[Rogue Trader 01] - Rogue Star

by Andy Hoare - (ebook by Undead)

  “You see, Korvane, that the attack we launch is far from some petty border clash.” Korvane said nothing, conscious that Droon was on the verge of communicating something of great import. “Epsilon and Mundus Chasmata have been locked in ongoing disputes for centuries, millennia perhaps—it is hard to say exactly when things started to get… unpleasant.”

  “Your records are incomplete on the subject?” Korvane asked, knowing that many historical archives were missing great swathes of information, so long and fractured was the history of the Imperium.

  “Incomplete? Oh no, Korvane, not incomplete.” Droon watched the passing personnel carriers wistfully, the standard of the First receding into the distance. “Our histories are very specific on the matter of the grievances between our two worlds, each has been recorded in great detail. It is more a case of tracking the escalation, for each time Epsilon’s forces have laid a debt of honour to rest, those of Mundus Chasmata have retaliated once more, and so the debt is renewed.”

  “I understand,” said Korvane, beginning to appreciate the nature of the conflict between the two worlds and their ruling dynasties. He let Droon continue his explanation.

  “You see, Korvane, this region has long been settled by mankind, but has never attained the status of those sectors closer to me centres of power. The Timbra Subsector, and the entire Borealis Ring lie at the furthest extent of Ultima Segmentum. We look to the Segment Fortress at Kar Duniash for aid in times of strife, yet we would do as well to petition Terra herself for help, for both are so distant that we would be long in our graves before any arrived. Thus, we may look only to ourselves, or to third parties, such as you, when times are hard.”

  The growling of the engines of armoured vehicles filled the valley floor once more. Korvane knew that the regiment of self-propelled artillery crawling by were called basilisks.

  Droon was forced to raise his voice over the roar. “And that, Korvane, is the reason for all this!” The Imperial Commander spread his arms wide, the gesture encompassing the vast parade and the entire valley floor. “You see.” Droon shouted, “Luneberg’s forebears owe my own a debt of honour, and the interest has grown quite considerably.”

  “What debt my lord?” Korvane asked, his own voice raised.

  “The debt of ages, Korvane. You see, many, many generations past, my own ancestors and those of Luneberg entered into a partnership. They formed the core of a trade consortium that they intended would in time grow to encompass all the worlds of the subsector, and eventually, they hoped, bring prosperity to the entire Eastern Rim.”

  “A noble ambition,” Korvane replied, seeing the sense in the region’s worlds uniting in a common purpose.

  “The intentions of my own ancestors were indeed noble, but this was sadly not so in the case of Luneberg’s. It appears that, several years after the cartel was established, they decided to renegotiate its terms. You see, Mundus Chasmata and Arris Epsilon had established a profitable partnership, and were on the verge of bringing other worlds in the subsector into talks. However, Luneberg’s forebears wished to dominate the emerging bloc, and displayed no qualms in reneging on the terms of the cartel’s creation. They wished to cut us out, Korvane, and to establish themselves as the preeminent power in the Timbra subsector. You yourself have seen this propensity to dishonour, have you not Korvane?”

  Korvane thought back to the talks between his father and the Imperial Governor of Mundus Chasmata, realising that indeed, Luneberg appeared to believe he had some Emperor-granted right to change the terms of the agreement upon a whim. “Indeed, my lord, I have seen it, and it helps to explain some of what Luneberg was attempting to gain from dealing with the Arcadius.”

  “Yes, he was almost certainly attempting to revive the ambitions of his forebears, to establish himself as a new power. However, I have good reason to believe he planned to do so not to build unification of trade interests, but for entirely selfish reasons. I believe Luneberg sees himself as superior to his neighbours, and wishes to establish direct power over the entire region. The man is a traitor and a bastard, the latest in a long, long line of traitorous bastards.”

  Korvane nodded, raising his magnoculars once more, and looking down towards the valley floor. He saw that the last of the Arris Epsilon Planetary Defence Force was filing by, ranks upon ranks of troopers, each bearing aloft a pennant sporting the crest of the House of Droon—an eagle’s wing upon a golden circle, against a black field. Droon had good cause to launch a pre-emptive strike against his neighbour, for Luneberg was clearly mad, and more than likely to drag the entire region into madness with him.

  “And so, Korvane, I have taken steps to curtail his ambitions, here, and now.” Droon looked to the sky as he spoke. “You see, we do not have our own fleet, such is the hardship imposed upon us by Luneberg’s self-interest, but I have initiated a plan in which yours will play a leading role.”

  Korvane followed the Imperial Commander’s gaze, craning his neck to look up into the sky.

  Droon continued, “Your coming here was unexpected, but fits my plan well.” He turned as he stared up into the sky. “Your fleet will transport my troops, while theirs…” Droon pointed into the sky, “will utterly destroy Luneberg’s puny system defence force.”

  Korvane followed Droon’s gesture, blinking against the glare and initially unable to see just what it was he was pointing at.

  “After they have bombed his cities from orbit, my armies will land. Thanks to you Korvane, this will not be a mere raid. It will be a full-scale invasion.”

  Korvane’s vision adjusted to the glare as he squinted into the bright sky. A dark spot appeared, swooping out of the sun’s coronal halo. It separated into a number of smaller forms, moving at speed and in perfect formation. They grew in size as they approached, and within less than a minute, Korvane could see that they were vessels.

  “My lord?” he said, looking to Droon for some explanation of this new development. The Imperial Commander merely chuckled, not taking his eyes off the incoming ships.

  Korvane gathered his thoughts, forcing himself to adopt an outward calm that he did not entirely feel within. As he watched, he saw that there were five vessels inbound on their own position, each somewhat larger than the shuttles the Arcadius made use of for interface operations.

  The ships were wide and flat, with the distinct appearance of some bizarre sea creature. A wide, curved delta wing bristled with weapons turrets, a double hammerhead shape forming the prow. Korvane saw instantly that these vessels were of undoubted xenos origin, for no human ship he had ever seen moved so smoothly through the air, or, he realised with a shock, so quietly, for the vessels made barely a sound as they swept in.

  “They are quite beautiful, in their way, are they not, Korvane?” Droon asked, still not taking his gaze away from the sight of the alien vessels’ approach.

  Korvane had seen alien ships before, been onboard them in fact, and spoken with their masters, but nonetheless, he could not identify the origins of these vessels. “Indeed, my lord. Might I ask—”

  “Who they are?” Droon now turned to face Korvane. “They are my new allies, or more accurately, they are mercenaries, willing to fight for our cause against the likes of Luneberg.”

  They were better equipped than any mercenary company Korvane had ever encountered, but at least that put them in Droon’s employ, he thought, which might serve to keep them under control. “And their origin?” he asked.

  “The galactic east, so I am told, beyond the Ring.” Droon said, his tone dismissive.

  “Across the Gulf?” Korvane asked, unsure from Droon’s answer whether the Imperial Commander was being evasive, or was merely ignorant of the issue.

  “I could not say with any certainty, Korvane, and I would scarcely expect them to divulge the location of their world. I do not care from where they come, merely that their service will enable me, us, once and for all, to curtail Luneberg’s treacherous ambitions. Do you condemn me, Korvane?”

  �
�Of course not, my lord,” Korvane answered. Droon evidently felt some unease with the fact that he was forced to employ hireling xenos to prosecute his war, but Korvane was the scion of a rogue trader dynasty, and above such concerns. “I merely ask out of curiosity, for I like to know with whom I deal.”

  “Commendable, I’m sure,” replied Droon. “Few men would understand the plight we on the Eastern Rim must face. Few would understand the means we must go to in order to defend ourselves from those who covet what little we have. Ah! Look, they land.”

  The five alien vessels had completed their approach run, and now lingered in almost complete silence over the valley floor. Korvane saw that they hovered over the only area of ground not occupied by the precisely arrayed defence force units. As he watched, the air beneath each shimmered, the tell-tale indication, Korvane knew, of powerful gravity drives in action. They would have to be powerful, he thought, to hold aloft the bulk of these craft.

  In a single, perfectly synchronous manoeuvre, the five vessels descended the last one hundred metres, landing gear deploying from the belly of each at the last possible moment, and settled on the ground with barely a sound.

  A silence settled upon the scene, Korvane sensing Droon’s anticipation, and the defence troopers’ unease at their proximity to the alien vessels. Turret-mounted weapons atop each of the craft swivelled, sweeping the area around the vessels, but thankfully not lingering on any one target. As seconds stretched into minutes and no other activity was evident, Korvane envisaged the slaughter that would ensue if violence were to erupt between the five vessels and the ranks of troopers, tanks and artillery arrayed on the valley floor. The damage wreaked upon each would be terrible, he saw, although he could not say with any confidence which side would come off the worst.

  Finally, a large section of the underbelly of each ship detached, descending slowly on what appeared to be pneumatic arms. The wide, rectangular platforms of all five vessels simultaneously touched the ground. From the gallery, Korvane could barely see whether any passengers rode on the platforms, but a moment later, he saw a number of disc-shaped objects glide out from under each vessel, spreading out and forming a perimeter around each.

  The discs were around a metre in diameter, and coloured a pale, off-green, insignia in the form of red stripes adorning their panels. Some form of antenna protruded from the discs’ upper face, and a single lens was mounted in an underslung, armoured housing.

  The discs hovered several metres above the ground, another indication, Korvane saw, that this race, whoever they were, had attained a level of mastery of the anti-gravitic arts surpassing those of mankind. Although the discs bore no obvious weaponry, their proximity to the troops was causing obvious tension, and Korvane noted how the NCOs issued growling threats to their men to remain steady and to show no sign of disorder or dissension.

  The discs having taken station around each vessel, Korvane saw, through the sights of his magnoculars, that the elevator platforms did indeed carry passengers. A procession set out from the nearest vessel. The first figure to come into view as it emerged from beneath the vessels was more or less man sized, thin, and sporting long, flowing robes of a fine, silvery material.

  “Ah! He has come, as they said he would,” exclaimed Droon, some relief evident upon his face. Korvane remained silent, he would no doubt discover what concerns Droon had had in due course.

  As the tall figure stepped forwards, more emerged behind it. These were of an entirely different build, and it took Korvane a moment to ascertain that in all likelihood they were some form of motivated armour or light vehicles, for they were tall and square, with what could only be weaponry mounted upon each arm. Behind these, more figures emerged. They were more like the first, although shorter and broader of shoulder, each helmeted and bearing a long, slender rifle. Warriors, no doubt, thought Korvane, an honour guard for the first figure.

  Korvane looked towards the other alien vessels and saw more warriors, tall, armoured forms as well as those on foot, marching out from beneath each vehicle. Once arrayed, he could see that each vessel had disgorged something in the region of fifty warriors. Except the process was evidently not yet complete, for now a huge ramp lowered from the rear of each vessel, and before it had even touched the ground, a number of armoured vehicles disembarked, each borne aloft upon shimmering anti-grav fields, and each sporting what appeared to be quite fearsome weapons mounted on smoothly rotating turrets.

  At the last, the hovering vehicles moved into formation with the ranks of alien infantry. Each of the five formations appeared to Korvane as large as a company of the Arris Epsilon Planetary Defence Force, though granted far greater firepower thanks to their armoured gunships. The tall alien, his silver robes flowing elegantly in the gentle breeze, stood at the head of the formation. Behind them were the low, wide vessels in which they had arrived, and to either side and behind were arrayed the endless ranks of Droon’s own forces. From the gallery upon which he stood, the sight was nothing short of spectacular, thought Korvane. Standing beside him, Droon appeared almost drunk with the vision of power below him, evidently relishing the opportunity afforded to him finally to end the ancestral war with Mundus Chasmata.

  Droon turned to Korvane. “Come, Korvane, and meet the tau.”

  Korvane stood in the centre of the apartment given over to his use, donning his formal attire, for he was expected at the Imperial Commander’s court in mere minutes. There he would be introduced to the aliens that Droon referred to as mercenaries.

  Could they really be mercenaries? Korvane had come into contact with all manner of hired guns and sell-swords in his career, and they had ranged from highly professional outfits to near-brigands, but they had never, in his experience at least, taken a form such as these aliens.

  It was not the fact that the mercenaries were aliens that bothered him, for he had spoken the truth when he had told Droon that it did not concern him. It was more that this particular race appeared possessed of a high level of technology, and combined with the fact that Droon appeared ignorant of their origin, Korvane was far from sure that they would be as cooperative or as trustworthy as Droon had stated.

  Although nervous, he resolved to hold off judging them, but to remain cautious and on his guard nonetheless. These aliens were, he judged, well organised and possessed of highly advanced technology. They might prove a threat to more than the Timbra Subsector, he thought. They might prove a threat to the Imperium.

  As he buttoned the gold brocade across the armoured breast of his formal jacket, Korvane’s thoughts turned to what course of action his father might take in such circumstances. No doubt, he would brazen his way through, Korvane thought, keeping his cards characteristically close to his chest throughout, before somehow coming out on top. Having been brought up in the rarefied atmosphere of high court, Korvane found such an approach deeply irksome, despite the fact that it was more often than not successful.

  Successful in the short term, Korvane thought, but not in the longer term, the future of the Arcadius Dynasty, now, more than ever, looked grim. Granted, his father commanded a flotilla of cruisers and owned other, sizable interests on a string of worlds between the Eastern Rim and Terra, but for how long? If the dynasty could not be maintained those interests would be sold off one by one, until, at the end, just the three of them remained, commanding a flotilla of crewless vessels, their holds empty and their reactors cold.

  This expedition had been intended to secure the dynasty’s future, until the point, no doubt still many years off, when Korvane would come into the inheritance guaranteed as part of the terms of marriage between his mother and his father. But his mother, Emperor bless her shrivelled soul, had, thanks to countless rejuve courses, lived two centuries already, and appeared likely to live for another two at least. Korvane had already reached the conclusion that only he could ultimately save the Arcadius, and here and now, he knew that to be truer than ever.

  As he fastened his belt, hefting the sanctified falchion gi
fted him by his great uncle, the Hierarch of Terrabellum Nine, Korvane determined that whatever came of this encounter with the aliens, he would ensure that, by his actions the fortunes of the Arcadius would be revived, for all time.

  A knock sounded at the apartment door, and Korvane knew it was time to pay court. This, he thought, smiling to himself, was what he was born and raised to do.

  The door to Droon’s audience chamber swung open, and Korvane stepped through into the cavernous space carved into the mountainside. The chamber thronged with courtiers and the setting sun, visible through the open cave mouth, cast the scene in a deep, jade light.

  “Ah! Korvane, step forward and meet our new associates!”

  The head of every courtier in the chamber turned towards Korvane. Droon addressed him from his throne at the cave mouth, and beside him stood the tall alien who had led the procession from the xenos vessels. The alien took a step forwards, and paused before Korvane.

  The figure was slightly taller than an average man, his spindly arms and legs engulfed in the flowing robes of shimmering, silver fabric. His face was visible beneath a wide, flat hat, and that face was without a nose and dominated by black, almond shaped eyes. The skin was a pale, bluish grey, and the mouth wide, flat and expressionless. Korvane noted a vertical slit in the centre of the forehead, only barely discernible beneath the wide hat—an olfactory organ perhaps, or something more exotic, thought Korvane.

  The figure stood before Korvane and made a slight bow. Korvane’s courtly upbringing told him instantly that here was a being skilled in the political arts. This was no commander of mercenaries, thought Korvane, but some manner of ambassador or diplomat. This might be an alien, but some things varied little between races.