[Rogue Trader 01] - Rogue Star

by Andy Hoare - (ebook by Undead)

A whispery voice emanated from the depths of the figure’s hood. “You are, I take it, the servants of the esteemed Lord Culpepper?”

  Wind howling outside, Lucian stood at the centre of a large cavern of obviously artificial construction, beside him Korvane, his wounds hastily dressed, and Brielle. Before him stood Luneberg’s contact, and behind the tall, spindly figure, a pile of crates stacked to the cavern’s roof.

  Having appeared at the site of the alien beast’s attack, the tall figure had spoken only to confirm Lucian’s identity, apparently caring little for the fact that, as Lucian had explained, the rogue traders were not servants, but partners of Luneberg. Lucian had discerned what he took for a chuckle at this information, and the contact had merely stalked off into the storm with a gesture indicating that Lucian and his offspring should follow.

  As Lucian had followed the figure, his feeling of discomfort had increased. The storm had closed in, until visibility was reduced to scant metres, they had nearly lost the contact several times, but always found him waiting patiently just around the next turn. They had been led along twisting pathways of rock spires, down which the wind echoed and wailed, only serving to increase Lucian’s unease.

  A glance at Brielle told Lucian that his daughter felt likewise, for her brow was furrowed and her eyes steely. Korvane, by contrast, appeared well at ease. Lucian knew that he took the situation for a formal contact between trading parties, and would proceed along such lines until fate determined otherwise. At moments like this, Lucian thought, Korvane had the right idea.

  In short order, they had arrived at the entrance to the cave in which they now stood. Entering, Lucian had been greeted by the sight of the crates piled high. The contact now crossed to the nearest and activated a control set in its side. The crate floated up half a metre, to hover at waist height. Lucian concealed his surprise, for anti-gravitic technology was rare within the Imperium, and generally confined to small applications such as those generators found within servo-skulls or to far larger uses in starship construction. Lucian had never seen it manifested in such a utilitarian manner as to raise a simple cargo crate.

  The robed figure activated a second control stud, and the crate’s top lifted open with a slight hiss of escaping, pressurised air. A wisp of vapour rose and dissipated, as the contact reached into the crate to withdraw a metallic cylinder, which he proffered to Lucian as he bowed. Lucian took the object, his gaze lingering on the tall figure for a moment before he examined it.

  The object was heavy and solid, with no obvious function that Lucian could discern. One end appeared to house some form of terminus, though just what type of machine it would interface with was beyond even Lucian. Turning the object over in his hands, Lucian saw that the other end was adorned with some form of script. Lucian’s heart missed a beat, yet he remained dispassionate, handing the object back to the contact.

  “Luneberg will be pleased,” Lucian addressed the figure. “I am happy to take delivery of these items.”

  “Archeotech my arse!”

  The three rogue traders stood at the ramp of Bridle’s shuttle, the crates ready to load. Having ascertained the true nature of the items they had taken possession of, Lucian had instructed his children to activate the anti-grav motors in each crate, and had taken leave of Luneberg’s contact in as hasty a manner as he could without it appearing so. The three now stood ready to load the crates onto Brielle’s shuttle, which was larger than Lucian’s or Korvane’s.

  Brielle laid a hand on a nearby crate, and asked her father: “What then?”

  “Whatever’s in these crates is not of pre-Imperium manufacture. In fact, I can’t believe Luneberg would think these could be anything other than xenos artefacts.”

  Korvane broke in. “So he lied?”

  Brielle replied, “Or he has no idea.”

  “More likely.” Lucian said, “he knows far more than he’s letting on. He may not be aware of exactly who, or what, he’s doing business with, but he knows it goes way beyond the pale of what the Administratum considers acceptable behaviour for an Imperial Commander. That’s why he needs us. We’re rogue traders. We can go places he cannot, meet contacts he cannot. Do deals he cannot.”

  “Deals with xenos.” Brielle said.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Brielle waited until her shuttle had cleared Sigma Q-77’s outer atmosphere, before freeing herself from the grav-couch harness. The small cabin was crowded with the alien cargo crates. She crossed to the nearest, perching herself on its edge and running a fingertip along the invisible seam around its top. She had guessed immediately that the so-called “archeotech” was in fact xenos in origin, in fact, she had had her suspicions the moment Luneberg’s contact had appeared. Although her father had not remarked upon it, for his own unknowable reasons, she had immediately taken the tall figure for something other than human. That wasn’t to say, however, that it was entirely alien, for humanity was a truly diverse species, with stabilised mutant strains common, particularly far from the Imperium’s centres of power.

  Brielle had served at her father’s side since childhood, and, far more so than her stepbrother, had been faced with aliens before. She had conversed with the eldar of the Steel Eye Reavers, stood before the haunting Chanters of Miras, and had even caught a glimpse, as few humans ever had and lived, of the near-extinct khrave. Korvane had achieved none of this, having studied the intrigues of high court at his mother’s side whilst Brielle travelled the stars with her father. While Korvane’s childhood had been a time of cloistered study and training, Brielle had learned the ways of her mother’s people and her father’s both, simultaneously drawing strength from the traditions of Chogoris and the Arcadius.

  As she traced the crate’s alien lines, her touch reached the control stud set into its side. She hopped off the crate’s top before pressing the stud down. She knew she should not do so. Her father would disapprove. She did so anyway.

  The previously invisible seam parted, and the lid rose with a gentle hiss. As the vapour cleared, she looked within. A polyhedral object lay inside, a thin sheen of frost glistening briefly before dispersing. A thrill coursed through her as she considered that merely to possess such an item was, for the vast majority of humans, to invite the wrath of the Imperium’s highest authorities. Yet Brielle had learned from her father’s example that such laws did not apply to such as her.

  To the common subject of the Imperium of Man, the xenos was a ghastly, slavering beast gnawing at the borders of human space, waiting in ambush amongst the stars to entrap, enslave or devour those foolish enough to leave the security of their own world. In fact, most humans had no inkling as to the existence of alien races, beyond the few names that ranting preachers berated them with. They knew of orks, the barbarous green-skinned and utterly war-like beasts that made war on the Imperium in ever-increasing invasions, but they had no idea as to the orks’ true nature. Brielle had visited the wastes of Gommoragh and seen first hand what they could do to a world. They may also have heard of the eldar, a race that was often held up as the ultimate warning against intemperance and self-serving profligacy. Such tales repelled most people, although others were strangely attracted to them. Such was the nature of humanity.

  She reached into the case, a thrill of danger passing through her. This was dangerous, she knew, foolish in the extreme, for the case might contain anything from toxic chemicals to a lethal weapon. She felt the cold of its unseen stabilisation systems, but hesitated for only a heartbeat before laying her hand upon the cold metal of the object she found within. She lifted it clear, holding it up before her face. Its many surfaces were constructed of some form of dull, hard metal, and each facet housed a single, hemispherical bulge of a deep, green, jewel-like material. Its purpose was entirely hidden, and no control devices of any sort were apparent. Brielle turned the object around in her hand, holding it higher to catch the light of the cabin’s illumination. The shallowest of seams were etched across its surfaces, tracing a delicate lattice, yet still she
could discern no way in which the object might be activated or utilised. She brought the object close to her face and peered right into the glassy depths of one of the green bulges.

  She gasped, almost dropping the object as a shiver ran through her. Just for an instant, as she looked within the jewel, she had the distinct and unpleasant sensation that something had peered right back out at her.

  The intercom buzzed, a voice announcing, “Mistress. We are beginning our approach on the Fairlight.”

  Delicately, Brielle replaced the xenos device in its crate, the bracing moulding itself around the object’s bulk. She activated the control stud, and the lid slid back on silent runners, sealing itself against the outside world, its seam disappearing.

  Brielle looked across at her grav-couch, but decided against crossing to it. She would travel in the cockpit. It may be less well appointed, she thought, but from there she could view her cruiser, the Fairlight as they approached. It was as well to savour the trappings of power every now and then.

  There was a heavy bulkhead door at the fore of the cabin, which Brielle hauled open, passing down a short companionway to the cabin. Her pilot turned in greeting as she appeared behind him, his hard-wired cybernetics restricting the movement to his neck and upper torso.

  “Mistress, we dock in four point seven minutes.” Goanna the pilot said.

  “Good. I think I’ll watch.” Brielle said as she climbed into the unoccupied co-pilot’s position.

  “Yes, mistress,” he said, before turning back to focus his entire attention on his task. If the man felt any discomfort at his mistress’ presence, he hid it well. Brielle had trouble reading old Goanna at the best of times, for, over the decades he had served the Arcadius, he had become increasingly at one with his vessel, and had been fitted with ever more cybernetic interfaces and ports, allowing him to commune more closely with its machine spirit. At times, she suspected that he was in the grip of some form of religious ecstasy, such as the saints of the scriptures were wont to enter when at one with the spirit of the Emperor. Several years back, he had requested he be allowed to take permanent station at the shuttle’s controls, and Brielle had granted him his wish. Since then, he had led the existence of a servitor, yet he was no lobotomised, mind-scrubbed mono-tasker. He was a valued servant of her dynasty, and he honoured his mistress with his sacrifice in her service.

  Brielle reclined in the grav-couch, strapping herself in as they began their approach on the Fairlight. At first, her vessel was not visible, for it was lost in the shadow of Sigma Q-77. Then, as Goanna adjusted the shuttle’s course, a small constellation rose into view, the tightly arranged running lights of her ship, the only sign of the cruiser that was visible against the inky black of space.

  A series of red lights flickered and strobed across Goanna’s controls, but he spoke without sparing them a glance. “Four minutes, mistress.”

  The shuttle’s manoeuvring jets fired, the controlled blasts rumbling through the small cabin. Expertly, and with little in the way of physical manipulation, Goanna nursed the shuttle around onto a heading that would bring it into perfect interception with the Fanlight’s shuttle bay. Brielle reflected with silent respect just how deeply her pilot now communed with his vessel, suspecting that the pairing was by now permanent.

  The manoeuvring complete, Goanna gently fed power to the main drives. The shuttle moved forwards again, and the Fairlight loomed out of the gloom. Smaller than the Oceanid by a quarter of a length, the vessel was a classic of the Bakkan shipwrights’ art, her prow long and elegant and her swept fins affording her the aspect of a sleek, predatory sea creature. Her hull was the colour of slate, making her harder yet to make out against the inky black of space, yet the fins, mounted vertically on either side of the prow sported the colours of the Arcadius—deep red, with golden chevrons, a device that even the most haughty of rogue traders knew, and had once at least, respected.

  A line of dancing red lights indicated the landing bay, although Brielle knew Goanna had no need of their guidance. He brought the shuttle in on a graceful course, the heavy, armoured landing bay portal lifting only as the shuttle closed to the last fifty metres. Brielle glanced to her side, watching her pilot as he went about his work. She looked up only as the bright, cavernous bay swallowed the shuttle, the docking arms reaching out to secure her as the portal closed behind, and atmosphere was pumped back into the vast space.

  Brielle made her way along low-lit companionways lined with ancient, polished wood panels. Much like the Oceanid, the Fairlight ran at a reduced crew level, the bulk of her ratings drawn from press-ganged scum given the choice between execution and service. Specialised servitors, who were greatly valued for their specific expertise, carried out much of the work, but Brielle shared her father’s view that the family had become too reliant upon them. Only a fraction of the Fairlight’s crew was made up of free men, and these formed the officer cadre aboard ship. They were the only members of her crew with whom Brielle had regular contact.

  Having disembarked from her shuttle, Brielle had ordered the cargo of alien artefacts to be transferred to the most secure of the Fairlight’s holds. She had stood watch as hulking heavy grade servitors had carried each crate away in piston-driven, mechanical arms. She had decided against informing the sweating crew that each crate had an anti-gravi drive fitted, evidently designed to allow its effortless handling. She knew the almost literally brainless servitors could be trusted, but knew better than to tempt the press-ganged crew with such potentially valuable knowledge.

  She had only set off for her bridge once she was sure the cargo was safely stowed away, watching as the hold was sealed, and applying her personal cipher to the lock. Now, she brooded as she strode the nigh-deserted companionways, considering the state of the deal with Luneberg.

  The Imperial Commander had explicitly stated to her father that the items to which he had gained access were archeotech. Such items were far from common, but they were within the area of expertise of the Arcadius, and should have proved simple enough to trade for a handsome profit. However, the artefacts had proved to be not pre-Imperium human in origin, but something else entirely. They were, Brielle was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt, alien. In many ways, the Arcadius were the perfect choice of business partner for such a deal, yet Brielle was troubled that Luneberg had determined to conceal the true nature of the items from them. As she had stated to her father, Brielle was of the opinion that Luneberg was not the canny player he pretended to be. The more she pondered on it, the more she came to believe that Luneberg was dealing with powers beyond his ken, that he needed the Arcadius far more than he had let on, far more, perhaps, than they needed him.

  Yet, her father had pinned a huge amount on the success of this venture. With Korvane not due to inherit his mother’s fortune for potentially many years to come, her father had used every contact he had to scour the Eastern Rim for some opportunity, some deal that would see the Arcadius through the next decade or so. The result had been the deal with Luneberg, yet Brielle was becoming ever more uncomfortable with it.

  Were she the next in line to the lordship of the Arcadius, as she had been raised to be, she would have been able to challenge her father on the issue, forcing him to hear her concerns. Since Korvane had entered the family however, she had lost her father’s ear on such matters. She had been raised to lead a rogue trader dynasty, and now she was compelled to remain in the shadows, to watch as others set that dynasty on a course she considered at best ill advised.

  In the beginning, she had attempted to raise the issue with Korvane, swallowing her pride and hoping to appeal to him as a sister. Yet he had rejected her advice, for he was raised in the ways of the high courts, and perceived only weakness in her humility. He had repeated, word for word, their father’s view. From that point onward, she had resolved to follow her mother’s teachings on such matters. If those around her were blind to their folly, and that folly was likely to doom them all, then she would keep her own counsel, w
orking to resolve matters in her own way.

  She reached the bridge, and entered her cipher into the reader at the door. It chimed, and she hauled on the heavy wheel, applying her scant weight to the door and pushing her way through. She entered her bridge, a large, richly appointed chamber lined with the same wood panelling that adorned all of the Fairlight’s main companionways. Wide, curved deck-to-ceiling viewing ports dominated three sides, baroque brasswork framing each as if it were a work of art. The bridge crew’s stations were arranged in aisles, all facing towards the forward viewing port.

  Brielle’s command throne sat atop a raised dais at the rear of the bridge, from which the captain had a fine view of her crew at work, and of the immediate area of space. She mounted the steps to the dais, and as she reached its top, a face descended from the shadows above it. A hard-wired servitor, little more than head, upper torso and arms, and anchored to the ceiling by writhing metallic tubing, it held in its emaciated arms a data-slate, which it proffered to Brielle.

  She took the data-slate without acknowledgement, and the servitor rose once more, to disappear into the depths of gloom above the command throne. She sat, reclining in her throne, its shape reminding her that, despite the family politics, she was mistress of a rogue trader vessel. She had at her command several thousand souls and banks of mighty weapons, with which she could take her will to the stars.

  She stretched, cat-like, and planted her feet upon a command console in a manner she knew her father would have found most unbecoming for a rogue trader. She grinned as she thought how her mother would have approved.

  She lifted the data-slate, reading off its title. It contained a communiqué from the Fairlight’s Navigator, Adept Sagis. Brielle had never met the Navigator face to face, for he occupied a sealed blister mounted just fore of the Fairlight’s drive section, its armoured viewing ports affording the Navigator a panoramic view of space. It wasn’t the space of the real universe that the Navigator gazed out upon, however, it was the realm of pure spiritual energy that was the warp, for the vessel would be lost, adrift upon the Sea of Souls were it to attempt warp travel without a Navigator.