by Guy Haley
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.
Corvo’s Hammer and Ceaseless Vigilance’s prows flashed as their guns discharged. Away ahead of them, made small by distance, Lux Rubrum sparkled with righteous violence.
The hulk was a long way away. If would be nearly half an hour before the first rounds hit home. The bridge fell back to quiet, muttered orders and muted conversation the order of the day as the complicated affair of space combat was undertaken.
Twenty-seven minutes or so later the bombardment cannon rounds, outpacing the explosive-cast shells of the weapons batteries, hit home.
Bright explosions flared on the side of the hulk, round blisters of fire welling up on its rough skin. Those less sophisticated than the adepts called such rounds lava bombs. Each contained a large fusion generator. In the brief moment the fusion generator operated, the bomb generated several gigatons of explosive energy, hotter than the surface of a star. Weapons like that could crack a planet’s crust, given time.
They were equally effective against the space hulk.
‘Target report.’ Galt directed his question at one of the battle-brothers acting as officers on the bridge. Brother Montan, Fifth Company, he noted. He should and did know the names of all the initiates under his command.
‘Target integrity holding, brother-captain.’
‘Continue bombardment,’ said Galt. He cast his eye over the tactical hologram over the chartdesk. It pulsed and flared with bursts of light, denoting hits. ‘Concentrate on target point alpha ten, I see a weakness there. Exploit it.’
Energy beams flicked across the void. Shells glimmered in the eternal night of space. The black between the fleets and the hulk sparkled with short-lived stars.
‘Lord captain!’ Brother Montan said. ‘We have our first major collapse!’
All eyes on the bridge went from the display to the distant hulk. A dazzling flash preceded a billow of flame toward the hulk’s nominal stern, and a long, thin shape detached itself from the main body of the hulk. Half a starship, at least, it span slowly about its axis, wheeling gracefully as it fell toward the sun.
Grim smiles on the bridge. The hulk was almost obscured by clouds of fire. A tail of debris now trailed behind it.
‘Lord captain,’ called a serf. ‘We have some unusual readings…’ Puzzlement creased the man’s face. He was heavily tattooed, a man of Honourum.
‘To me!’ said Persimmon. Within his throne-cradle, the crippled captain leaned forward as the serf sent the information to the captain’s data-slates. Persimmon’s remaining eye narrowed. His face lit up as his screens flashed. ‘Strange. I’m reading multiple, concerted energy emissions. If that were a warship I’d say they were powering up to fire or flee.’ Persimmon lay back in his cradle. ‘Not unusual. Probably feedback from dying systems, it is hard to tell in all this static, brother-captain.’
‘It is not a concern at this time,’ said Galt. ‘Have the Forge examine the data after the bombardment. Continue firing.’
The tac-screen fizzed, then went out. The lights on the bridge flickered. All faces turned upward instinctively. All but Galt’s. ‘Have faith brothers, and continue to fire.’
‘Probably a stellar pulse, not unusual so close in,’ said Persimmon. ‘Jorso’s magnetosphere is lively. But we’ve lost most of our auto-targeters, brother-captain.’
‘I trust your hands and eyes to guide the gun crews, brothers,’ said Galt. Not once did he take his eyes from the blazing hulk. The bombardment would now rest with the judgement and skills of the brothers. They were trained to solve the difficult calculations of combat over such a distance. The hulk was two light minutes away, and so what they saw was where the hulk had been two minutes ago. The actual position of the hulk and the differing speeds of the Space Marine projectiles all needed to be taken into account to ensure effective targeting. Taxing work, but this was better, the minds of adepts and not the spirits of machines bringing death to the unclean.
He was pleased that most of the rounds he watched hit home. More wreckage fell away from the hulk, some of it revealed to be burning as it floated across the hulk’s silhouette, before the fires were lost against those of the sun.
Ranial, who had remained silent and still, suddenly came alert.
The ship’s vox crackled, more laden with static than ever. ‘Lord captain,’ Van Heem’s voice was serpent-smooth and oddly accented. ‘Inbound fleet. Emperor preserve us, lord captain, warp translation imminent!’
‘What?’ shouted Persimmon.
‘We are receiving an astropathic broadcast. Mars-stamped,’ Lord Feldiol’s voice sounded over the vox. ‘We are decoding it now.’
‘I feel it, a powerful sending preceding a fleet.’ Ranial’s eyes shut. ‘They are coming in hard by.’
‘Where?’ said Galt.
‘Between the fleet and the hulk.’
‘All hands! Prepare for evasive action!’ shouted Persimmon. ‘Hard to starboard! Hard to starboard!’
Alarms wailed. Novum in Honourum’s deck tilted as the ship pitched. Galt had the uneasy feeling of being trapped between warring forces far mightier than he, cosmic forces ignorant of the fragility of man: the inertia of the craft’s forward motion, the pull of the artificial gravity plates, the mass of the ship itself and its sudden movement to the side.
Between the hulk and the fleet space flickered, the fabric of reality wavered as if a blanket shaken. The star’s light took on an unnatural hue, a colour not native to this universe.
‘Translation underway!’ shouted Van Heem.
Thunderhawks darted nimbly from the warp point, escorts following swiftly. The Ceaseless Vigilance crawled around, thrusters and braking rockets jetting all over it as it sought to avoid the incoming vessels. Corvo’s Hammer trailed dangerously behind. Novum in Honourum heeled to the side, nose sweeping out and away from the star.
‘Throne! We’re going to end up right in the middle of them! All ahead full! Ahead full!’ shouted Persimmon.
Further pressures assailed those on the bridge. In a great, round arc, Novum in Honourum lumbered away from the ripple in the sky, the fabric of the ship groaning in distress.
There was a blinding flash. Reality folded into itself, torn asunder by warp engines. A third fleet disgorged itself from the warp, ships tumbling from nonsensical geometries into shapes suited to material space.
A great vessel, longer than either of the battle-barges and at half their mass again, floated serenely between Novum in Honourum and the space hulk as if it had always been there, its rust-red exterior betraying none of the violence of its arrival. Void shields flared as weapons fire intended for the Death of Integrity slammed into them.
‘They’re opening fire, brother-captain!’ shouted Persim-
mon.
Galt bared his teeth, ready to return the favour, but stopped. The arcane cannons that lined the vessel from prow to stern remained silent. Only swarms of interceptor missiles issued from it, not ship killers, and they slammed in their hundreds into shells still streaking from Lux Rubrum.
Galt saw what he expected to see, a skull, half-human, half-mechanoid, contained within a white-and-black cog – the badge of the Adepts of Mars.
‘All decks hold! Hold fire!’
Alarms clamoured across the bridge, proximity alerts, emergency evasion, firing aborts, damage warnings.
‘Tech-priests?’ said Ranial.
‘Hail them,’ said Galt angrily. ‘Let us see what they want.’
Caedis got there first.
The hiss of static from the star and the backwash from the fleet’s arrival could not conceal the fury in his voice.
‘Mechanicus vessel, remove yourself immediately from the area. You
are interfering in the affairs of the Adeptus Astartes Chapters Blood Drinkers and Novamarines. If you do not do so, your dangerous warp translation will be interpreted as an attack and we will open fire.’
‘What does he think he is doing?’ hissed Ranial, as he took in the array of giant weapons festooning the Adeptus Mechanicus ship.
The Adeptus Mechanicus reply was swift in coming, broadcast wide band, so any and all could hear it. It cut easily through the star’s voice.
‘This is Lord Magos Explorator Vardoman Plosk of the Adeptus Mechanicus. You will cease firing immediately upon the space hulk designated Death of Integrity and stand down your weapons.’
Galt licked his lips. ‘On whose authority?’ he shouted. ‘By what right do you command the defenders of humanity? By what right do you interrupt our given task of ensuring the safety of mankind? By what right do you halt the work of the Emperor?’
The vox hissed.
‘On the authority of the Adeptus Mechanicus of Mars, to whom all troves of archeotech are sequestered by right, custom and Imperial law. On the authority of the Holy Omnissiah and the God-Emperor, whose work we do.’ There was a pause, deliberate, calculated.
‘And upon the authority of my sponsors, the High Lords of Terra.’
Chapter 4
The Lord Magos Explorator
Galt and Caedis received the tech-priest delegation within Galt’s audience rooms. The two Space Marines sat side by side upon their thrones, clad in full armour. The room had been cleared of tables and chairs. Caedis and Galt’s chairs were raised on a dais under the ceiling depicting the ascending Emperor. Five Novamarines and five Blood Drinkers veterans stood beside the thrones of their leaders, helmeted, weapons ready. Forgemaster Clastrin stood at the foot of the dais, also fully armoured. The chamber’s hidden weapons had been uncovered, and were trained upon the space before the thrones. There would be no warm welcome for the mechanicians of Mars.
The magi came into the room in force. Twelve all told, strange creatures of flesh and metal clad in robes of deep red. They came bearing toothed power axes, and exotic firearms not all of which were of human manufacture.
Twenty-four lesser tech-priests and skitarii cybernetic troopers attended them, also garbed in red. Some carried short banner poles bearing holy machine plans, many were hideously altered. Five carried nozzled machines that belched smoke that smelled of burned oil and harsh chemicals. These came first, preparing the way for their masters. A dozen servitors followed in their footsteps, the flesh stripped back to their skulls, fusion weapons perched on armless shoulders. Servo-skulls dipped and buzzed around the delegation.
The tech-priests’ attendants and servitors stopped at the rear of the room in an arc. Nine of the twelve magi walked through them. They formed a second crescent, halted, and together they brought their axe hafts down, sending a ringing crash through the audience chamber. Their augmitters twittered and chirruped.
‘Lord Magos Explorator Plosk,’ one intoned. ‘Magos Cogitator-Lexmechanic Nuministon, Novo Magos Samin. Masters of Excommentum Incursus. Chosen Explorators of Mars, most favoured of the Omnissiah.’
The remaining three tech-priests passed through a gap in the centre of the crescent to stand before the thrones of the Adeptus Astartes. Smoke from the censer bearers billowed around them.
One of them pulled back his hood to reveal a jowled face. Their leader. ‘I am Lord Magos Plosk, of the forge world Triplex Phall.’ Plosk was a stout man. The metal of cranial implants studded his bald scalp, long steel-covered cables went from the rear of his skull to a machine concealed by a hump in the robes on his back. His face was otherwise unaltered, and presented an expression of equanimity. ‘I apologise to you, Lord Chapter Master Caedis of the Blood Drinkers, and you, Lord Captain Galt of the Novamarines, for the manner of our arrival. But we cannot allow any harm to come to the Death of Integrity.’
‘The hulk is the harbinger of doom,’ said Caedis. He gripped the arms of his throne sufficiently hard to cause the wood to creak. ‘For a third of a century I have followed it, determined to destroy it and spare the worlds of the Emperor infestation by the plague that it carries. And you would deny me at the moment of my triumph?’
Plosk stood firm in the face of Caedis’s anger. ‘I would.’
Caedis leaned forward. ‘I am a Chapter Master of the Adeptus Astartes, Lord of San Guisiga, with a rank equal to that of an Imperial commander. You stand before me impudently, you and your followers do not kneel as is appropriate to my station.’ He hissed his words between his teeth, spittle chasing them into the air.
‘I do not,’ said Plosk equably. ‘It is I who hold higher authority here, not you, my lord.’ He dipped his head.
‘Insolence!’ spat Caedis. Galt looked sidelong at him. Caedis’s face was contorted with rage. The Blood Drinkers Reclusiarch stepped forward and rested a hand upon the Chapter Master’s shoulder plate. Galt was surprised at this lack of deference. Caedis shook it off.
‘A fact, my lord,’ said Plosk with a shrug. ‘I deal only in fact.’
‘You are not beyond the customs and laws of the Imperium, tech-priest. You have interrupted a military operation against the enemies of the Emperor. I demand to know the meaning of this outrage!’
‘It ever was my intent to do so,’ Plosk waved his metal left hand.
From behind the clouds of incense, a pair of servo-skulls flew forward, red eye beams cutting through the smoke. They bore between them a man-high scroll that dragged on the air.
‘Behold,’ said Plosk. ‘My authority. The first part of it. You may see the other fifty-seven segments as and when you wish. This is the pertinent scroll, however, verified by the Masters of Mars, and the High Lords of Terra. This document grants seniority in any and all Imperial matters appertaining to the recovery of STC data. Without exception.’
The servo-skulls floated to a stop in front of Galt, the scroll pulling the smoke into curls. Galt stood, and read the scroll.
‘It is as he says, Lord Caedis.’ Galt picked up one of the heavy seals adorning the bottom; black wax, and smooth to the touch. ‘It is sealed by High Lord Garm, Lord of the Munitorum.’
‘Garm died a century ago,’ said Reclusiarch Mazrael.
‘Did he now?’ said Plosk. ‘I did not hear, we have been to the very edges of the galaxy and back, beyond the light of the Astronomican, searching for this hulk. And to think!’ he gave a watery smile. ‘Here it was, all this time, lodged as a thorn in the heart of the Emperor’s dominion.’ His smile fell away. ‘Nevertheless, the authority stands, whether Garm lives or does not live. His word is inviolate.’
‘How come you by such authority?’ growled Caedis.
The youthful Magos Samin answered for him. He spoke like a fanatic, and made no attempt to hide his sense of superiority. ‘Magos Plosk has been most efficacious in recovering archeotech. Very successful. The High Lords would see more of that success.’ Samin was barely augmented, some kind of apprentice, thought Galt.
‘I have reason to believe that this hulk contains many first and second generation STC printouts, perhaps still functioning. Even one is a treasure beyond reckoning from the Dark Age of Technology. And you would smash them like brutes!’ Plosk shook his head. ‘This I cannot allow. There are greater considerations here than the immediate destruction of mankind’s enemies. The death of a hundred worlds would be a fair price for such knowledge. Ask your Forgemaster there. He knows something of the inner mysteries, seek his counsel.’ He nodded in the direction of the Techmarine.
Clastrin shook his head. His mechadendrites twitched in the air. ‘I do not serve two masters. I am of the Novamarines and my loyalty is to them alone, not Mars. You misspeak, magos.’
‘But do you hold this hulk a treasure?’ said Galt.
‘Indubitably, brother-captain. You know this,’ said Clastrin in his twin voices. ‘A boon to all mankind, and should what
the magos claims exist, of incomparable importance.’
‘I have studied this derelict for long ages, lords,’ said Plosk, gesticulating floridly with hand and mechadendrite. ‘From certain intelligences I have gathered the length and breadth of the galaxy, I have come to believe that at its heart are certain… vessels, that postdate the ascension of the Emperor to his golden throne by only a few millennia. Perhaps even that predate the time of the Great Crusade and our lord’s leaving the world of men.’
‘Where? We see no evidence of any such vessel within the agglomeration,’ said Galt. Next to him, Caedis seethed.
‘And you are expert in these matters, lord captain?’ said Plosk. ‘No? I humbly inform my lords that I am.’
‘Lord Magos Explorator Plosk has retrieved five first-generation STC printouts, my lords,’ said Samin haughtily. ‘He is an unparalleled master in this field.’
‘I understand why you cannot detect them,’ continued Plosk. ‘Their siting is uncertain, the stellar environment here is… difficult,’ he smiled. ‘And so our first task must be to map the hulk.’
‘Our task?’ said Caedis.
‘You would not have us simply withdraw, so you can be about your business? When that is completed, then we may conclude ours,’ said Galt.
‘You are shrewd, lord captain, but no. My authority gives me the power to sequester such forces as I see appropriate to the furtherance of my efforts, and as of this moment, you and your Space Marines seem appropriate to me.’
‘You mean us to cleanse the hulk?’ said Caedis. He licked his lips. A smile ghosted across them.
‘Indeed. I thought you and yours would find that prospect appealing, Lord Chapter Master.’
‘If we refuse?’ said Galt. ‘What then?’
‘I will lodge my objections with the High Lords,’ said Plosk. ‘I recovered the tech-trove of Ophilio the Twisted from the Maelstrom. I broke the ciphers of the long-dead Martusi and brought much power to the arm of man. I have great influence. Investigation of your Chapters by the Inquisition and a penitential crusade would be the most likely outcome.’