For all his flaws and his dubious sense of personal hygiene, the Navigator was astute. He had listened to the various conversations amongst the human serfs about the project and he had gathered the facts to him. He had learned that there was some division amongst the crew – Adeptus Astartes and human alike – as to whether the Resurgent was a good idea or not.
His sharp little eyes darted nervously as Ryarus got to his feet and moved towards him. He shrank backwards, willing the shadows to swallow him up. The Apothecary’s eyes met his and there was the barest shake of the head and a faintly amused quirk of the lips.
‘Come out, Jeremiah.’ When the Navigator didn’t move, Ryarus softened his tone a little. ‘I am not angry with you.’
He could have run away, fled back to his private chambers where very few people ever bothered him. But the command in Ryarus’s tone did not invite disobedience. Jeremiah took a step out of the gloom. In the flickering light of the lumen-sconces and lumen-strips he cut a pathetically scrawny figure. He barely came up to the Apothecary’s waist, but he still held himself taller anyway. He waited for his inevitable scolding.
At twenty, maybe twenty-one years old at the most, he was the sort of gangly youth who gave the impression that he was constructed mostly of limbs. Coppery-coloured hair hung in lank, greasy strands around a pale face that boasted a straggly, unkempt goatee beard. He was thin and undernourished and his watery eyes stared up at the Apothecary with a peculiar mixture of awe and defiance. His third eye was kept hidden beneath a grubby silk scarf he wore tied around his head.
‘I am pleased you are here,’ the Apothecary said, throwing Jeremiah off balance. He hadn’t been expecting that.
‘You… are?’
‘Of course. There is someone I would like you to meet.’
Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed and he moved slightly to look around Ryarus’s leg at Volker. ‘What if I don’t want to meet him?’ He spoke with a slight stammer that was more to do with his anxiety than any particular speech defect.
‘I am taking a guess that you came here specifically with the purpose of seeing for yourself what the talk is all about. Yes, I pay attention as well, Navigator.’ The Apothecary added the last on seeing the guilty look that slid onto the Navigator’s face. ‘Let me explain what we are trying to achieve.’
In the simplest terms he could find, Ryarus briefly outlined the essence of the Resurgent Project and the boy’s face grew more and more expressionless as he talked. The Apothecary felt a surge of exasperation, suspecting that the grubby young man was largely filtering out the important elements and hearing only what he wanted to. When he had finished, a silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of Volker’s grunts of effort as he trained.
Jeremiah blinked a few times and worried at his lower lip with his teeth. ‘Took me ages to settle this ship down,’ he said and there was possessiveness in his eyes. ‘Don’t like the idea of someone else interfering with that.’ He swung his gaze upwards. What was it he had heard the officers say when he’d listened to them?
‘Permission to speak freely, my lord?’
‘Always, Jeremiah. Honesty is encouraged on board the Dread Argent.’
Jeremiah took a deep breath. ‘I reckon as you’re all mad,’ he asserted.
‘I see.’ There was silence and then Ryarus spoke again. If Jeremiah had been anywhere near as wise as he liked to think he was, he would have detected the edge in Ryarus’s tone. ‘Would you care to elaborate on that interesting point of view?’
The Apothecary’s expression hadn’t changed at all, so Jeremiah clung onto the little wave of confidence that had made him say that. ‘Yes. What you’re talking about doing sounds to me like it’ll be dangerous. What if he…’ He waved a hand dismissively in Volker’s direction. ‘What if he can’t bond with the ship? That can kill anybody who doesn’t know how to do it.’
‘Volker’s skills are superlative.’
‘You never touched the machine-spirit at the heart of a ship, did you? It isn’t something you can teach or train. It’s just something you can do. Or can’t do.’
‘Our Prognosticators have decreed that this young man is the perfect choice for the task. Do you dare to presume that you can go against the most powerful divinations provided to our Chapter by the Emperor himself?’
‘I’m not challenging nothing,’ retorted Jeremiah, sullenly folding his arms across his thin chest. ‘I’m just speaking freely. You said I could. But if you aren’t interested in what I have to say, then I’ll just shut up.’ Ryarus sighed inwardly. Jeremiah was difficult to handle at the best of times. He forced a smile onto his face, although after the Navigator’s direct insult against the Chapter, the urge to crush the little worm’s head in his fist was rising.
‘No… no, Jeremiah, I am sorry. You are quite right to have your say. Perhaps, when the time is right, you will offer your aid. We would appreciate it.’
‘Maybe.’ The Navigator sniffed haughtily. ‘I’ll think about it.’
With that, the rodenty little man turned away and strutted from the training decks as though he owned them. Perhaps, Ryarus thought, in a strange way he does own them.
He was troubled by the Navigator’s words far more than he cared to admit. It was not the first time that the Apothecary had heard the suggestion that what the Silver Skulls was attempting was bordering on the insane. Was that truth? Had they deviated so far off course? Had they become so removed from the Codex Astartes that even other Space Marines thought the same?
The two ships were still moving slowly in their plotted course towards Gildar Secundus. Within minutes, they would be detectable by long-range auguries, but for now, at least, they remained unnoticed and hidden.
The stolen, warp-tainted technology they harboured on board, however, allowed them to scan the Dread Argent fully. Data was received, reconfigured and transmitted down the chain to those who had requested it. Within scant seconds, there was virtually nothing about the operating capacity of Captain Daerys Arrun’s pride and joy that the intruders didn’t know.
They held position awaiting word from their leaders. Too soon and the entire plan would fall to pieces.
Timing. It was all about the perfect timing.
For endless minutes they waited, poised and ready to strike or run as ordered. They could not move further forward without falling out of range of the vox-relay that would send them their orders. The relay had been painstakingly set up over a long period of time and was innocent and innocuous enough that it had never raised suspicion. The Imperium was always doing whatever they could to enhance communications, particularly in a zone like this where interference was common.
A few more pressure-suited drudges working on a distant moon raised no eyebrows with anyone.
When the message reached them, transmitted simultaneously to the two vessels, the voice that gave the command was distorted and cracked.
It was a single word.
‘Engage.’
With a burn of their thrusters, the two ships, both designated as Infidel-class vessels, pressed forward and began their final approach.
The bridge deck of the Dread Argent was a whirl of activity. A slew of tech-priests were engaged in rites to consecrate the control lecterns in readiness for the Resurgent and their chanting voices cut through every other noise. The rumble of the far-distant engines maintained its omnipresence.
There was a sense of great optimism pervading everything. After months of abortive attempts to commence the project, Captain Arrun’s sense of relief at the imminent execution of the project bolstered his mood and that in turn was infectious. Apart from the servitors who bustled around in their usual way, the Chapter serfs who performed the menial duties on the Dread Argent found themselves in a similarly enthusiastic state of mind.
Normally, Arrun found the monosyllabic chantings of the tech-priests almost too much to bear, removing himself from their presence before they began their daily rounds of the bridge systems. Today was different. To
morrow, the Dread Argent would represent the most technologically and biologically enhanced radical move that the deeply traditional Silver Skulls had made in centuries.
Glory and honour was in his Chapter’s grasp and despite his own doubts and misgivings, nothing could take that away.
Closer still, they came.
They were in sensor range now. If the Dread Argent was going to notice them, it would do so swiftly and take appropriate action. The plan had been drawn up and memorised so many times that there was no possible way it could fail.
The Gildar system would fall.
‘Incoming unidentified ships.’
The words were spoken in an emotionless, flat monotone by the servitor at the sensor lectern and they cut through Arrun’s mood with all the accuracy and cruel savagery of a chainblade. He rose immediately from his command throne and took the steps down to the pulpit where the servitor stood. It turned its head to him and fixed him with eyes that gave away nothing.
‘Unidentified? No. That is unacceptable. Activate any working augur banks and sweep them for their designations immediately.’
‘Compliance.’ The servitor turned away, a faint hiss of hydraulics audible as it did so. The tech-priests were still chanting their apparently endless blessing and Arrun coolly bit back the urge to banish them from his deck. He turned to a young man seated at one of the control panels.
‘Run the manifests and schedules. Determine what is due into the system today. I checked it myself this morning. There was nothing slated for either arrival or departure. Prepare to send out a response ship. These intruders will answer to me.’
‘Yes, captain.’
Arrun balled his hands into fists at his side, furious at this unwelcome intrusion. These fools would learn swiftly what it cost to cross the path of the Silver Skulls. They would not be the first to learn that lesson.
A few more clicks and the servitor spoke again. ‘Profile fits Infidel-class design. No identifiable livery.’
‘Infidels?’ The word immediately sent the hairs on the back of Arrun’s neck standing on end. Once one of the favoured fighting ships of the Legiones Astartes, but now no longer used. Knowledge of their construction had long been lost and no Chapter of Adeptus Astartes or even the Imperial Navy had any remaining. At least, that was what Arrun had believed. Infidels were almost mythical. Any such vessels still flying were antiquities left over from the time of the Great Heresy.
‘Confirm. Infidels. They are not responding on any known vox frequency codes. They are not transmitting verified data.’ It chattered mechanically, turning to interface with the other console. ‘Augury data confirms identification. Both vessels recorded as Infidel Raiders. Records are incomplete.’
Infidel Raiders. One of the escort vessels commonly favoured by a number of Traitor Legions of the Adeptus Astartes. The servitor made another chattering noise as it calculated distances. ‘They are not yet in weapons range. They are holding position just beyond our ship’s capability.’
‘Clever,’ muttered Arrun. ‘Very clever.’ He moved across the bridge to the schemata that were displayed as a shivering, unstable hololith. Just like that in the strategium, it showed the positions of the fleet currently deployed within the Rift. He turned to the tech-priest maintaining the image.
‘Improve quality.’
The tech-priest nodded and, murmuring words to the Omnissiah, turned a few dials on the console that projected the image. It came into sharper focus and Arrun traced a line across the bottom section of the display. It rippled in the wake of his hand’s passage and the tech-priest shot him an unseen look of irritation as it fiddled again with the dials.
‘They crossed in through the fringes of the Rift,’ Arrun said, more to himself than any of the others. ‘It’s used a lull in augury sweeps. Whoever this is, they planned ahead.’ He turned to one of the humans standing close by. ‘Muren, make a note of that and make arrangements to contact one of our smaller patrols to work that area.’
‘Yes, captain.’
Arrun tapped at a small console, his fingers moving with nimble, practiced ease and on the rendered hololith before him, the flickering representation of the Quicksilver relocated from its current position to the point that it should have been. He similarly moved a number of the other ships to new locations on the plan and scowled deeply.
‘We are the only ship in range should the need arise and unless they make a move from their current position...’
Arrun stood away from the plinth and turned to the occulus. At this distance, the two ships were little more than dots on an endless sea of stars.
If what the servitor stated was correct, they were Infidel-class. The escort ships were well known as being favoured by the Legions who had turned their backs on the light of the Imperium. That, combined with the continued lack of communication and the generally hostile manner of their approach suggested that they were more likely than not perfect fits to that profile. The mathematics needed no further thought. This, more likely than not, was enough to make a decision.
Arrun’s brow furrowed and a surge of hatred bubbled up in the pit of his stomach. Cool, clinical detachment overrode his moment of anger and he began to bark orders. Every bellowed command was obeyed immediately, without question. Daerys Arrun ran a smooth, ordered ship and his crew, Space Marine, human and servitor alike, bowed before his will without hesitation. In a moment, the irksome chanting of the tech-priests had been blissfully drowned out by the overall volume of noise.
‘Enemy craft are accelerating. Augury readings are returning power spikes in their forward lances.’
‘Bring us around. We’ll meet them head on. Run the design through the cogitator. I want every weakness brought up. Whoever they are, they’re unannounced and uninvited. I will not stand for interlopers in my system.’ He clenched his hand into a fist. ‘Alert the gun decks. Load all cannons. Present forward batteries and prepare to fire on my word.’ He paused briefly. ‘Just in case.’
‘Marks are continuing to increase speed, but they are no longer on a direct heading. They’re still holding just on the edge of firing range.’
‘This is the captain. All hands hear this. Take us out of geostationary orbit. We’ll...’
‘Captain Arrun?’ The only questioning tone so far came from the Prognosticator at his side. Arrun turned. The Prognosticator was so quiet, he’d not even noticed the psyker’s arrival. ‘What are you doing?’
‘They won’t come to us, Prognosticator. So I’m taking the fight to them. They’re piloted by traitors. I won’t suffer their kind to continue their mockery of an existence.’
The Prognosticator looked out of the viewport. The two ships were moving ever closer. Brand stared at the screen as though his psychic powers could somehow reach through the womb of plasteel and armaplas that surrounded them. Indeed, having seen what his psyker advisor was capable of, Arrun didn’t rate the chances of the ships had they been a very little closer. Brand’s eyes burned with a momentary fervour.
‘You should use caution,’ he said in his whispering voice. ‘The shape of the future is unclear to me. I should read the signs.’
‘Understood, Prognosticator.’ Arrun felt a moment’s uncertainty at Brand’s words. The Prognosticator’s connection with the Emperor’s will was not a thing to be taken lightly, but he would not permit this sortie to continue without intervention. He hesitated briefly. Protocol demanded that the Prognosticator cast the auguries, that they wait for the Emperor’s guidance in this.
Daerys Arrun, however shrewd and brilliant his strategic mind may have been, was also exceptionally arrogant. He had neither the time nor the inclination to observe protocol in this instance. He took a deep breath and shot Brand a peculiar glance that was somewhere between defiant and apologetic.
‘We don’t have the time, Prognosticator. In this, you will need to trust to my judgement for once.’
If the other was shocked at this blatant disregard for what was undoubtedly the strongest of the S
ilver Skulls traditions, he did not show it. Instead, he turned away and took a seat to the right of the command throne. His hard green eyes gave away nothing of his reaction to the insult that had just been made to his face.
‘Orders, Captain Arrun?’
Aware that he had just transgressed and that there would be a discussion on the matter later, Arrun turned away from the Prognosticator and nodded.
‘Power up shields and begin loading prow cannons. Cogitator operators, begin calculating firing solutions’ He took a deep breath. ‘Reroute power from the Resurgent banks.’
‘Captain, you will delay the...’ Correlan’s voice snapped over the ship-wide vox, but Arrun ignored it.
‘Yes, captain.’
Scant seconds later, the huge strike cruiser hauled herself free of Gildar Secundus’s orbit and began cutting through space, closing the distance between herself and the Infidels with ponderous majesty.
There had been much trade activity in the Gildar system in the past few weeks. Many cargo vessels had come and gone, each without incident, each without question. Gildar Secundus was the usual destination but there were other, smaller worlds in the sector that received regular shipments from all across the Imperium.
None of them had been suspicious. None of them had raised any call for alarm. All of the ships that came into the system conducted their business swiftly and without lingering too long. It was possibly the presence of the Silver Skulls that encouraged such expediency, but it worked. They came, they transacted and they left.
But the ships did not always leave with the same numbers aboard with which they had arrived. Even this was not by itself cause for misgiving. People came and went all the time. Sometimes, larger vessels travelled through, bringing and removing regiments of young men and women to their assignments with the Imperial Guard in other systems. All these were entirely normal activities. Nobody paid attention when a ship came in with two hundred souls aboard and left with one hundred and eighty.
The Gildar Rift Page 6
