‘My liege, if I may speak,’ began Captain Tyr. ‘If the veracity of this horrifying act is undoubted, then how can we allow it to go unanswered? If treachery is stirring in the Isstvan system, it cannot be given time to gain a foothold.’ A chorus of nods came from the other men around him.
‘We will answer, of that you may be assured,’ replied Dorn, with quiet force. ‘Captain Efried, Captain Halbrecht and their veteran companies will form a detachment with my personal guard and remain aboard the Phalanx with me. At the conclusion of this audience, I will order our Navigators to set a course for the Sol system. Captain Garro has fulfilled his responsibility in bringing this warning to us, and it is my aim to personally see that task completed. I will go on to Terra, as we originally intended.’ He glanced at his first captain. ‘Sigismund, my strong right arm, you will take direct command of the rest of our Legion and its war fleet. You will execute a return voyage to the Isstvan system under the auspice of a combat deployment and consider yourself to be entering hostile territory. The journey back will be difficult. Warp storms still rage in that sector and you will find the passage challenging. Go there, first captain, support our kinsmen loyal to the Emperor and learn what is occurring on those worlds.’
‘If the Warmaster has turned his back on Terra, what are my orders?’ Sigismund asked, ashen-faced.
Dorn’s countenance became rigid. ‘Tell him his brother Rogal will have him answer for it.’
FIFTEEN
The Fate of the Seventy
Sea of Crises
Rebirth
THE DEATH GUARD captain entered the tiers of the fortress’s massive infirmary, and inside he found his way to the ward where Decius was being held. He approached the isolation chamber. Along with the dedication plaque that Carya had taken with him, it remained the only other component of the starship Eisenstein that had survived the frigate’s destruction. Huge cargo servitors had physically disconnected the module from the vessel’s valetudinarium and transplanted it to here, where Dorn’s medicae could turn their skills to the warrior’s injuries.
The Apothecaries of the Imperial Fists had met with no more success than those of the Death Guard. Through the walls of the glass pod, Decius seemed closer than ever to his end. The livid knife wound was a sink for his colour and complexion, fingers of pallid corpse-flesh reaching out from the injury. Seeping sores collected at the corners of Decius’s lips and nostrils, and his eyes were gummed shut with dried runnels of pus. The infection from whatever poison had soaked Grulgor’s debased blade was overcoming the defences of the young Astartes, moment by agonising moment.
Garro became aware of someone standing close by. He saw Voyen’s face reflected in the glass wall. ‘He has spoken once or twice. His words are largely incoherent.’ The other man was muted, as if he were afraid to speak to the captain. ‘He calls out war cries and battle orders in his delirium.’
Garro nodded. ‘He’s fighting the disease just as he would any other adversary.’
‘There is little we can do,’ Voyen admitted. ‘The virus has moved to an airborne stage of contagion in recent days, and we cannot enter the chamber to minister to him, even in fully sealed power armour. I have done what I can to ease his pain, but he’s on his own.’
‘The Emperor will protect him,’ murmured Garro.
‘We can only hope so. Captain Sigismund has given orders that every aspect of Decius’s malady is to be examined and documented by the Phalanx’s medicae staff, in case the… the intruders we encountered on the Eisenstein return. I have told them everything I witnessed.’
‘Good.’ Garro turned to leave. ‘Carry on.’
‘Lord.’ Voyen blocked his path, his head bowed. ‘We must speak.’ He offered the battle-captain his combat blade. ‘On the bridge, before you triggered the warp flare, I challenged you and I see now that I was wrong to do so. You promised us rescue and it came. Such defiance as mine cannot go without censure.’ He looked up. ‘I have betrayed your trust twice. I will accept whatever punishment you will mete out. My life is yours.’
Garro took the knife and held it for a long moment. ‘What you have done, Meric, with the lodges and on the Eisenstein, did not fall from any malice in your character. These things you did through fear: fear of the unknown.’ He handed back the weapon. ‘I will not punish you for that. You are my battle-brother, and your challenges are why I have you at my side.’ He touched Voyen on the shoulder. ‘Never be afraid again, Meric. Look to the Emperor, as I have done. Know Him, and you will know no fear.’ On an impulse, he drew out Kaleb’s tracts and pressed them into Voyen’s palm. ‘You may find, as I have, some measure of significance in these.’
CODED ASTROPATHIC SIGNALS had gone before the Phalanx, high-level protocols that called to alert the most secure levels of the Imperium’s forces in the Sol system. Dorn’s authority was enough to set ships in motion and for troops to be put to a higher state of readiness; and there were other forces at work as well, agencies that had sensed the arrival of the star fortress and the precious cargo it carried.
Several light-minutes inside the orbit of Eris, the Phalanx exploded from a warp gate with violent concussion, sending sheets of exotic lightning radiating out and away into the void. Delicate sensory devices dotting the surface of the tenth planet registered the new arrival and immediately communicated reports to relay stations on Pluto and Uranus, where in turn they would be sent onward by astropath to Terra and her dominions. The return of the Imperial Fists to humanity’s cradle was long overdue. By rights there should have been celebrations and great ceremony on many of the outer colonies of the solar system to mark it. Instead, the Phalanx came in with speed and ruthless purpose, not in a stately cruise about the solar system’s outlying worlds.
The mammoth craft did not fly the pennants and banners associated with the triumphant arrival of a heroic vessel. Instead, the colours on her masts and the laser lamps about the Phalanx’s circumference were lit for urgency. Patrol ships made way, no captain daring to challenge the Master of the Imperial Fists for his haste. Drives flaring like captured stars, the fortress-vessel passed in through the ragged edges of the Oort Cloud at three-quarters the speed of light, down into the plane of the ecliptic, crossing the orbit of Neptune in a flicker of dazzling radiation.
ONCE AGAIN, GARRO was summoned to Dorn’s chambers. At the rear of the great hall, massive iron panels folded away into the ornate walls, revealing a glass bowl that looked down to the command nexus of the fortress below. It was like the bridge of any starship, but magnified a hundredfold in size and scope. Garro was reminded of a stadium, with concentric rings of operator consoles raised in staggered tiers over an arena in the middle. The central portion of the command deck was a gallery of hololithic displays, some of them four storeys tall, forever glittering and shifting. Statues of armour-clad Astartes in the wargear of the Imperial Fists were ranged along the sides of the nexus, arms out as if they held Dorn’s observation bowl at their fingertips.
On this level, repeater consoles were arranged so that the primarch and his officers could draw information from any post in the nexus with a single word of instruction. Garro realised that from this high vantage point, a single general would be able to direct an entire war of millions of men and thousands of starships. He acknowledged Qruze where the Luna Wolf stood in conversation with Captain Efried and bowed before Dorn.
‘You sent for me, lord?’
‘I have something for you to see.’ The primarch nodded to Halbrecht, a tall Imperial Fist with a sharp face and a shaved skull. ‘Show the battle-captain our new escort.’
Halbrecht touched a control and a pict screen emerged from the broad console. Garro saw an image of void outside the Phalanx’s hull and of a large, dark silhouette that moved in echelon with it. The structure of the other vessel was only defined by the places where it blotted out the stars: a Black Ship.
‘The Aeria Gloris.’ It was unmistakable, and the instant Garro seized on the configuration his mind filled in t
he empty spaces. He had no doubt it was the same craft that had appeared near Iota Horologii.
‘Correct,’ said Dorn. ‘This phantom joined us as we cleared the shadow of Neptune and fell in to match us in course and speed. They brought with them orders from the Council of Terra itself and directions to harbour. Specific reference was made to you, captain, and the woman Keeler. You will tell me why.’
Garro hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. ‘I have had dealings with Amendera Kendel, a senior Oblivion Knight among the Silent Sisterhood,’ he began.
Dorn shook his head once, a curt gesture of command. ‘Your dealings with these Untouchables do not concern me, Garro. What troubles me is that they know Keeler is aboard my ship, and they have bid me to have her isolated.’
Garro felt a surge of concern. ‘Euphrati Keeler is no threat to the Phalanx, sir. She is… a gifted individual.’
‘Gifted.’ Dorn made the word a growl. ‘I know the kinds of “gifts” that the Sisterhood come seeking. Have you brought a mind-witch aboard my fortress, Death Guard? Does this remembrancer bear the mark of the psyker?’ He grimaced. ‘I was there at Nikaea when the Emperor himself censured the use of these warp-spawned powers for the good of the Imperium! I will not allow such forces to run unchecked among my warriors!’
‘She is no witch, lord,’ Garro retorted. ‘If anything, her gift is that she has felt the Emperor’s touch more keenly than any one of us!’ The tremor in his voice drew Qruze’s attention and the Luna Wolf came closer.
‘We shall see. Sister Amendera has requested that Keeler be kept under lock and key, and Halbrecht’s men have placed a guard upon her. The woman and her cohorts will be turned over to the Sisters of Silence once we make orbit at Luna.’
‘Sir, I cannot permit that.’ The words streamed from him before he could stop himself. ‘They are under my protection.’
‘And mine!’ broke in Qruze. ‘Loken entrusted their safety to me personally!’
‘What you wish and what you will permit are of no interest to the Imperial Fists!’ snapped Halbrecht, stepping up to face Garro. ‘You are guests of the VII Legion and you will conduct yourselves as such.’
‘You labour under a misapprehension, both of you,’ said Dorn, moving to the windows. ‘Have you forgotten what you said to me? The Death Guard and the Sons of Horus have turned against the Emperor, and if so then their Legions are soon to be declared renegade, as will all their warriors, protectorates and crews in service.’
‘We risked everything to bring the warning!’ Garro’s words were brittle ice. ‘And now you all but name us traitor?’
‘I say only what some already have, what others will. Why do you think we travel to make port at the Luna base instead of taking orbit about Terra? I will not risk the lives of the Council and the Emperor on a whim!’
Qruze spat angrily, the old warrior’s normally reticent manner melting away. ‘Forgive me, Lord Dorn, but did you not see the Lady Oliton’s mnemonic recording? Are not the sworn words of seventy Astartes proof enough for you?’
‘Seventy Astartes whose Legions have turned their backs on Terra,’ said Efried grimly.
The primarch nodded. ‘Understand my position. Despite all the evidence you bring me, I cannot be certain of this until I see it through the eyes of an Imperial Fist. I do not call you liars, brothers, but I must see all sides of this, consider every possibility.’
‘What if you are the traitors here?’ demanded Halbrecht. ‘Suppose Horus has been laid low by some conspiracy among his own men, and you have been sent to assassinate the Emperor?’
Garro’s hand fell to the hilt of Libertas. ‘I have killed men for lesser insults, Imperial Fist! Pray tell, how could we do such an impossible thing?’
‘Perhaps by bringing a witch-psyker to Terra in secret,’ said Efried, ‘or a man wracked with a plague that no medicine can defeat?’
Ice formed in Garro’s chest and the anger left him in a cold rush. ‘No… no.’ He turned to Dorn. ‘Lord, if what I have told you and shown you is not enough to convince you, then I beg to know what it will take! Must I fall upon my own blade before you believe me?’
‘I have this hour spoken to the Imperial Regent, Malcador the Sigillite, via machine-call vox,’ said the primarch. ‘It was my affirmation to him that, despite the dedication you have shown to the Emperor in braving the gauntlet to carry forth your warning, the Council of Terra cannot be fully certain where the loyalties of such men ultimately lie.’ There was a hard edge to Dorn’s voice, but for the first time Garro sensed the tension in him. It was not easy for the primarch to utter such words to fellow Astartes. ‘My orders were to return to Terra to bulwark the planet’s defences and it seems that I may have to do that in order to resist my own brothers.’ He glanced at Garro. ‘I will attend the Imperial Palace and brief the Emperor on this grave news. You, the refugees from the Vengeful Spirit and all the Astartes from the Eisenstein, will remain in secure holding at the Somnus Citadel on Luna until our master decides what your fate will be.’
Slowly and carefully, Garro drew his sword and turned it in his grip, offering the weapon to Dorn just as Voyen had offered his combat knife to Garro. ‘Take my sword and end me with it if I am a deceiver, lord, I implore you, for I grow weary of each test that is heaped upon us! With all the lies and distrust that have bombarded me, I cannot face the same from those I call kinsmen!’ With his free hand, Garro reached up to his chest and touched the eagle cuirass. He nodded to the primarch’s armour and the similar aegis there, both echoes of the wargear worn by the Master of Mankind ‘We both carry the mark of the Emperor’s aquila. Does that count for so little?’
‘In these dark times, nothing can be certain.’ Dorn’s face turned to stone once again. ‘Put away your weapon and be silent, Battle-Captain Garro. Know this: if you resist the edict of the Sigillite in any way, then the full and unfettered wrath of the Imperial Fists will be set upon you and your cohorts.’
‘We will not resist,’ Garro said, defeated. ‘If this is what must be done, then so be it.’ Libertas returned to its sheath in silence.
The primarch turned away. ‘We will arrive in a few hours. Assemble your men and be ready to disembark.’
The distance across the marble floor to the chamber’s doors seemed to expand as Garro’s injured leg tensed with ghostly pain on every step he took.
THE PHALANX APPROACHED Luna through the hanging ornaments of orbital defence stations and commerce platforms, her path an open corridor through the darkness towards Terra’s natural satellite. As the fortress of the Imperial Fists found harbour at the gravity-null La Grange point beyond the moon, the Phalanx mimicked the orbit of Luna around its parent world.
Once, the satellite had been a mottled stone wasteland where humans had ventured in their first infantile steps away from their birth world. They had built colonies there, testing their mettle in the pitiless cold of the void in preparation for future voyages to other planets, but as Terra’s people had advanced, Luna had become little more than a way station, a place to pass by on the journey to the interplanetary – and later, interstellar – deeps.
For a time, in the Age of Strife when Terra was engulfed in war and blood, the moon had become desolate and empty once again, but after the rise of the Emperor, Luna had known a rebirth. Waxing and waning, the satellite came full circle as the Age of Imperium brought it new life.
Bisecting the grey stone sphere across its equator lay a man-made valley many kilometres wide. This was the Circuit, an artificial canyon that laid open the rock and stone beneath the dusty lunar surface. All along the length of the chasm lay gateways into the moon’s interior, vast doors to the honeycomb of spaces carved by mankind in the heart of Luna. The ancient, dead boulder of the moon became the largest military complex ever built by humans. A vast shipyard for the armada of the Imperium, thousands of starships from the smallest shuttle to the largest battle barge were built and maintained there, and across the face of the far side there were complex stations
for observation of the great void beyond. Port Luna was the cold, stone heart of humankind’s great fleets.
The satellite was as much a weapon as it was a safe harbour. Much of the metals mined from the moon’s heart and the rock from the Circuit’s excavation had been employed by the Emperor’s most skilled engineers, fashioned into a synthetic ring that girdled the planetoid. The vast grey hoop held batteries of lance cannons and docking bays for more warships. Wherever the light from Luna fell, those who saw it could sleep soundly knowing the ceaseless guardian stood to their defence.
And beyond it, Terra.
The cradle of humanity was in darkness. The light of the sun glimmered around the curvature of the planet, a brilliant arc of golden colour. Terra’s night side showed its face towards Luna, the features of her continents and towering hive city constructs largely hidden beneath thick storm fronts and haze. In the places where the cloud formations were thin enough, the pulsing spark of lights from the great metropolis arcologies made necklaces of stark white and bright blue, some clustered in haloes, others extending out along coastlines for hundreds of kilometres. Dark patches where the oceans lay shimmered like spilled ink.
On the yellow-hued Stormbird that carried the first group of the Eisenstein seventy, Nathaniel Garro detached himself from his acceleration cradle and made his way to a viewport, ignoring the neutral stares from Captain Halbrecht and his men. He pressed his head close to the hemisphere of armour-glass and looked with naked eyes upon the planet of his birth. How long had it been? Time seemed to weigh so much more upon him than it had before. Garro estimated that it had been several decades since he had last seen Imperial Terra’s majesty.
The Flight of the Eisenstein Page 29
