancient decree. Mykelo had considered the situation, realising that they had little choice if they were to avoid a confrontation with the unknown vessels, which were bearing down on them with obviously hostile intent.
A mournful peal sounded from the ship's address system, the signal that a warp jump was imminent. Korvane knew somehow that this would be a bad one, although he had no idea in what way. He had heard the tales.
The signal ended and all of the lights on the bridge died. Korvane could hear his own pulse thundering in his ears, and he gripped the arms of the command throne all the tighter.
A distant sound became audible, an atonal drone, building in volume to the scream of a billion, billion souls adrift upon an ocean of pain and chaos. Korvane's own voice added to the terrible din, as did that of every man and woman onboard the Rosetta. They were joined together in a terrible communion, sharing the damnation of the denizens of the abyss.
Then there was silence.
Korvane opened his eyes, and then vomited. The bridge lights flickered back to life, one by one. He heard coughing and moaning from the bridge crew. Having painfully voided the contents of his stomach, Korvane looked around his bridge, breathing heavily as he fought to make some sense of what had just occurred.
Something had gone terribly wrong, that much was clear. His crew was scattered around the bridge, or slumped over consoles, groaning or silent, unconscious, insensible, or worse. Only the servitors appeared to have escaped unharmed. The Master of Ordnance sat up and looked towards Korvane with madness in his eyes. Korvane saw with a start that the man's hair was now entirely white, while it had been merely grey-shot before the jump. Litter shock threatened to overwhelm him, and he strove to maintain control of his faculties in the face of what had happened.
'We pray for those lost in the warp. Korvane mumbled, the words of the spacefarers' prayer coming unbidden to his lips. The prayer gave him some comfort, and he felt himself calming. He glanced at the banks of screens surrounding his command throne. All were dead.
Realising that he would need to take visible control of the situation, Korvane stood, shakily at first. A junior officer appeared nearby, offering aid, which he waved away.
'Bridge crew, listen to me. I need a full situation report and I need it now. He straightened as he spoke, feeling confidence return as he played the role for which he was born and raised — that of leader. Then I need to know where the hell we are'
'Aye sir' came the mumbled replies from the crew. Men straightened themselves out, smoothing creased uniforms as they returned to their stations. Within minutes, the bridge bore some resemblance to its normal state — men, and mostly servitors, going about their business. Yet still the screens were dead.
He turned to the junior officer hovering nearby. 'Find out if Adept Mykelo is in need of help' The man nodded and hurried away.
Korvane crossed to the forward viewing port. Looking out, he was confronted with unfamiliar constellations, but at least, he thought, it was space out there, and not somewhere else. He shook the thought off and studied the view, a nearby star glowed white through the halo of a comet's debris, yet he had no clue if it was Arris Epsilon, or an entirely different system.
The rating appeared at his side once more. 'Report' he ordered.
'Sir, we're being hailed'
Leaving the question of the Navigator's state to one side, Korvane asked, 'The Oceanid He doubted, even as he asked, that either of the other two rogue trader vessels would be nearby.
'I cannot tell, sir'
'Why can't you tell, lieutenant?
'Sir, the comms systems appear to have sustained some damage. We have crews working on getting them fully operational. We have short-ranged hailing, but little else'
'Fine' Korvane felt at a major disadvantage with his ship's systems running under capacity, but he would have to make the best of the situation. 'Open a channel, and contact Mykelo'
'Aye sir. the officer said, before ordering the servitor at the comms station to patch through the transmission.
'…vessel. Repeat. Activate identification transponders immediately or be fired upon. You have entered sovereign space and we will fire if you do not identify yourself. Repeat-
Korvane cleared his throat, before announcing, 'This is the rogue trader vessel Rosetta, of the Arcadius. I am Korvane Gerrit of the Arcadius, son of Lucian, heritor of the Arcadius. To whom do I speak?
The channel burbled and whistled for a second or two, before the reply came back, 'Rosetta, this is Epsilon system defence boat Gamma Secondus. You will lock onto our signal and follow us in. Then you will be ferried to the surface, is that understood?
Korvane sighed. He was intensely relieved that they had reached their intended destination of Arris Epsilon. With many of the ship's augur systems still incapacitated he had no clue as to whether his father and stepsister had yet arrived. That, to his mind, put him in a position of authority.
Perhaps, at Arris Epsilon, he could repair some of the damage his stepsister had done at Mundus Chasmata.
'Do as they instruct. he ordered the helmsman, before retiring to his quarters to prepare to board the other vessel.
'Arris Epsilon, my lord.
Korvane looked through the shuttle's cockpit port as the small ship swept through the upper atmosphere of Arris Epsilon: vast, bioluminescent clouds glowed acid yellow and jade green, casting the landscape far below in an actinic, murky half-light.
He nodded to the captain of the security cutter, his mind engaged by conflicting distractions: the need to plan for the coming meeting with this world's leaders, and the need to gather as much information on this world as possible.
The view, which was really quite stunning, was another distraction.
Spotting the smudge of what he assumed was a distant conurbation, Korvane turned to the captain, 'How far to your capital?
The man bowed his head as he communed with the shuttle's machine spirit, his soul intermingling with that of the machine via the consecrated mind impulse cables threaded from the back of his head to the ports behind him.
The captain raised his head, 'Thirty-seven point five. Korvane raised his eyebrows, holding the man's eye. 'Local. he finished, Korvane nodding.
Korvane setded back in his seat, deciding to use the time wisely. He had gathered, from what little conversation had taken place between the security cutter's crew and himself, that an Imperial Commander named Zachary Droon ruled Arris Epsilon. His ancestral seat lay in a range of mountains that bisected the world's main landmass, his capital named Arralow City.
Beyond that, Korvane had scarcely gleaned anything, for the Epsilon security personnel were tight lipped, even for the natives of such a backwater world. It wasn't that they had a problem communicating, for their Low Gothic was uncommonly coherent. They simply didn't communicate very much.
Korvane sighed, inwardly, for to do so out loud would be, to him, an unforgivable rudeness. He looked once more out of the cockpit's port, his eyes tracing the patterns in the vast cloud formations. Many hundred
s of kilometres tall, they formed pillars that connected the various strata of Arris Epsilon's atmosphere. The incredibly complex convection currents within each supported entire worlds of microscopic life, or so the captain had informed him. Apparently, it was the only subject on which he was capable of holding forth.
Korvane's mind wandered, casting back to the warp jump from Mundus Chasmata. Before leaving his vessel to board the security cutter, Korvane had ensured that he knew about his Navigator's condition. The adept had been able to speak to him only briefly, but had communicated to him the enormity of what had transpired during the jump. Korvane knew that the adept was talking down to him, speaking in layman's terms, but he had been chilled to the bone by the Navigator's report. The Rosetta, Mykelo had croaked through parched lips, had been struck a glancing blow by… something… in the warp. He knew not what, but likened the event to a small boat cast adrift upon a raging ocean, only to be caught by the passing of a mighty leviathan. The… leviathan… might have been entirely ignorant as the tiny vessel was dashed by its fins, caught in its wake, swept across the ocean, and cast up on unknown shores.
It was only thanks to the skill of Adept Mykelo that, so Korvane gathered, the Rosetta had escaped the thing's embrace, the Navigator dumping the vessel back into real space. By some bizarre chance, perhaps because they were, literally, caught up on the leviathan's back, they had emerged on the outskirts of the system for which they had been making.
Mykelo had cautioned Korvane against welcoming such an event, however, warning him that the cost might have been higher than any could imagine. Mykelo had shivered as he had explained just how fortunate they had been not to have been swept up entirely, to be carried across space and time to the very ends of the universe.
He shook his head, attempting to clear the memory of those terrible seconds within the warp. At least, it had appeared mere seconds, but it might have been minutes, hours or weeks. He might have been locked in his soul scream for decades, his mortal mind only able to comprehend the smallest portion of damnation.
Korvane shook his head again, focusing on the view outside the shuttle in an effort to shed the cold that had descended upon his soul. The vast cloudbanks were receding, and an impossibly tall mountain chain that stretched from one horizon to the other dominated the view. He saw that the line marked the world's current terminator line, the darkness of rapidly descending night all that was visible beyond.
The shuttle swept on, banking to gain height over the rising mountains below. The copper green rocks soon rose to meet them, and Korvane saw that the shuttle was following the meandering course of a valley many dozens of kilometres deep, the bottom of which was wreathed in pulsating silver mist.
Following the course of the valley, Korvane saw that it came to a head amid the mountains above. The shuttle rose, following the valley to its termination in the mountain's crags. More of the silver, inwardly glowing mist wreathed this tallest of mountains, but Korvane soon made out the unmistakable pattern described by racing landing lights.
The shuttle throttled back, bleeding velocity as the pilot brought it expertly in through the coiling mist. It settled upon its landing gear, the captain throwing a bank of switches and disengaging its engines.
Korvane realised as they touched down upon the surface of Arris Epsilon that the future of the Arcadius Dynasty might rest entirely in his hands.
He grinned.
Arralow City, seat of power of Imperial Commander Zachary Droon, was an ancient stone structure, perched precariously atop the highest peak of the mountain range. The chain stretched from the eastern to the western horizons, forming a mighty, jagged and unbroken spine. The valley along which the cutter had approached ran to the south, receding from view as it descended to the mist-wreathed flats below. An immense plain stretched to the north, the bioluminescent cloud formations dancing across its endless surface.
Korvane saw all this as he stood on the windswept landing pad, awaiting the approach of a ceremonial guard. He felt a mild, but pleasant surprise that such had been ordered, for he had given no advance warning of his visit and was not known to the Imperial Commander. It was a good sign, he judged, going by his experience of dealing in matters of courtly etiquette.
He stood in polite silence, flanked by the captain and first mate of the cutter. The shock of the exit from the warp was clearing, and he was struck by the unusual scent upon the air, a vaguely noxious combination of chemical sharpness and decay. He realised that it must be some by-product of the exotic eco-system at play within the clouds, and guessed that the natives were entirely unaware of it. He stifled a cough, and determined not to mention it.
The ceremonial procession approached, Korvane able to make out the details of the guards' uniforms and weapons. They offered a jarring contrast to Luneberg's household guard, who had worn uniforms of stark white with tall feathers at their brows. These wore rough spun, un-dyed cloth, and carried simple, sturdy lasguns in place of the overly ornate and entirely impractical long rifles that Luneberg's men had carried.
The procession reached the edge of the landing pad, and an officer, barely distinguishable to Korvane from the other guards, stepped forwards and bowed.
'I welcome you, Lord Gerrit of the Arcadius, to the world of Arris Epsilon. My master, the Imperial Commander Lord Droon bids you attend him'
Korvane was struck by the clarity of the man's Low Gothic, just as he had been by that of the cutter's captain.
It was most unusual, in his experience, to find a dialect this far out on the Eastern Rim that was so understandable. So clear was it, in fact that Korvane guessed it was a derivation of High Gothic rather than one of the hybrid dialects used on most worlds. All this passed through his mind in the span of time it took the officer to speak, Korvane's expert instincts gleaning potentially valuable information from every aspect of his situation.
'I gladly do so. he replied, bowing ever so slightly at the waist and reading the other man's reaction all the while. Seeing the other bow yet lower told him that his conventions were correct when it came to acknowledging comparative social ranking.
The officer turned, his squad doing likewise in perfect unison. Korvane stepped forwards, and the guards marched off as he passed them. He found himself walking along a tall, thin access-way crossing a vast gulf to a rocky spire several hundred metres away. He glanced over the rail-less edge, glad that the ground was not visible, the mist bubbling away far below.
Looking ahead, Korvane saw the bulk of what he took to be Imperial Commander Zachary Droon's palace, perched upon the highest peak of mountain towards which the walkway led. It consisted of a multitude of peaked turrets, verandas and galleries, each connected, he guessed, by a honeycomb of tunnels cut into the rock of the mountain.
The walkway terminated in a tall, thin portal in the rock, flanked on either side by long, fluttering pennants. The doors opened on well-oiled hinges, swinging inwards to reveal a brightly lit passage leading into the mountain.
The procession passed through the portal, following the passage cut through the raw stone for a hundred metres or so, to a second set of tall, thin doors. The guards now changed formation, forming a perfect line behind Korvane. At some unheard signal, the doors swung open and a bright light burst forth, briefly dazzling Korvane.
He was so determined to avoid causing offence that he stepped forwards, regardless that his vision had yet to clear. As his sight adjusted to the brightness, Korvane saw that he stood in the centre of a wide, tall space cut into the side of the mountain. The world's sun entirely filled the view beyond the cave's mouth, its centre the brightest white, its halo a serene jade. Silhouetted against the sun, Korvane could just make out a tall form, which stepped towards him.
The silhouette resolved in Korvane's vision, forming into a tall, thin-faced man, his hair receding, wearing a long robe of plain linen. This was Zachary Droon, judged Korvane, an ascetic, by his appearance, although Korvane recalled the numerous times his father had warned him agains
t acting on first impressions.
'Welcome to my court, Lord Gerrit. Droon made an expansive motion with his long, thin arms. Korvane followed the gesture, noting the courtiers arrayed upon either side, dressed in the same, simple garb as their master. "We so seldom receive guests, and when we do, we are never found wanting as hosts. 'You arrived unannounced, Lord Gerrit?
Korvane caught the inference immediately — Droon was sizing him up, while simultaneously hedging his bets lest Korvane prove to be a potential ally, or a potential threat. The Imperial Commander appeared to have accepted that Korvane was, as he had identified himself, a rogue trader, for which Korvane was grateful. He guessed that Droon was prepared to believe him, for now, but would require a more solid indication at some point in the not too distant future.
'Yes my Lord Droon, for which I beg your forgiveness. A little contrition was hardly inappropriate at this juncture, Korvane thought. Evidently, Droon thought the same thing, for he nodded sagely at Korvane's reply. A mishap whilst traversing the empyrean brought us to your domains in this manner, although we were bound for Arris Epsilon in any case.
Droon's eyebrows rose. 'Really? We expected no such visit. Please, do go on'
Korvane felt hot prickles rise at his neck, for Droon appeared more inclined to press his guest for an explanation than would ordinarily be politic. He went on, 'No, my lord, and again, I must ask your forbearance. My vessel and two others were fleeing an attack at a nearby system. In our haste to escape, we determined that this was the safest destination'
Upon hearing this, the Imperial Commander turned his head to one side, considering, Korvane guessed, the likelihood of Korvane's story.
'Your attackers were… raiders? Pirates?
'No, my lord, unfortunately not, we were engaged in a trade negotiation upon Mundus Chasmata-
'Luneberg? Droon interjected, his previously blank expression suddenly one of anger.