‘And now their secondary fleet has scattered,’ Praxa­medes said with some satisfaction. He had expected a fight against the second capital ship, but it had used its extraordinary engines to power away, and was still accelerating as it looped above the orbital plane to come back towards the doomed necron vessel, almost too fast for the scanners to follow. Its mission was unclear – there was no chance it would be able to launch rescue boats in time, and the captain’s attack flotilla was safely inside the atmospheric envelope of Orestes III. Given the speed of the xenos’ strategic collapse, Praxa­medes was momentarily at a loss regarding what to do next.

  ‘Lieutenant, detecting some kind of bulk hauler vessel crossing the orbit line of the fourth planet,’ announced Lerok.

  The officer passed the detection screen to the main display where Praxa­medes could study it. The enemy ship’s purpose remained unclear. The battleship-class vessel might have been heading for the orbital pala­ces or to support the ground attack but had it been a significant threat it surely would have been deployed in the main attack. There were also half a dozen escort-sized ships in the immediate vicinity, which if allowed to gather might pose some problems for the strike cruiser.

  ‘Sound general pursuit, gunnery crews to fire at targets of opportunity.’ He used the datapad on the command throne to highlight three enemy ships that were manoeuvring together, trying to interpose themselves between the Ithraca’s Vengeance and the departing capital ship. ‘These ones should provide good target practice.’

  Leaving tails of plasma fire, the Ithraca’s Vengeance powered onward, leaving the necron bulk hauler unmolested.

  There was nothing Ah-hotep could do while the emergency protocols of Simut controlled everything aboard the Sun of Endings. The portion of energy not coursing through the inertialess engines was powering up the tomb vaults and translocational grid for total evac­uation. Even if she bent her entire mind to the effort, the ship would not respond to her will – the slave-codes prevented it. Secondary signals speared out to the escort fleet, commanding them to protect the speeding tomb ship at any cost. Even the barques escorting the blackstone node responded, curving away from their charge to intercept the lumbering human vessel.

  Like a silvery comet, the tomb ship arced across the system plane, plunging down towards the gravity well of the third planet. Sensor readings showed the Barge of the Stormhawk was entering the upper atmosphere. In his desire to be saved, Simut transmitted an all-conditions code, unlocking every single vault interface aboard the Sun of Endings. Stasis chambers powered down in sequence, releasing more and more energy to the engines and translocator.

  Paralysed in body, Ah-hotep watched in anticipation as the overlord’s tomb ship fell further and further into the world’s gravitic pull. Fronds of escaping power lashed through the atmosphere, sculpting towering storm clouds from the vapour, their innards lit with an emerald haze. Desperate translocator beams flickered voidward, like grasping hands seeking any purchase on a cliff face as the climber plummeted to their doom.

  Ah-hotep did not know what would become of her afterwards, but willed the overlord’s death with every particle of her artificial brain. She longed to reach out with her plasmantic field to siphon just the tiniest portion of energy from the ship’s systems, but even that was beyond her in this imprisoning thrall-state.

  A transfer signal flashed across the sensor arrays, redirecting into the tomb vault complex. The ship shook as massive generators force-activated, coming to full life in an instant. Self-preservation protocols collapsed under the onslaught of Simut’s demands, shutting down the inertialess filter that sheathed the Sun of Endings. Vibrations rattled through its massive decks and a spear of energy leapt across the distance to the beleaguered Barge of the Stormhawk, bending down into the gravity well itself. At the moment of connection, matter became energy, leaping away from the tomb ship as friction-heat consumed the lower ziggurat of its command structure. Datasignals flared, slamming through the cortical matrix like a ram at a fortress gate, rapidly spreading out into every single translocation system.

  With a brutal dimensional shunt that threw the Sun of Endings off course by the sudden increase in mass, Simut and his cohort translocated aboard. Canoptek systems burst with overloaded power as the incoming phalanxes breached vault capacity. The command-mastaba glowed with a haze that reformed into the stooping figure of Simut. His arrival cut off the enslavement protocol but even as Ah-hotep realised she was free to move, Phetos and the lychguard materialised around the overlord, an instant barrier.

  Without the inertialess drive’s grip to slow it, the tomb ship sped on, racing past orbital distance of the third planet and onward towards the local star, taking it far from the rest of the fleet and the enemy. Though Simut had assumed command, Ah-hotep retained a modicum of control from the oldest protocols. She gently raised the inertialess dimensional slip and decelerated.

  Her presence touched upon the input phase of Phetos.

  ‘A close escape,’ said Ah-hotep.

  ‘Fortuitous that your ship had not departed to guard the blackstone node any earlier,’ replied the royal warden. Ah-hotep sought any sign of accusation in Phetos’ mode or bearing but found nothing.

  ‘Fortune favours the worthy,’ she replied, slipping away from his cortical field.

  Restoration loops cycled into life, preventing further energy bleed like the coagulation of a mortal creature’s wound. Tendrils of Simut’s command presence infiltrated the immediate vicinity, taking over what had been controlled from afar.

  ‘I. Live.’ The overlord straightened, his cortical field dimmed by the exertion, his physical light just a faint aura in the gloom of the command chamber. ‘I. Rule.’

  Ah-hotep released a scan program into the vaults, registering a twenty per cent increase in mass.

  Only twenty per cent.

  Discounting the Destroyers deployed to the surface, Simut had lost nearly three-quarters of his personal army in the destruction of his tomb ship, and until resurrection channels were reestablished Zozar was stranded on the planet. Simut’s protocols had invigorated the Sun of Endings’ vault circuits, activating Ah-hotep’s force. She suppressed any display of delight at this discovery. For the moment, the overlord was still in charge, her constructs enthralled to Szarekh dynasty command codes.

  For the moment.

  PART III

  ‘Into gloom the ships did stray,

  When adventure took its high cost.

  Constant dooms upon them prey,

  ’til many a brave soul was lost.

  So light a flame and send a prayer,

  For the souls of the Cursed Fleet.’

  – ‘The Lament of Quintus’,

  an Imperial Navy shanty.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The surge of energy Aeschelus had gained from combat still coursed through him, fuelling anger that had been stirred several days earlier when he had listened to the surrender broadcast. In one act, he and his warriors had dealt a greater blow to the enemy than all of the efforts of the Oresteans. The only reason he could think of to explain such a deficiency of effort was a lack of leadership and will – either through incompetence or deliberate intent.

  ‘Captain, I can see by your demeanour what you intend, and I beg you to think again.’

  Fedualis was forced to run to keep pace with Aeschelus’ long, determined strides. The astropath seemed like a tattered green rag among pillars of cobalt as he slipped between the Bladeguard escort formed up behind their captain. The cruiser’s broad corridor resounded to the crash of boots in unison, almost drowning out the human’s words.

  ‘We need allies, captain.’

  ‘We have allies,’ Aeschelus replied, glancing down at Fedualis with a scowl. ‘Whoever replaces Lowensten as leader will be keen to help us, I am sure.’

  ‘You cannot execute an Imperial commander, you do not have the authority!’

  Aeschelus stopped. Behind him the honour guard halted, boots slamming on the deck in unison as they came to attention, swords held across shields as a salute. They were just a few yards short of the docking port attached to one of the orbital palaces’ starship spurs, and beyond that was doubtless a reception delegation of greater or lesser size and pomp, and perhaps even the Imperial commander himself.

  ‘I have not only the authority, and the right, I have a duty, astropath,’ Aeschelus barked. ‘The Imperial commander tried to consort with the enemy. I was created for this purpose. This whole crusade was launched to purge the Imperium of heretics.’

  ‘Not a heretic, just a man trying to protect his people, captain,’ begged Fedualis, laying a hand on the armoured forearm of the Primaris Marine. ‘You are no inquisitor, to be the judge of an Imperial commander. Have his forces fired upon us? Has he declared his enmity to the Emperor? No. He made a broadcast to an unknown enemy, trying to protect his world.’

  ‘He surrendered, to protect himself.’ Aeschelus started forward again. Praxa­medes awaited him at the doorway, which grumbled open at his arrival to reveal a brightly lit airlock that gave way to a docking arm descending slightly from the sealed join. The captain looked at his second-in-command. ‘Prax, you are the sensible one. Am I allowed to shoot the Imperial commander?’

  ‘I don’t think there’s anyone here that would stop you, if that’s what you mean, brother-captain,’ replied the lieutenant. ‘I can’t say I’m familiar with any legalities involved.’

  ‘See?’ Aeschelus glared at Fedualis. ‘If Prax approves, I must be in the right.’

  ‘Lieutenant…’ The astropath turned his wheedling on Praxa­medes. ‘See sense. Why alienate the Oresteans? We need their safe harbour and the alliance of their troops.’

  ‘Why are you so concerned with what happens to this Imperial commander?’ asked Praxa­medes.

  ‘Good question,’ grunted Aeschelus as he crossed the airlock and onto the station territory. The entry bridge swayed slightly under his weight, and sagged a little as the honour guard marched onto it.

  ‘I am afraid, captain, lieutenant,’ said Fedualis, looking defiantly at each in turn. ‘Scared. Just like the people you are about to meet. We are not engineered to be immune to these terrors. We react. I am scared of the necrons and I am very scared of the nullification of the warp that they have engineered. We are stranded here, captain. The Oresteans probably know this better than we do. I do not know if the necrons care for allies, but if they do then perhaps their ambassadors would find more fertile ground for the seeds of their words if we arrive and try to take over.’

  ‘I am not taking over,’ said Aeschelus, dismayed by the thought. ‘I am no bureaucrat.’

  ‘And how does it appear, if a Space Marine captain comes into a system, executes the Imperial commander and makes demands for soldiers and arms? Is that not a coup? Are not the Adeptus Astartes expressly forbidden such authority and ambitions except on their recruitment worlds?’

  Aeschelus was about to snap back a retort but after a moment’s thought had to concede that the astropath might have a valid point. The Indomitus Crusade was about reconnecting the Imperium to the Emperor. He had been warned that he might encounter former Imperial societies that had fallen from the grace of the Emperor or been enslaved by alien ideals. Just as the lord pri­march had striven during the golden age of the Great Crusade to bring peace and order, so his renewed endeavour was about the unification of humanity under the banner of Terra once more.

  Doors buzzed open ahead, revealing two lines of red-jacketed troopers holding their lasguns to their chests. More red filled a hallway beyond.

  A slender figure appeared from the ranks, dressed in a black habit edged with scarlet, her hood about her shoulders, a slender silver chain with the symbol of the Adepta Sororitas hanging across her forehead. She was middle-aged, hair greying at the temples, a slightly waxy appearance to her skin that suggested early use of anti-ageing tonics. There were callipers enclosing the digits of each hand, disappearing into the sleeves of her vestment.

  ‘Sister-Chatelain Aures, I presume,’ said the captain. ‘Of the Orders Famulous.’

  ‘Captain Aeschelus,’ she replied with a bow. She pointed to the embroid­ered portcullis motif on her chest. ‘The Order of the Gate. You are of the Ultramarines Chapter. The gene-sons of the lord commander himself.’

  ‘You are aware of the pri­march’s return?’ Aeschelus was pleased. Such conversations were always difficult and he preferred to avoid unnecessary questions regarding Roboute Guilliman’s apparent resurrection. ‘You have been in contact since the storms broke the Imperium?’

  ‘For several years, yes,’ said Aures. She nodded towards Fedualis, who stood behind and to the side of the captain, fidgeting nervously. ‘Your fellow astropaths will be waiting for you in their choir-hall, adept. You will be guided to them momentarily.’

  ‘My thanks, Sister.’

  ‘Where is the Imperial commander?’ Aeschelus stepped forward and the Sister-Chatelain moved with him, maintaining an air of grace despite her rapid steps.

  They passed between two lines of ten scarlet-clad soldiers, who fell in behind the Bladeguard. Ahead, two more squads of planetary troops formed up to lead the procession through a gilded arch. The walls of the gallery were lined with large portraits, several dozen in all. Aeschelus could see the familial resemblance between them. The floor was carpeted, strange underfoot after so many years of nothing but ship decks and battlefields to tread upon. It felt like sinking into mud. The walls were decorated with printed paper in ochre and green, the floral patterns intertwined with figurative iterations of the Imperial aquila. Evidently they had docked at some privileged station more accustomed to welcoming dignitaries and figures of rank from the Adeptus Terra.

  ‘He is through here, captain,’ the Sister replied, indicating the grand archway ahead. At its apex was a monogram shield held in the claws of a double-headed eagle, with the initials KML. Scrollwork beneath attested to the commander as Benefactor of Orestes, Chosen of Terra, Beloved of the Emperor.

  Titles that spoke of ego, not service. Fedualis’ argument that the Imperial commander had surrendered for his people seemed flat in the face of such evidence of selfishness.

  Something in Aeschelus’ expression must have warned Aures that his thoughts on the commander were not complimentary.

  ‘I hope we do not have cause for regret for inviting you aboard our palaces.’ Aures’ words were a warning that the Oresteans would protect their leader.

  Aeschelus said nothing and tried harder to keep any violent intent from his face and posture. If he was to act, it would be better not to broadcast the fact.

  They soon came through the archway into a large audience chamber. The walls were hung with ornate drapes from a ceiling at least a hundred feet high. Banners from Orestes regiments that had been sent to distant wars hung in lines across the hall while clarion-cherubs flitted about the vaulted dome, sounding trumpets at the Space Marines’ arrival. A group of several dozen lavishly dressed individuals gathered at the far end, while more guards were stationed to either side, several hundred in total.

  Walking onto the hard marble, his boots ringing seemingly in time with the continued clarion call, Aeschelus reviewed the soldiers. They looked smart, but each showed heavy strain, dark rings around their bloodshot eyes. Trembling hands and quivering lips. Though they stood straight and proud they glanced at each other, or kept their eyes fixed on the floor rather than ahead. He saw a few whose lips were moving in whispers and, thanks to his augmented hearing, he could pick out the words of prayers – messages of thanks and calls for deliverance.

  The crowd of nobles parted, revealing an older man, lines of supportive augmetics beneath the skin of his throat and laced into the backs of his hands. His hair was just a few wisps across a bionic-pierced scalp. He was dressed in a uniform of the Astra Militarum, a brocaded greatcoat of scarlet and gold, a filigree-hilted sword at his waist and a long-barrelled pistol on the other hip.

  Many were the stories of self-interested governors that lived richly on the labours of their subjects. Corruption was rife and the captain had believed Lowensten a coward for issuing his surrender. The gaze that swept up to meet Aeschelus was not what he had expected. Grey eyes met his, unyielding even in the face of the giant warrior bearing down with one hand on the pommel of his power sword, and a massive shield hung on the other arm.

  Further to Aeschelus’ surprise, the Imperial commander stiffly lowered to one knee as the captain approached, bowing his head. A ripple of gasps and muttering coursed through the assembled nobles. One other remained close at hand, her black coat fastened with large golden buttons up to the chin, lacy white gloves bright against the dark skin of her hands. She walked with a cane topped with a small golden skull, her face hidden behind a veil that hung from two jewelled pins stuck through a small hillock of hair.

  ‘Imperial Commander Kaleb Monfrottine Lowensten offers his profound gratitude for your arrival, Captain Aeschelus of the Ultramarines,’ said the woman. ‘Your arrival has reminded him of his own deficiency in duty and he is humbled by your example in bringing battle to the xenos without hesitation. He has erred and has sought penance from his Sister-Chatelain, but also offers himself up to the altar of your judgement.’

  Aeschelus drew his sword, eliciting cries from some of the nobles, weeping from others. He looked around the hall. Many of the troopers were fixed on him, others looking away with shame or fear. He could see their officers, epaulettes and ceremonial swords picking them out among the scarlet. None seemed ready to intervene. They had been instructed to witness whatever came to pass.

  It was an act of honour that he found difficult to reconcile with the furtive message he had listened to on Leshk Station.

 

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