by Gav Thorpe
It was then that things started to go wrong. Naphiliar, who had been leading the search for the command crew, reported that his party had encountered heavily armoured warriors. They were being cut down by devastating firepower and had to fall back towards the boarding area.
‘Armoured warriors?’ replied Aradryan. ‘What sort of armour? What weapons do they have? Tell me more!’
In response Aradryan heard his lieutenant panting heavily, punctuated by groans. Evidently he had been wounded. Over the open feed of the communicator, Aradryan heard sharp cracks and thunderous detonations. Something heavy thudded on the decking close to Naphiliar.
‘This one is still alive.’ The voice was deep, tainted by artificial modulation. Aradryan could hear a dull hissing, which was suddenly blotted out by the horrendous roar of a crude engine. Naphiliar screamed, his voice drowned out by the rasp of a chainsword and the snap of shattering bones.
‘Praise the Emperor and abhor the alien.’
The tone of the voice was unmistakeable, as was the heavy tread that receded into the distance. Aradryan had heard many horror stories of the Emperor’s Space Marines, but had thankfully never encountered the physically-enhanced warriors of the Imperium. On board Lacontiran he had talked to warriors who had seen the genetically-altered soldiers and been fortunate enough to survive. Their presence was a shock, and a hard blow against Aradryan’s desires to prove himself superior to Taelisieth. A ship-borne combat suited the Space Marines perfectly, and Aradryan suddenly realised that the escort ship had to be a Space Marine vessel. With that being the case, there was no telling how many more of them there might be; his corsairs were poorly matched for the coming battle.
Their presence changed everything, and Aradryan filtered through the tales of the Space Marines from memory, trying to find something that would give him an advantage. Everything he recalled merely emphasised what a terrible proposition they were to face in combat. The Space Marines would fight to the death rather than allow the ship to be taken, that was certain. In his ear-piece he could hear more reports of the deadly warriors’ counter-attack, and he knew he had to react quickly to avert a disaster.
Aradryan quickly told the rest of his corsairs about the nature of their foes, and ordered them to avoid direct confrontation if possible. Evasion and ambush would be the best tactic against the hulking Space Marines – Aradryan’s warriors possessed a few fusion pistols and powered blades capable of penetrating their armour, but they would have to bring across some heavier weaponry from the Fae Taeruth if they were to wipe out the Emperor’s elite.
There were more encounters with the Space Marines by the parties moving aftwards, working through the hold space. Forewarned, these groups were able to swiftly retreat from their heavily armoured adversaries before any fighting broke out. To make matters worse for the raiders, the crew were still roving randomly across the ship, running into bands of corsairs as they tried to lay in wait for the Space Marines or retreat from their counter-attacks.
The situation was rapidly becoming confused, and Aradryan had only the scantest information regarding his enemies and the layout of the ship. With the Fae Taeruth grappled alongside, the cruiser was too close to perform anything but the most basic sensor sweeps of the vessel. What these told Aradryan was not encouraging – the Space Marines seemed to be gathering in strength in the lower decks towards the prow, most likely to push up to the corsair’s landing area. There was nothing Aradryan could do against a determined attack except to fall back to the Fae Taeruth and disengage. He paced back and forth along the metal corridor beside the boarding tunnel entrances, trying to think of some way to outwit his foes. The sound of fighting – the distinctive noise of the Space Marine’s boltguns and the detonation of grenades – echoed up the stairwells and along the passages. It was difficult to tell exactly where the noises were coming from, but they seemed to be getting closer. Aradryan tried to gather reports from his warriors over the communicator but their replies were fragmentary and hurried.
‘Look at this!’ Aradryan turned to see Laellin hurrying along the corridor, dragging something behind her. It was one of the crew, a large and bloodied hole in his chest. Before Aradryan could ask her what was so important about a dead human, Aerissan contacted him from the Fae Taeruth.
‘We have detected significant warp breaches at the system limits. Human ships breaking from warp space, I would say. Nearly a dozen of them.’
‘The escort for the convoy or more freighters?’ Aradryan asked, gesturing for Laellin to wait before speaking. His second dropped the corpse on the deck and folded her arms impatiently.
‘Too distant to say for certain, but warships would be my assumption,’ replied Aerissan.
‘What is it?’ Aradryan demanded, distracted by Laellin’s agitated fidgeting next to him.
‘Look,’ said his second-in-command, pointing at the dead crewman’s chest. Aradryan looked into the ragged hole, seeing ribs splayed outwards, the internal organs turned to a mush.
‘It is a dead – very dead – human,’ said Aradryan. ‘There will be more of them around if you want to start a collection. Now, I have something important to attend to.’
‘Do you think a lasgun or shuriken did this?’ snapped Laellin, grabbing Aradryan’s arm, forcing him to look at the opened carcass again. ‘This wound was blown open from the inside by a small explosion.’
‘So what could cause such an injury, if it was not one of our weapons?’
‘A Space Marine’s boltgun, of course,’ said Laellin, clenching her fists in exasperation.
‘Why...’ The question faltered on Aradryan’s lips as he reached an answer for himself. ‘Take me to see these Space Marines. Quickly now!’
Aradryan followed Laellin as she turned and sprinted back up the corridor. They passed a handful of corsairs guarding the open bulkhead at the end of the passage and stepped out into a narrow landing. Turning right, Laellin headed up the open stairwell, her light tread barely making a sound on the metal mesh of the steps. She turned through a small doorway that led into a thin conduit barely wide enough for the eldar to run along. The air was humid and hot here, pipes running along the floor sprinkled with droplets of condensation.
‘I think this is one of their artificial atmosphere exchanges,’ explained Laellin as she ducked beneath another pipe running across the corridor at chest height. She stopped above a grate and glanced down. Her lip twisted in consternation. ‘They were here before. They must have moved down a level.’
She pulled out her laspistol and fired at the bolts securing the grating. It fell with a loud clang on the deck below. Aradryan jumped through first, hand moving to the hilt of his sword as he landed. He could hear the thump of the Space Marines’ boots close at hand. Landing lightly next to him, Laellin pointed towards a stairwell to their left.
Moving swiftly and silently, Aradryan ran to the top of the stairs. He glanced over the rail and then stepped back immediately, seeing a mass of blackened armour at the bottom of the steps. As quick as it had been, the brief look had confirmed what he had suspected. He moved back to where Laellin was keeping watch in the corridor.
‘Pull everybody back, half to protect the boarding tunnels, the rest to somewhere spacious,’ he told his lieutenant.
‘There is some kind of communal mess three decks up. Will that suit?’
‘Perfect,’ said Aradryan, ‘I shall come with you.’
‘What are you thinking?’ Laellin asked when she had disseminated the necessary information via her communicator.
‘The Space Marine I saw had black armour, hastily and badly painted,’ explained Aradryan as they moved silently up the stairwell, leaving the Space Marines behind. ‘There was a crude motto written on his shoulder guard, and no icons. I think we are dealing with renegades.’
‘Ah, renegades,’ said Laellin, with a smile. ‘So, they are protecting the convoy for themselves? They would not like to be caught here by the real escort any more than we would.’
‘Exactly,’ said Aradryan.
It took them a little while to reach the mess hall Laellin had mentioned. More than fifty corsairs were already there and a few more were entering from the doorway at the opposite end of the long room. The mess hall was a wide open space, divided by long tables and benches riveted to the floor. Hatchways and doors to the kitchen lined one wall, and lighting was provided by four strips that ran the length of the room, flickering and fizzing in an annoying fashion.
‘Please give me your communicator,’ said Aradryan, reaching out to Laellin.
Laellin complied, pulling the stud from her ear to pass it over. Aradryan used a fingernail to pry open the tiny cover, splitting the device like a pea. A minuscule reflective panel glistened inside and he pressed the device between thumb and forefinger. A quiet but high-pitched tone sounded from the device as it began to scan the different frequencies, seeking a signal. It was only a few moments before static hissed and then Aradryan could hear gruff voices.
‘Heynke, use the auspex.’
The following words were accompanied by short bursts of static, which Aradryan guessed to be interference from some kind of scanning device.
‘Most have reached the upper decks,’ said a different voice. ‘Too much interference from the superstructure for an accura... Hold on, something strange.’
‘What is it?’
Aradryan reassembled the communicator and held it up to the translator face he had affixed to his coat. He smiled at his warriors, and held a finger to his lips to hush their chatter.
‘I think this conversation is too dull,’ said Aradryan. ‘Let us give these fools something worth talking about.’
‘Look for yourself.’
‘What do you think they are up to?’
‘Commander of the Space Marines,’ Aradryan said, the communicator picking up the harsh words from the translator. ‘I am monitoring your transmissions. Listen carefully to me. This loss of life is senseless and is not of benefit to myself or to you. It occurs to me that we do not need to fight. I detect your simple scanner and know that you can find me. I know something that would be valuable to you. Meet me where we can hold conference and we will discuss this matter like civilised creatures.’
‘Was that...?’ said a third human voice. ‘Did that bastard override our comm-frequency?’
There was laughter from the corsairs as the translation echoed from Aradryan’s device.
‘How?’
‘Forget how, did you hear what he said?’ another voice cut in. ‘He wants a truce!’
Hearing the clump of boots outside the far doors, Aradryan leaned back against the end of a table and waited for the Space Marines to enter. Around him several dozen eldar waited, some of them with weapons ready, most of them lounging across the tables and seats. Aradryan caught a glimpse of himself in the scuffed metal of a cabinet. He was dressed in a long coat of green and red diamond patches, which reached to his booted ankles. A ruff of white and blue feathers jutted from the high collar, acting as a wispy halo for his narrow, sharp-cheeked face. His skin was almost white, his hair black and pulled back in a single braid plaited with shining thread. Aradryan smiled at what he saw, but grew serious as the doors hissed open in front of him.
The two creatures that entered were as tall as Aradryan, and more than twice as broad in chest and shoulder. Both were clad shoulder to foot in thick plates of powered armour, daubed black in the same manner as the Space Marine Aradryan had spied earlier. One held a heavy-looking, double-barrelled weapon in one hand, its outer casing inlaid with golden decoration against a blue enamel. The other had no helm and his face was flat, his chin wide and his brow heavy. His head showed a thin layer of blond stubble. He carried a crystalline sword in his huge gauntleted hand, and a pistol in the other. There was something about the bare-headed Space Marine that unnerved Aradryan, but he could not identify what it was as the two hulking warriors stomped up the mess hall.
They stopped a dozen paces from Aradryan, weapons held easily. The pirate captain moved his eyes to meet the red-lensed gaze of the first Space Marine. He stood a fraction taller than the other, holding himself more upright, and was several paces closer than his companion. Aradryan assumed he was in charge.
‘What is the name of he who has the honour of addressing Aradryan, Admiral of the Winter Gulf?’ Aradryan barely made a sound as he spoke; the hard-edged tone of his speaking-brooch sent the words across the mess hall.
‘Gessart,’ said the helmeted Space Marine. ‘Is that a translator?’
‘I understand your crude language, but will not sully my lips with its barbaric grunts,’ replied Aradryan.
The helmetless Space Marine moved up next to Gessart and Aradryan saw clearly what it was that had disturbed him before. The Space Marine’s eyes were flecked with churning gold. He had psychic power, of that much Aradryan was certain. There was something about that golden light in his eyes that reminded Aradryan of the Master of Magic, the most manipulative of the Chaos Gods. It was ever-changing, like the Grand Mutator, flickering with azure and violet shadows. There was something unnatural; even more unnatural than psychic power. The resonance it left in Aradryan’s mind reminded him of the Gulf of Despair, where he had faced the daemonettes. That was it, Aradryan realised. The second Space Marine was touched by the presence of a daemon!
Aradryan looked at Gessart with a furrowed brow, disturbed that he seemed to be parleying with devotees of the Dark Gods. Strangely, Aradryan did not catch the same scent of corruption from Gessart, but that did not settle his fear.
‘That you consort with this sort of creature is ample evidence that you are no longer in service to the Emperor of Mankind,’ Aradryan said, wishing to swiftly conclude his business here. Alaitoc had a long history, and the memory of the eldar stretched back to the dawn of the human’s Imperium when half of the Emperor’s warriors had been tainted by Chaos. ‘We have encountered other renegades like yourselves in the past. My assumptions are proven correct.’
‘Zacherys is one of us,’ said Gessart with a glance towards the psyker. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Can you not see that which dwells within him?’ Aradryan could not believe that Gessart was oblivious to the creature possessing his companion. There was far more to this situation than appeared, but Aradryan did not want to get drawn into whatever was going on with the Space Marines.
‘What do you want?’ demanded Gessart.
‘To save needless loss for both of us,’ Aradryan replied, opening his hands in a placating gesture. ‘You will soon be aware that those whose duty it is to protect these vessels are close at hand. If we engage in this pointless fighting they will come upon us both. This does not serve my purpose or yours. I propose that we settle our differences in a peaceful way. I am certain that we can come to an agreement that accommodates the desires of both parties.’
‘A truce? We divide the spoils of the convoy?’ It was hard to tell Gessart’s mood through the mechanical modulation of his helmet’s speakers. Aradryan thought he detected hope rather than incredulity.
‘It brings happiness to my spirit to find that you understand my intent. I feared greatly that you would respond to my entreaty with the blind ignorance that blights so many of your species.’
‘I have become a recent acquaintance of compromise,’ said Gessart. ‘I find it makes better company than the alternatives. What agreement do you propose?’
‘There is time enough for us both to take what we wish before these new arrivals can intervene in our affairs. We have no interest in the clumsy weapons and goods these vessels carry. You may take as much as you wish.’
‘If you don’t want the cargo, what is your half of the deal?’ Gessart looked at the assembled pirates, finger twitching on the trigger of his weapon.
‘Everything else,’ said Aradryan with a sly smile.
‘He means the crews,’ whispered Zacherys.
‘That is correct, tainted one,’ said Aradryan. The eldar pirate fixed his eyes
on Gessart, pleased that he detected a note of agreement although the Space Marine was hesitant, perhaps not trusting Aradryan’s intent. The pirate leader sought to encourage Gessart to the right conclusion. ‘Do you accede to these demands, or do you wish that we expend more energy killing one another in a pointless display of pride? You must know that I am aware of how few warriors you have should you choose to fight.’
‘How long before the escort arrives?’ Gessart asked Zacherys.
‘Two days at most.’
‘You have enough time to unload whatever you wish and will not be hampered by my ships or my warriors. You have my assurance that you will be unmolested if you offer me the same.’
Gessart stared at Aradryan for some time, but it was impossible to discern the alien’s thoughts behind his helmet. Aradryan kept his own expression impassive, giving nothing away though inside he was rejoicing at the chance to sweep up the crews of the ships without undue aggravation.
‘The terms are agreed,’ said Gessart. ‘I will order my warriors to suspend fighting. I have no control over the crews of the convoy.’
‘We are capable of dealing with such problems in our own way,’ said Aradryan. Indeed, Maensith had taught her warriors many techniques for subduing recalcitrant foes, having learnt from the best slavemasters of Commorragh. ‘Be thankful that this day you have found me in a generous mood.’
Gessart hefted his weapon and fixed the eldar pirate with the cold, red stare. As Gessart spoke, Aradryan saw himself reflected in the helm lenses, one hand raised expressively, lips almost forming a sneer.
‘Don’t give me an excuse to change my mind.’
The Fae Taeruth built up speed, turning towards the last of the freighters to be boarded. Gessart’s ship was powering away from the vessel, the renegade Space Marines having completed their own pillaging. Aradryan watched the strike cruiser through the holo-orb, thoughts touching lightly upon the psychic matrix to monitor the Fae Taeruth’s manoeuvre.
