Time was its own victory. Perhaps there was still one more gambit, after all.

  The moment of Simut’s victory was so close he would have been able to smell it, had he not divested himself of such mortal senses in an age long past. Even so, his cortical field crackled visibly with excitement as he felt his troops constricting the humans like a great serpent. The serpent king? That was perhaps a worthy title for one that had crushed the resistance from the system. Simut slid it into the title registry of his subordinates for future use.

  Ah-hotep had broadcast that she was in complete control of the human space station and was ready to unleash its power at his command. Zozar’s Destroyers and the Szarekh cohort on the surface were in the process of eradicating the humans and their superior allies. The overlord was not sure whether the fighting would be over before the resonator arrived. If not, its placement upon the surface would seal the overnull and smother any remaining embers of defiance.

  ‘Lord of the Silver Hosts, one human vessel is attempting to escape,’ warned Phetos. The display magnified to a view of the accursed alien vessel that had assaulted the Barge of the Stormhawk. Hatred welled up within Simut.

  ‘Destroy it! Turn it to ash on the cosmic winds!’

  ‘You wish to take the Sun of Endings, Lord of the Starsea?’

  ‘What? No! Send attack barques after it. Their presence will extend the overnull to prevent its break into the othersea. Three should be sufficient.’

  ‘As you will it, Sunlord of the Upper Hills.’

  Simut felt the fleet shifting when a depleted squadron of attack ships broke away from the flotilla guarding the resonator carriers as they moved closer into orbit. They curved out of the gravity trap and acceler­ated after the departing human cruiser.

  The humans had cut through the outer bulkheads and were on the verge of destroying the door to the chamber into which Ah-hotep had withdrawn, surrounded by half a dozen surviving Immortals. Heavy gauss rifles at the ready, they guarded her silently while she let her sense free across the streams of energy that criss-crossed the station and connected it to the universe beyond.

  Her plan was unravelling. The resonator was almost in position to begin its final descent. The enhanced humans were fleeing out-system, pursued by a squadron of barques. On the surface the scattered cortical flashes from Zozar betrayed imminent extermination of the defenders. Despite his serial incompetence and Ah-hotep’s subtle influence, Simut was about to achieve his victory.

  More drastic action was required.

  She weaved together a temporally locked data-packet and set it free through the humans’ calculating systems. With this task complete, Ah-hotep reached out her cortical field to connect with the trans­locator beacons aboard the Sun of Endings. Gaining connection, she locked onto the signal with her bodyguard and remotely activated the beam-transport.

  How refreshing to translocate by her own will! It felt more like floating than falling, and she arrived alert and ready aboard the command-mastaba of her tomb ship. Her Immortals materialised around her.

  ‘Ah-hotep, why have you returned?’ Simut demanded, rising from the command throne.

  She ignored him, plunging her cortical field into the control systems of the tomb ship. Aided by powerful single-use technomandrite protocol-rites, she punched through the overlord’s security routines and activated the drive of the Sun of Endings. She set the engines to accelerate, directly towards the planet. Simultaneously Ah-hotep unleashed an energy blast, scorching the circuitry of the vault controls, leaving them vulnerable to another technomandrite-coded incursion that released her phalanx from the Szarekh protocols.

  ‘Kill the plasmancer!’ bellowed Simut, even as his cortical field rushed back into the tomb ship systems to stop her.

  Phetos pounced, blade swinging towards the plasmancer. An Immortal intercepted the attack, gauss rifle hewn in half by its glittering edge, but deflecting the blow to the side. Simut’s lychguard came to life with blazing green eyes, shields and guns raised.

  ‘No!’ Ah-hotep released the power siphoned from the miniature stars of the reactors, unleashing a lightning storm across the mastaba that hurled three lychguard to the wall and staggered the others. Streaming forward into the breach, she headed for Simut, her weapons and claws leaving trails of emerald sparks.

  The overlord raised his glaive, armour gleaming as defensive circuitry activated. Phetos shouted a challenge from behind but Ah-hotep ignored him, rushing through the shadows with blade held aloft to confront Simut. His phase blade met hers with an explosion of interdimensional energy as both tried to slice through subspaces and pass each other. Feedback power detonated, throwing the two opponents apart. Detecting the surge in a lychguard’s beam cannon, Ah-hotep flexed and swooped, the green ray slashing into the ceiling where she had hovered a moment before.

  Pushed to one knee by the dimensional blast, Simut straightened.

  Phetos’ blade caught Ah-hotep in the tailspine, severing an energyglobe from her back. The container burst with fronds of power, enveloping them both in a powerful but brief whirlwind of green. The royal warden recovered fractionally quicker and opened fire, just before Ah-hotep released a burst of pure kinetic power. Phetos’ beam carved through the living metal of her arm, sending the limb and her phase blade clattering to the floor even as he was smashed through his lychguard like an artillery shell, to crumple in a broken heap at the foot of the cracked display wall.

  Protocols of command thrummed through the tomb ship, purging the technomandrite incursion. Obedience demands slashed at Ah-hotep’s cortical field, paralysing her, while her presence in the Sun of Endings recognised the down-shift in the engine drives, bringing them to a stop. Behind her, the plasmancer’s Immortals fell still, their loyalty to her once again overridden by immutable Szarekh protocols.

  ‘Pathetic,’ sneered Simut, approaching with his blade levelled towards her chest. ‘I do not know which is more insulting – your treachery or your underestimation of my power. You have failed. Your attempt to hurl us into the world has been thwarted by my will.’

  Ah-hotep said nothing, locked within binding coils of manifested cortical energy. An energy she could not absorb.

  ‘I will not have you atomised yet. I will have your datacore disassembled and your cortical field stripped to find out who is trying to kill me.’

  ‘I am trying to kill you, you preening mollusc!’ Though Ah-hotep’s will was great, the bonds of paralysis laid on her by the loyalty protocols stopped even the smallest spark escaping from her trembling, outstretched fingertips.

  ‘You?’ Simut shook his head and turned away with a dismissive wave. ‘You are not important enough.’

  ‘Look at me!’ screeched the plasmancer. ‘Look into the face of the person that will encompass your doom. Look into my eyes and I will look into yours as the long aeons come to an end and your miserable existence is obliterated. Know that it is I, Pharozin-Consort Aat Muphekta Ah-hotep Khia! I am your executioner.’

  ‘Muphekta?’ Simut turned back, eyes blazing with shock. ‘The Muphekta dynasty were eradicated after the long sleep. By my word they were wiped out.’

  ‘Not all of them,’ laughed Ah-hotep.

  Aboard the human starbase, the delayed data-packet unfurled into the control systems, locking its weapon systems to the tomb ship, now within range. An instant later came the order to open fire.

  Praxa­medes watched on the main viewer as the orbital palaces and their accompanying weapons platforms unleashed their full fury on the necron ship in one blaze of coordinated destruction. Laser lances sprang out, slicing at the sweep of the outer wings, while rapid-firing plasma batteries pumped volatile blasts across the void. The volley of blue stars slammed into the damaged structure, punching deep into its silvery hull. Torpedoes sped across the vacuum, splintering into hundreds of smaller warheads while mass drivers super-accelerated solid rounds that pierced through the breaking ship, moments before the torpedo missiles detonated, engulfing the capital ship with swirling atomic clouds and wreathing electromagnetic storms that tore its skin away in scattering spirals.

  From the firestorm, the remains of the ship emerged, breaking into thousands of shards, its superstructure burning with ghostly jade energy, forks of lightning churning from its shattered body.

  ‘Necron escorts are still in pursuit, lieutenant commander,’ Lerok told him.

  ‘What are your orders, lieutenant commander?’ asked Shipmaster Oloris.

  Praxa­medes turned to the group of green-robed men and women clustered to the side of the strategium – Fedualis and the astropaths from the station. With them was the Chaplain, Exelloria. Captain Aeschelus had posited that the reclusiarch’s spiritual strength was as powerful as the psychic might of the astrotelepaths. Praxa­medes was unconvinced, but it was good to have another Space Marine aboard the Ithraca’s Vengeance. The only others were a few comatose warriors in the apothecarion – ones that had lost limbs and organs to glancing necron beam hits.

  ‘No, not yet,’ said Fedualis, face strained. ‘The warp-nullification still reaches us.’

  ‘Keep going,’ the lieutenant told Oloris. ‘All power to the engines and shields.’

  ‘The enemy are closing, lieutenant commander,’ said Oloris. ‘You want us to shut down gunnery?’

  ‘All power, Mister Oloris,’ said Praxa­medes. ‘We’re not fighting our way out of this one.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The lifter container had several external vid-links, directed upwards and to the surface. Monitoring the feeds, Aeschelus saw the sudden new star in the darkening sky that heralded the end of the necron capital ship. It did not matter what madness or idiocy had possessed the necron commander to come within range, perhaps thinking the orbital palaces were out of commission. The result was all that counted. The read-outs told him that his force of several dozen Space Marines would be on the ground in a matter of minutes, but his future was a secondary concern now.

  ‘Ship command, what is your status?’ he voxed. The container-elevators had dedicated channels to the ground and orbital terminals, but the station tech-adepts had overridden them and increased their power so that he could remain in contact with the Ithraca’s Vengeance for several hundred thousand more miles.

  ‘Still no warp traction, brother-captain,’ Praxa­medes replied. ‘We are trying to get out-system but are being pursued. If we turn on our attackers, I think we might lose our opportunity.’

  ‘I see,’ the captain replied, heart sinking. It had been a long shot, and perhaps just a hope-dream rather than a plan. ‘Keep going as best you can. I trust you to make the right decision, brother.’

  Adjusting the channel, he responded to a signal from the orbital palaces. He recognised the voice of the Imperial commander himself answering.

  ‘Captain Aeschelus, this will be our last conversation.’

  Lowensten’s words automatically brought to mind the warnings of Sister Aures. Aeschelus had left the Imperial commander aboard the palaces, but suddenly doubted the wisdom of that decision.

  ‘What do you mean, Imperial commander?’ he growled. ‘What are you planning?’

  ‘I received a notice from the aliens shortly prior to the destruction of the enemy capital ship. It confirms that the bulk carrier vessel we have been ignoring is the key to their attack. There is no ship in orbit or weapon on the ground that can defeat it. I–’

  ‘Your betrayal will not go unpunished, no matter what you think, Lowensten,’ snapped Aeschelus. ‘In this life or in the abyss, vengeance will find you.’

  ‘An accusation I have perhaps earned, captain, but you interrupted me before I could explain my actions.’

  ‘There is no excuse for heresy.’

  ‘I am no heretic. I might one day be remembered as a martyr. I have been inspired by your sacrifice. We have evacuated all but essential station ­personnel and are at this moment disengaging the gravitic stabilisers.’

  ‘Why would you do that? The stabilisers keep you in controlled orbit.’

  The vox crackled with distorted laughter.

  ‘I know well what they do; they have literally sustained my family for many generations! They also keep the palaces on their fixed course around this world. The necron weaponship is out of range. We must break free from the ages-old orbit chosen by my ancestors. We will bring the station’s batteries to bear upon the structure and destroy it.’

  ‘Without the stabilisers, orbit will decay. Your palaces have no atmospheric entry integrity.’

  ‘I know, captain. This is my penance, our penance, for showing weakness. Nobody will remember it, of course, but I go to my death knowing I have done what I can to atone to the Emperor for my weaknesses and sins. Goodbye, Captain Aeschelus of the Ultramarines. I, Imperial Commander Kaleb Monfrottine Lowensten, abdicate and dissolve all authority for the Orestes System and of this moment place it in trust of the Ultramarines Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, until by such convenience of the Adeptus Terra a worthy successor may be installed. These are my final and irreversible commands. For the Emperor, captain.’

  ‘For the Emperor,’ Aeschelus replied, but the vox had gone dead before he finished.

  The battle took a turn for the bizarre. Nem­etus watched in disbelief as the necrons at the wall froze in place momentarily, some of them toppling over mid-stride, others falling down slopes or sliding over the broken masonry, bumping and tumbling on their way down. The keening of wind on wingtips heralded the arrival of the attack craft, plunging out of the sky. A few had been passing low and crashed into the terminal buildings and walls, slamming into the surrounding compound like mass driver shells, their detonations hurling aside troopers and necrons. Through the breaches the light from the gleaming transporter-engines flickered and died, the fortress-like machines listing sideways, settling to the ground or tipping like felled trees. Floating warrior-carriers crashed into the walls, spilling puppet-like silver skeletons across the ferrocrete, while stalking monstrosities teetered dangerously as they clambered over bulk transporters and shattered wall sections.

  The disarray lasted for several seconds before the army resumed its advance in a far more fractured fashion. Several squads broke away to march towards the rear while many of the skeletal assailants walked directly into the remaining pockets of defenders, heedless of the storm of bullets and lasbolts crashing down into them, their own weapons firing sporadically.

  But not the enemy at the gatehouses. Though everything behind them inexplicably stuttered, the tripodal necron commander and its immediate entourage crashed through the gates and into the terminal building, beams and blades filling the hall with a fluctuating jade light. The Bladeguard were there to meet them as Eradicator melta rifles turned onrushing tripodal constructs into puddles of quivering slag. Troopers fired from both sides, positioned at gantries where once merchants had haggled for cargo loads. Las-beams by the score pelted the necron force, red slashes that ricocheted from polished metal skins.

  ‘Judiciar, with me,’ shouted Nem­etus, heading for the necron that ­towered over even the Primaris Marines. ‘Brothers, clear a path!’

  The Bladeguard bashed and hacked at the stamping machine-things, creating an opening for the lieutenant and the Judiciar. Side by side they hurled themselves at the giant creature, power sword and greatsword trying to sweep its legs from under it. A glittering blade swung down, crashing against Nem­etus’ shield, nearly knocking him from his feet. He stumbled back, the shield falling from his arm, bisected by the impossible sword. Wordless, Admonius swung his weapon up, crashing its snarling edge into the underside of the monster’s torso. Sparks exploded, showering across the black armour of the Judiciar, leaving a deep welt in the artificial flesh of his foe.

  Tossing aside the remnants of his storm shield, Nem­etus took up his sword two-handed and leapt back to the attack. Behind him he felt other necrons closing in, clattering and screeching blows against the shields of the Bladeguard. He could not assume that the greater army would remain in disarray forever; the time to strike was now.

  Bright stars in the firmament of battle.

  To light the way for others. To be the beacon of hope.

  A claw-limb rose, slashing out to rip his pauldron from his right shoulder, spinning him sideways. He almost fell into the barrels of another xenos’ cannon, cutting it in half with a sweep of his sword even as its deadly green glow swelled in brightness. Following up his sweep, he smashed his elbow into the necron construct, sending it stumbling backwards on its three legs. Garios was upon it in the next heartbeat, his blade cleaving it in half, the pieces scattered to the floor.

  Amazed, Nem­etus watched the pieces slowly spinning to a stop. They had not phased out.

  ‘They die!’ he roared, coming at the xenos leader from behind. He lashed his blade at a leg, hacking deep into the joint at the hip. A green-edged weapon swung back towards him, forcing him to retreat a step. Shifting its weight, the necron stumbled. Its cannon thrummed into life and moments later erupted with a fluctuating beam of emerald power.

  The blast struck Admonius.

  Taken aback, the lieutenant watched the black armoured body fall, the head and a semicircle of the torso neatly removed.

  ‘Avenge our brother!’ Nem­etus bellowed, kicking hard at the alien’s damaged limb, fending off another crackling blade attack to drive his remaining pauldron into the leg.

  Letting go of his sword with one hand, he wrapped his arm about the shining metal, feeling a strange resistance to his grip. He dropped and rolled, twisting the leg from its joint as he did so. Nem­etus crashed to the floor as the necron commander sprawled backwards, blade and cannon impotently flailing to retain balance, tripping over the supine lieutenant to slam into the hard floor.

 

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