by Nick Kyme
‘Local scan negative for artificial bodies.’
‘Wide sensor array operational.’
The seconds ticked by slowly, as the Spear of Truth metaphorically shook away its dizziness and regained its sight and hearing.
‘Tactical display coming online.’
The mood of concentration did not lighten at the news, for although the Spear of Truth was now no longer swathed in a sensorial limbo, it would take a while before the data being relayed back to the ship was collated and analysed.
‘Local comm-web established.’
A few more minutes passed until a technician spoke again.
‘Localised scanning complete,’ he said. ‘Zero threats detected.’
Though there were no obvious sighs of relief or relaxation, the tension aboard the bridge dissipated somewhat. Alertness turned to focused activity; caution to curiosity.
Astelan looked up at the huge digital display that rendered all of the incoming data into an understandable image. It was crude at the moment, little more than a wire-frame schematic of the system and its major planetary bodies, and would take several days for the picture to be completed as the surveyor probes raced through the system sending back their findings.
Over the coming hours, eighteen more vessels broke from warp at various points around the star system’s outer reaches, each spawning its own small brood of escorts and augury devices. Seven more battle-barges, three fleet carriers and eight light cruiser-class warships descended upon the silent worlds orbiting the deep-red orb at the system’s centre. Invisible, tight-beam laser communications criss-crossed the void seeking the whereabouts and conditions of the other fleet members.
After several hours, contact was fully re-established. The fleet correlated their courses and calculated velocity descents for rendezvous, inbound towards the core worlds.
The Dark Angels began their exploration of system DX-619 in earnest.
Astelan was patient. It would be at least seven more days before the fleet had decelerated to something approaching orbit-navigable speed, and he was determined to use that time to gather as much information as possible about this uncharted stretch of the galaxy.
A radio signature, faint or perhaps even nonexistent, had brought the Dark Angels here; the merest chattering murmur against the background radiation of the universe. It would most likely be nothing, a cosmic anomaly caused by an irregularity in the star’s emissions or a millennia-old echo of a civilisation long since turned to dust by the passing of an age. Such had been the case for ninety-five per cent of the systems the task force had investigated over the last five years. Almost all were deserted, for even at the height of mankind’s spread across the stars they were scattered thinly, pockets of humanity amongst the impossible vastness of interstellar space.
In the early years the forces of the Great Crusade had met with huge success, bringing the Imperial Truth to hundreds of worlds in the relatively densely populated systems around Terra. Here, in the yawning chasm between spiral arms, such colonies had always been sparse, and through the isolation of the Age of Strife it was possible that none at all had survived.
With every warp jump, Astelan always readied himself for action, for unexpected discovery, but with every jump he also hardened his expectations with the overwhelming probabilities involved in finding these far-flung outposts of humanity.
It was thus understandable that Astelan watched the data monitors in a less-than-expectant mood. As the fleet gradually converged, he subconsciously processed the scan results scrolling across dozens of screens that filled the walls of the bridge. Technicians fussed over control dials and comm-units, cursing as connections were lost, grinning to their colleagues when unexpected feedback results were received.
Astelan ignored them all, focusing entirely on one part of the main screen – the radio signature intercept relay. It was on that small wavering graph line that Astelan heaped his thoughts. It was a dull white line against the black of the screen, barely moving, showing nothing more than the static background hum of the universe’s birth.
Four days, he told himself. Four days for a positive contact. Four days before he ordered the fleet to turn around and head outsystem for another jump. It would be a waste of time to decelerate for longer, with the attendant need to accelerate again ready for warp jump, and so he gave his hopes four days to manifest.
Already resigned to disappointment by recent experience, Astelan tore his eyes away from the radio relay and gave a nod to his second-in-command, Galedan. The captain accepted control of the bridge with a nod of his own and took the Chapter commander’s place as Astelan turned and left.
‘COMMANDER REQUESTED ON the bridge.’
Galedan’s voice sounded metallic through the comm-grille of Astelan’s quarters, and its flat, precise tone gave no sense of the captain’s mood. Astelan was sat at his small desk, garbed in an open-fronted robe, poring over weapons manifests. There was no need to respond. Galedan would have been more specific if the Chapter commander’s presence was urgently needed, and the lack of a general alarm reassured Astelan that this was probably nothing more than some routine logging or scan result requiring his authorisation.
He placed the manifests neatly into the desk’s drawer and stood. A glance out of the small port showed the DX-619 star, much closer now. The dark shape of a planet could be clearly seen intruding upon the edge of the orb. That was nothing new, either. They had been closing on the world for three days now and they would reach it in two more. It was just a small shadow at the moment, like any other ball of rock they had encountered.
With a resigned weariness, Astelan made his way along the metal and plascrete innards of the ship to the bridge.
As the heavy double doors hissed open, Astelan was confronted by a scene of intense activity. The technicians were gathered in small clusters of fours and fives around certain instruments, and seemed to be checking each other’s calculations and findings.
Galedan turned, and Astelan saw a glimmer in his companion’s eyes and an expectant look. Unlike the Chapter commander, Galedan was in his armour, as befitted the bridge commander. Servos creaked as the captain gestured towards the main panel.
Astelan’s eyes immediately fixed on the radio relay as he strode into the room. He stopped in his tracks only three paces in. There was a spike on the small line. It was not particularly tall, but it was a definite abnormality. Regaining his composure, Astelan stepped up beside Galedan. The captain turned an inquiring look at one of the chief technicians and received a wordless nod in reply. ‘Report,’ said Astelan.
‘Confirmed artificial radio signature, commander,’ Galedan replied, unable to keep the hint of a smile from his lips.
Astelan turned his attention to the chief technician, a lanky man with thinning hair and grey stubble.
‘Automated? Location?’ said Astelan. A couple of times before they had come across old beacons or communications satellites miraculously still functioning centuries after those that had launched them had perished.
‘Fourth planet, definitely fluctuating very likely to be non-automated,’ the technician reassured him.
‘Sound general alarm,’ ordered Astelan. It was a wise precaution, but Astelan did it as much to alert the crew that something was happening as he did out of military prudence. ‘Signal the rest of the fleet with our findings. Rendezvous adjustment to point sigma-absolute. Please convey an invitation to Chapter Commander Belath to join me as soon as possible.’
FURTHER SCANNING REVEALED that the planet’s inhabitants had the capability to communicate by radio, and technicians soon confirmed that the inhabitants were human and spoke a dialect of the Terran language. The news that the fleet had indeed discovered an isolated human world brought Belath to the Spear of Truth for a meeting between the two Chapter commanders.
With the fleet at general quarters once more, Astelan stood in one of the Spear of Truth’s docking bays clad in his armour, awaiting the arrival of Belath. Accompanying Astel
an were his three on-board company commanders and an honour guard from the First Company.
Around them the hangar was full of drop-pods, the immense shapes of Castellan-class bombers and Harbinger assault craft, as well as the hawk-like forms of five Deathbird interceptors. Racks of bombs and missiles, crates of ammunition and stacks of power packs filled much of the remaining space.
A dull clang above the Chapter commander signalled the arrival of Belath’s transport. In the ceiling, gears ground into action and a breeze wafted upwards as the inner lock doors opened and the air inside the hangar was drawn up into the void above. Hydraulics wheezing, the heavy lift brought down the sleek, eagle-prowed craft, lights strobing an orange warning to those below and throwing dancing shadows around the assembled Space Marines.
As the lift descended, Astelan considered how little he knew of his visitor. This was the first opportunity that he had been granted to meet his fellow Chapter commander face-to-face. He had exchanged comm contacts with Belath but only on a very formal basis.
Belath’s fleet and Chapter had joined Astelan’s only two weeks earlier in the Calcabrina system. Astelan had been informed by Belath that the Dark Angels’ primarch, the Lion, had sent Belath to add his forces to the expedition.
Astelan knew nothing of Belath, but these days that was not surprising. The massive influx of warriors into the Legion following the rediscovery of Caliban meant that there were many commanders who had never met each other, tossed together on task forces and in warzones all across the galaxy.
That one such Chapter commander had been despatched to assist Astelan was curious for the simple fact that there had been little enough for Astelan’s Chapter to do and additional forces were unlikely to change that.
‘The Lion probably wants Belath to gain some experience alongside the veterans before sending him off on his own,’ said Galedan, guessing his commander’s thoughts by way of their long history together.
Astelan merely grunted a non-committal reply and kept his gaze upon the shuttle as the lift thudded to the hangar floor. With a hiss, the beak-like prow of the ship opened up to form a boarding ramp, and a lone power-armoured figure strode down.
To Astelan, Belath looked incredibly young, perhaps only thirty or thirty-five years old. Given that the Legion’s strength had increased by almost twenty thousand in the last few years, it was no shock to see that relatively junior Astartes were occupying command positions. After contact with Caliban many company officers had been promoted to Chapter commanders over the new recruits, and it was this that had seen Astelan’s own rapid rise to prominence. It had since been decided not to split the existing Terran veterans too much across the new Calibanite Chapters and so it was inevitable that some of the more recent additions would be commanded by all but untested warriors.
Belath had the pale skin and dark hair that was common to many Calibanites, though his eyes were a deep blue rather than the usual brown or grey. His hair was cropped exceptionally short, in stark contrast to Astelan’s long braids, and Belath’s expression was of tight-lipped solemnity.
The arrival stopped in front of Astelan and held a fist to his chest in salute. As Astelan nodded in greeting, he noticed something that caught his eye.
‘What’s that?’ Astelan asked, pointing to a heraldic symbol on Belath’s right shoulder plate, where normally a Space Marine’s organisational and rank markings would be painted. It was decorated with a quartered shield, white and blue, emblazoned with a sword held in the grip of a taloned foot.
‘That is the symbol of my order,’ replied Belath, somewhat taken aback. ‘The Order of the Raven’s Wing.’
Astelan turned an inquiring look to Galedan.
‘One of the knightly orders,’ the captain said. ‘A Calibanite rank badge.’
‘And that?’ said Astelan, redirecting his accusing finger to Belath’s other shoulder pad, which was painted a dark green beneath the Dark Angels symbol.
‘The glorious Lion El’Jonson has decreed that Calibanite warriors are to wear the green of our home world’s forests,’ said Belath with no small hint of defiance. ‘It is to act as a remembrance of the battles fought to tame Caliban under the leadership of the Lion.’
Astelan merely nodded without comment. The two Chapter commanders stood gauging each other in silence for several heartbeats before Astelan spoke again.
‘Welcome aboard the Spear of Truth,’ he said, extending a hand. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance.’
Belath hesitated, and then broke into a disarming smile and shook Astelan’s hand.
‘It is my honour and privilege,’ the young Chapter commander said.
Followed by his entourage, Astelan led Belath from the docking bay into the dorsal concourse that ran the length of the Spear of Truth. As they headed towards a nearby conveyor, they passed open archways through which Astelan’s Space Marines could be seen readying for battle. Squad upon squad of power-armoured warriors ran through weapons or maintenance drills under the stern eyes of their sergeants. Banners were carefully taken down from their honoured positions on the walls of the chambers, paint carefully applied to dents and scratches on armour and solemn oaths renewed before the symbols of the Legion.
‘My Chapter is also ready to fight,’ assured Belath as the group stopped before the mesh door of the conveyor.
One of the honour guards stepped forwards and pushed a broad plate on the wall. The conveyor door slid aside for the pair to enter.
Astelan dismissed the escort as he stepped inside. The conveyor was a cube some ten feet by every dimension, lined with thick plascrete walls. Astelan turned two dials as Galedan, Astoric and Melian followed the two Chapter commanders.
‘Are they ready not to fight?’ asked Astelan as the door slammed shut.
The conveyor jolted into action, rapidly rising up through the decks of the battle-barge.
‘I do not understand,’ said Belath, raising his voice so that it could be heard over the clatter of chains and gears.
With a shudder the conveyor halted for a moment and then continued, now heading horizontally towards the prow of the battle-barge.
Astelan considered his reply for a moment before speaking.
‘We exist to bring the Emperor’s peace to the galaxy,’ said Astelan finally. ‘Though we may bring war to millions, we should not crave it.’
‘We were created to fight,’ countered Belath.
‘Yes, and we are also charged with the responsibility of choosing who we fight against,’ said Astelan. ‘When we go to war, we must do so in the sure and utter knowledge that it is right. From this comes our wholehearted dedication to victory. We must be a terrible foe, and must do terrible things, in order that others will learn from our enemies’ follies. Once unleashed, out anger cannot, and should not, be stayed. Relentless on the attack, intractable in defence, these are the hallmarks of the Astartes. Yet, it is perhaps all too easy to stir ourselves to angry war for small reason. You must remember that a world crushed beneath our heel may be resentful, and requires garrisons and resources to guard it. A world that comes freely to accept the wisdom of the Emperor must be embraced as a brother for they will add strength and not detract it.’
‘We are perfected in body and mind to be the sword of the Lion,’ said Belath. ‘Where he directs, our blade falls. It is not our part to judge the punished, merely to administer the punishment. Let diplomats and bureaucrats argue the reasons and let us be dedicated to the annihilation of our enemies.’
As if to punctuate the young Chapter commander’s remarks, the conveyor suddenly halted and a bell rang somewhere above it.
Galedan opened the door and the three captains stepped out into the corridor beyond. Belath made to take a pace but Astelan laid a hand upon his arm and held him back, turning Belath to face him.
‘You command more than a thousand of the finest warriors in the galaxy, as do I,’ said Astelan. ‘The Emperor has placed in me that power, but with it must come the judgement to wield it wise
ly. I do not know what you learnt about war in the Order of the Raven’s Wing, but it is bloody and costly and only a fool desires it.’
‘The Lion has chosen me to lead this Chapter,’ said Belath, gently but insistently prising his arm from Astelan’s grip. ‘I have my orders from the primarch and I will not hesitate to carry them out.’
Without offering a reply Astelan strode from the conveyor and turned left along the corridor. A great double door of carved wood stood out incongruously from the plascrete walls and metal decking. The carvings were of an angular, abstract design. Astelan ran his gauntleted fingers over the lines and curves, tracing them.
‘I fashioned these doors myself,’ the Chapter commander said, looking at Belath. ‘For many hours I laboured, copying designs from memory seen on the long halls I grew up in upon the Sibran Steppes of Terra. There is a tale in these patterns, for those who know how to read it.’
‘What tale?’ said Belath, his anger replaced by intrigue.
‘Later,’ replied Astelan reluctantly as he opened the doors. ‘We have a campaign to plan.’
‘Later then,’ said Belath, stepping past Astelan into the room beyond.
Inside was the operations room of the Spear of Truth. The walls were filled with banks of blank screens and comm-units, faced by long benches as yet vacant. The thrum of latent power filled the air, waiting to turn the quiet chamber into the epicentre of a military action that could conquer worlds.
Belath gave the equipment no second glance, having similar facilides upon his own vessel, and instead strode to a huge glass-topped oval tablet at the centre of the chamber. Astelan followed him with the others and directed Astoric to activate the hololith.
The glass flickered into life, a dull grey at first but warming up to a bright green. As the captain deftly manipulated the controls, a glowing three-dimensional sphere rose up from the table, slowly rotating. The press of more buttons illuminated small patches on the surface of the globe, and flickering lights sprang up in a haphazard maze around them.
‘This is the system’s fourth world,’ announced Astelan. ‘We are currently standing out some seven hundred thousand kilometres from low orbit on the standard ediptic plane. No visual data is yet available, but I have highlighted sources of energy spikes and radio interference. Most likely they are urbanised areas.’
