The starfield around the Vengeful wavered and spun, engulfing the starship with a whirl of colours: the eye of a kaleidoscopic storm of the material and immaterial. Zacherys engaged the drive and the strike cruiser lurched into the warp; not a physical strain of inertia but a stretching of the mind, filled with momentary flashes of memory and dizziness. For the psyker, the transition welled up at the base of his skull, suffusing his thoughts with pressure as synapses flared randomly for a heartbeat.
It was over in a moment. The Vengeful was sliding along the psychic current, Geller field sparkling around it. Zacherys opened his mind up to the power of the warp and felt the shifting energies around him. He could sense the ebb and flow of the immaterium, but he was no Navigator; he lacked true warp-sight. Though he could feel the titanic psychic power surging around the ship, he could see only a little along their route, enough to avoid the swirls and plunging currents that would hurl them off-course, but little more.
Messenger? he thought. There was no reply and Zacherys became fearful that the creature had tricked him back into warp space, to drift on the tides until the Geller field finally failed and they were set upon by the daemons and other denizens that hungered after their souls.
“Foolish,” Zacherys muttered to himself.
The ship was buffeted by a wave of energy and Zacherys’ focus turned to the steering controls as he attempted to ride the surge. As with the warp jump itself, he felt this not in the pit of his stomach like a man upon an ordinary sea, but as crests and troughs of sensation behind his eyes, along every nerve.
He regained some control, moving the Vengeful into a calmer stream of power. He was making a huge mistake.
Zacherys’ hand hovered over the emergency disengage rune, which would rip open the fabric of real/warp space and dump the Vengeful back into the material galaxy. There was no telling what damage would be done to the warp engines, or those on board, and Zacherys would have to confess all to Gessart.
It seemed such an ignominious end. So soon after taking the first steps on the road to freedom. It made a mockery of Zacherys’ aspirations; his hopes to understand the nature of his abilities and his place between the real and unreal. The bright path leading from Helmabad he had seen in his visions was guttering and dying, swallowed by the formless energy of the void.
I am here.
Zacherys let out an explosive breath of relief.
I need your help, he thought.
Of course you do, replied Messenger. Look how perilous your situation has become, flinging yourselves into our domain without heed to the dangers.
I need a guide, thought Zacherys. Can you show me the way ahead?
As I told you before, you must lower your defences and allow me to enter your mind. I must see with your eyes to guide you. Do not worry; I will protect you from the others.
Zacherys’ hand was shaking as he leaned over towards the Geller field controls. It would be a rash act, dooming not just the psyker but every soul on board the Vengeful. What option did he have?
Indeed, said Messenger. You have cast yourselves upon the whims of cruel fate. Yet, there is no need to succumb to despair. You can still control your destiny, with me beside you.
What do you get as you part of the bargain? asked Zacherys. Why should I trust you?
I get your mind, my friend. And your loyalty. We need each other, you and I. In this world you are at my mercy; but I have no reach into your world other than with your hands. We shall help each other, and both shall benefit.
You could destroy the ship, thought Zacherys.
What would I gain? A momentary gratification, a brief peak of power and nothing more. Do not mistake me for the mindless soul-eaters that flock after your ship. I too have my ambitions and desires, and a mind and body such as yours can take me closer to them.
You will possess me, drive me from my own flesh!
You know that I cannot. Your armour against me is your will, strengthened over your whole life. We would wage war against each other constantly, neither victorious. You are no normal mortal; you are a Space Marine still, with all the power that entails.
Klaxons screeched across the Vengeful as Zacherys punched in the first cipher to unlock the Geller field controls. Within moments, Gessart was on the comm.
“What is it? Warp breach?” the warband leader demanded.
“There is nothing to fear,” said Zacherys, convincing himself as much as the commander. The blaring was joined by a host of flashing red lights on the display board as Zacherys keyed in the next sequence. “Everything is under control.”
He tapped out the last digits and pressed the deactivation rune. With a screech that could only be heard inside his head, Zacherys cut the Geller field. The bubble of psychic energy around the starship imploded, the full pressure of the warp rushing into and through the Vengeful.
Zacherys felt cold, a freezing chill of the void that encrusted every cell of his being. With gritted teeth, he put his head back against the chair.
“The moment of truth,” he whispered. “I am at your mercy, Messenger. Prove me right or wrong.”
The bitter cold vanished, replaced by warmth that glowed through Zacherys’ limbs. He felt the heat expanding outwards, engulfing the rest of the ship. The energy of the warp remained, not pushed back like it was with the Geller field, but the Vengeful settled in an oasis of calm, resting gently upon the stilled psychic tide.
Zacherys opened his eyes. Other than the tingling in his nerves, the psyker felt no different. He flexed his fingers and looked around until he was confident that he was in full control of his faculties. He laughed, buoyed up by a sudden feeling of ecstasy that suffused his body.
And then he felt it.
It was indistinct, like the tendrils of a light fog, spreading through his mind, dribbling along the course of his thoughts. It was a dark web, an alien cancer latching on to all of his emotions, every hope and fear, dream and disappointment, suckling upon his centuries of experience. Zacherys sensed satisfaction seeping through him, leeched from his new companion.
Such delights we have to offer one another. But for another time. Tell me, my friend: where do you wish to go?
Gessart paced the command bridge as he waited for the results of the initial sensor sweep. Zacherys had done an admirable job, dropping the ship out of warp space just outside the orbit of Geddan’s fourth world. Gessart wondered how the psyker had overcome the graviometric problems that normally prevented ships from emerging so close to a celestial body, but decided against asking for details; the former Librarian’s strangely contented expression and the incident with the collapsing Geller field warned Gessart that there was something odd happening, but he could not afford the distraction for the moment.
“Seven signatures on response, captain,” announced Kholich Beyne, the head of the Vengeful’s non-Space Marine crew. The young man checked something on the data-slab in his hands. “No military channels in use.”
“Confirm that,” said Gessart. “Are there any Imperial Navy vessels?”
Kholich headed over to the sensor technicians and conferred briefly with each. He turned back to Gessart with a solemn expression.
“Confirm that there are no Imperial Navy vessels in the system, captain. The convoy is assembling around the fifth planet. From their comms chatter, they are expecting to receive their escort in the next day or two.”
“Defences in that grid?” Gessart stopped his pacing and knotted his hands behind his back, trying to stay calm.
“We’re not picking up any orbital defences, captain. It seems unlikely that the convoy would gather without some form of protection.”
“Surface-to-orbit weapons, most likely,” said Gessart. “Nothing that can attack us if we get amongst the convoy before they start opening fire.”
He rounded on the comms team.
“Transmit our identifier to the convoy ships. Tell them we will be approaching.”
“If they require an explanation, captain?” asked
Kholich. “What do we tell them?”
“Nothing,” replied Gessart, heading towards the bridge doors. “Find out who the civilian convoy captain is and inform him that I’ll be boarding his vessel and speaking to him in person.”
“Very well, captain,” said Kholich as the armoured doors slid open with a rumble. “I’ll inform you of any developments.”
Though not considered a large vessel by Imperial standards, the Vengeful dwarfed the merchantman carrying Sebanius Loil; the man who had identified himself as the merchant commander of the convoy. Following a terse conversation, during which Gessart had done most of the talking, the trader had acquiesced to the Space Marine’s demand to be allowed on board. Now Gessart and his warriors were fully armoured and crossing the few hundred kilometres between the strike cruiser and the Lady Bountiful aboard their last surviving Thunderhawk gunship.
Gessart looked at the merchantman through the cockpit canopy, noticing the three defence turrets clustered around her midsection: short-ranged weapons that might fend off a lone pirate but which would be hard-pressed to overload even one of the Vengeful’s void shields. Beyond the Lady Bountiful was the rest of the convoy, visible only as returns on the Thunderhawk’s scanners, separated from each other by several thousand kilometres of vacuum. Four were of similar size, but two of the ships were immense transports, three times the size of the Vengeful. Fortunately they were empty, destined to pick up their cargo of an Imperial Guard regiment en route to the warzone in Rhodus.
Bright light streamed from an opening that stretched a quarter of the length of the Lady Bountiful as the ship slid back its loading bay doors to allow the Thunderhawk to land. Nicz eased the gunship into a course and speed parallel with the merchantship and then fired the landing thrusters to guide them into the bay.
A lone man waited for Gessart as the Thunderhawk’s ramp lowered to the deck, smoke and steam billowing across the bare rockcrete floor. He was stocky, clad in a heavy fur-lined coat with puffed shoulders slashed with red. Sebanius Loil warily watched the Space Marines with one good eye and an augmetic device riveted into his face in place of the other. Lenses clacked as the merchant focussed on Gessart. A servo whined as Loil lifted his right hand in welcome, the sleeve of the coat falling back to reveal a three-clawed metal hand.
“Welcome aboard the Lady Bountiful, captain,” said Loil. His voice was a hoarse whisper and through the ruff of the coat Gessart could see more bionics; an artificial larynx bobbed up and down at Loil’s throat.
Gessart did not return the greeting. He looked at his warriors over his shoulder and signalled them to spread out around the docking bay.
“I’m taking your cargo,” he said.
Loil did not seem surprised by this pronouncement. He lowered his cybernetic arm with a whirr and held out his good hand towards Gessart.
“You know that I cannot allow that, captain,” said the merchant. “My cargo is destined for Imperial forces fighting at Rhodus. I have an agreement with the Departmento Munitorum.”
The bionic hand delved into a deep pocket and produced a data-crystal. Loil offered it towards Gessart as proof of his contract.
“You have no choice in the matter,” said Gessart as he thrust Loil aside. “Your compliance will be for your own good.”
“You cannot seriously threaten us with force,” said Loil, following Gessart as the Space Marine stalked across the bay towards the main doors. Gessart darted the man a look that confirmed he could very well make such a threat. Loil paled and his artificial eye buzzed erratically. “This is intolerable! I will…”
The trader’s words petered away as Zacherys thudded down the ramp. The psyker’s eyes were orbs of golden energy. Zacherys turned that infernal gaze upon Loil, who recoiled in horror, holding up his hands in front of his ravaged face. The merchant whimpered and fell to his knees, tears coursing down his scarred cheeks. Zacherys stood over the man for a moment, looking down, lips pursed in contemplation.
“Where is the main cargo hold?” asked Gessart.
Zacherys looked up, broken from his thoughts by Gessart’s questions.
“Aft,” said the former Librarian. “Four bays, all filled with crates. Too much for the Thunderhawk, we will have to bring the Vengeful alongside and dock directly.”
Zacherys held out a hand above Loil’s head. He twitched his armoured fingers and the merchant looked up, meeting the psyker’s gaze. The gold of Zacherys’ eyes spread down his right arm and engulfed the head of the merchant before disappearing. Zacherys smiled and lifted his hand further. The ship’s captain rose jerkily to his feet, swaying slightly.
“Lead me to the bridge,” said Zacherys.
Loil’s first steps were faltering as he resisted the control of the psyker, scraping his feet across the floor. Zacherys twisted his wrist a fraction and Loil mewled like a wounded animal, knees buckling. The merchant righted himself and stumbled on, Zacherys following with long, slow strides.
The double doors hissed open, revealing a cluster of crew members holding an assortment of weapons: shotguns, autoguns, lasrifles. They stared in disbelief as their captain shuffled through the open doors, Zacherys and Gessart close behind. On their heels, the rest of the Space Marines hefted their bolters meaningfully.
“What do we do, Captain Loil?” asked one of the men, lasgun trembling in his grip.
“Wh-whatever they say,” hissed the merchant. “Do whatever they say.”
The men looked uncertain. Gessart towered over them, fists clenched.
“Make ready to unload your cargo to our vessel,” he said slowly. “Comply and no harm will come to you. Disobey and you will be killed. Put down your weapons.”
All but one of them did as they were told, their guns clattering on the deck. One, face twisted with indignation, raised his shotgun. He didn’t have time to pull the trigger. Gessart’s fist slammed into his face, snapping the crewman’s neck and hurling him across the corridor.
“Pass the word to your crewmates,” said Gessart. “Unloading will begin in ten minutes.”
Zacherys made Loil cut the comm-link and then released his psychic grip on the merchant. The man swooned to the floor, head banging loudly against the deck. Blood oozed from a gash in the captain’s scalp. It didn’t matter; he had served his purpose. The rest of the convoy would be gathering on the Lady Bountiful to await boarding and “inspection” by the Space Marines.
I think I pushed him too far, thought Zacherys as he noticed blood leaking from Loil’s ears and nose.
It does not matter, replied Messenger. There are more of his kind, weak and pathetic, than there are stars in your galaxy. Did you feel how easy it was to control his feeble mind?
I did, replied Zacherys. The thrill of using the man as a puppet ebbed away, leaving Zacherys strangely empty. What else can I do?
Whatever you desire. You power will no longer be chained by the dogma of weaklings. The full force of y—Wait! Did you feel that?
I felt nothing, thought Zacherys. What is it?
Let me show you.
Zacherys felt the daemon shifting inside him, pulling back it tendrils from his limbs, coalescing its power in his brain. His witchsight flared into life—the psychic sense that allowed Zacherys to feel the thoughts of others, sense their emotions and locate the spark of their minds in the warp. Zacherys’ golden eyes did not see the cramped bridge of the merchantman or the bloodied bodies of the three officers lying crumpled by the door. His thoughts expanded through the ship and beyond, touching on the moon below, sensing the minds of the crew aboard the Vengeful alongside. Out and out his mind stretched, reaching through the veil that separated reality from the warp.
And then he felt them.
They were indistinct, faint reflections of presence like shadows in darkness. They were not in the warp; even before his pact with Messenger, Zacherys could tell the approach of a ship by its wake in the immaterium. They were somewhere else.
What are they, he asked? Where are they?
&nbs
p; Between here and there, in their little tunnels burrowed through dimensions. The children of the Dark Prince; you call them eldar.
Zacherys strained to focus on their location, but could not fix upon them. They were close, within the system. He broke off the search and forced himself back to his mortal senses.
“Gessart, we might have a problem,” he barked over the comm.
* * *
Out of glimmering stars of silver, the eldar ships emerged into real space, a little over twenty thousand kilometres away on the starboard bow. Gessart cursed the rudimentary scanner arrays of the Lady Bountiful, which were painfully short-ranged and slow. He opened up a channel to the Vengeful.
“Kholich, I’m transmitting coordinates. Give me a full augur sweep of that area. Three eldar ships detected. I want to know course, speed and type in two minutes.”
Gessart’s fingers danced over the transmitter controls as he sent the information to the strike cruiser.
“We have to assume they are hostile,” he said as he stabbed the transmit rune. Zacherys, Nicz, Lehenhart and Ustrekh were with him in the bridge while the others oversaw the transfer of the cargo containers from the hold to the bays of the Vengeful. “How much longer until we have what we need?”
“Not long enough,” replied Nicz. “Assuming they come for us as quick as they can.”
“They will,” said Zacherys. “They are predators and they are hunting. I feel their desire for the kill.”
Gessart flexed his gauntleted fingers with agitation.
“If we cut and run now, we might get away,” he muttered, more to himself than his companions. “But then we will have to find more supplies before we reach the Eye. Yet, we have no idea of their strength or intent. A stiff warning may force them to break off. They cannot know our numbers either.”
“I say we fight,” said Ustrekh. “They’ve come here looking for easy pickings. They’ll have little stomach for a real battle.”
Victories of the Space Marines Page 5