Lords of Blood, page 33
‘I can see that,’ said Erwin testily. He pointed through the window. ‘I have eyes. Maintain broad scanning parameters. I am not concerned with message content at this stage, only if there are any messages to be heard.’
‘Another dead system,’ said Sergeant Achemen. His voice was as miserable as his stolid, blocky face. ‘Would you consider, my captain, that we strike from this course and head straight for Baal and the muster? Lord Follordark would concur, I am sure.’
‘The Chapter Master was clear in his orders,’ said Erwin. ‘Scout each inhabited system in this sector before heading to Baal as Dante requested, and so we will check this system thoroughly as we have checked all the rest. Any intelligence we can present to Commander Dante will be welcome, I am sure.’ Erwin settled himself more deeply into the command throne. There was little he could do to make himself comfortable in its marble immensity, the cables plugged into the power ports of his armour prevented that, but he could at least flex his legs a little. They had become stiff with inactivity.
Erwin was well regarded as a ship captain, but he longed for the physicality of battle. Facing one’s foe upon the open battlefield with sword in hand was a more satisfying experience than the mathematical exercise of void warfare, although even that would be better than this tedium.
‘Be vigilant. The enemy may still be present.’
‘We will not be taken unawares, captain,’ promised Achemen.
Erwin smiled. ‘You misunderstand. I fear no ambush. I could use a good, honest fight.’
Achemen bowed his head. ‘As you command, my captain.’
Erwin gripped the stone lion heads adorning the throne’s arms and stared out into the void. The Red Scar draped scarlet shrouds across the cosmos, occluding the bright heart of the galaxy. Sciothopa was a minor nowhere on the way to bigger nowheres, but even these isolated systems had not been spared by the tyranids. Most of them housed only small human colonies, it being too expensive to provide large populations with protection from the Scar’s often deadly effects. Outside of the most valuable systems, Imperial presence was restricted to astropathic relay stations, Adeptus Mechanicus research bases, star castella and wayforts. Every single one had been cracked open and stripped.
Erwin looked down at the dull, dead ball of Sciothopa Prime. According to his Ordo Astra charts, it was a living world, with life adapted to the weird radiations of the Red Scar. The Adeptus Mechanicus were present to exploit this resilience, thus far without result. Now they would never have the chance to unpick its secrets. There was no evidence of life left. The seas were dry, the atmosphere sucked away. High gain picts showed the broken remains of tyrannic feeding tubes on the surface. Standard tyranid feeding patterns; after sucking up all useable resources, the tubes’ most valuable chemicals were leached away by the departing fleet, weakening them. An act of planet-wide autophagy that left lacy remains to collapse under their own weight.
Lights from the Splendid Pinion’s subsidiary craft played over the broken station orbiting Sciothopa. Glaring circles of bright light turned bent girders into shining filigree. Large parts of the station structure were missing, and the rest was close to disintegration. Erwin reckoned it would only be a few weeks before the remains were dragged from the sky by Sciothopa Prime and smashed to atoms on the surface.
‘They take even the metal,’ said Erwin.
The Servile of the Watch looked up from his podium over the augur pits, where baseline humans less fortunate than he laboured in unbreakable communion with the ship, their eyes and ears removed and sensory cortexes plugged directly into the auspectoria’s cogitators.
‘They take minerals of every kind, my lord,’ said the servile. ‘I have compared spectrographic analysis of this world with records of how it was. It shows massive depletion of all main range elements. The devourer remakes the worlds it consumes. Although I notice a small inconsistency with the oldest records of tyrannic-stripped worlds.’
‘Small enough for me to ignore?’ asked Erwin. The Servile of the Watch was an earnest fellow, genuinely fascinated with his work. He had been known to bore his masters with unnecessary detail.
The servile pulled a neutral expression, making his slave tattoos shift across his face, a sense of motion exaggerated by the low light of the command deck. The Servile of the Watch was unusually expressive for one of his breed. ‘Whether it is relevant or not I shall leave to your deep percipience, my lord.’
Erwin grunted. ‘Edify me then.’
‘The older worlds show a larger loss of mass. The tyranids spent longer on each, digesting parts of the planetary crust. They do not remain so long as they once did. Once the biological components of the world have been devoured, they target only sources of refined metals, such as the Mechanicus station here, in preference to the source minerals.’
‘Then they are running scared, feeding, moving on before they can be interrupted,’ said Erwin. ‘Commander Dante has them afraid.’
‘Or, my lord, they are presented with a surfeit of food. They have nothing to fear. They have too much choice. The Imperium is a banquet to them. They have become fussy eaters.’
Erwin shifted in his throne. For the first time he looked at the Servile of the Watch properly. He was a wholly unremarkable man to his Space Marine eyes, a tool of his Chapter, here now, soon dead. But there was something about him, an unusual courage. Most humans would never look a battle-brother in the eye. Erwin supposed the servile must have a name. He never bothered learning their names, they lived so short a time.
‘You dare disagree with me?’ said Erwin.
The servile stared out of the oculus, an expression that Erwin took a moment to place.
‘Are you amused, servile?’
The Servile of the Watch dared look at him. ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Why?’
‘I find it amusing that I disagree with you and you have not killed me.’
Erwin slapped his armrest and let out a solitary bark of laughter.
‘By the Blood, servile, you are a brave one.’
‘To reach a position such as I have, one must be bold,’ said the Servile of the Watch.
Erwin had no idea how the serviles were chosen for the roles they fulfilled, and he did not care. Logistics work was no fit use of a warrior’s time. That was the duty of the Master of the Household, an office given in Erwin’s Chapter to a captain no longer capable of fighting. So it had been since the 36th millennium, when their glorious order had been founded.
‘You may be right,’ Erwin conceded. ‘It is heartening to err on the side of optimism. I applaud you, servile, for prodding the uncomfortable truth.’
The Servile of the Watch bowed.
Erwin smiled, baring his long, sharp canines. ‘Now do not do it again, or I will kill you.’
‘Of course, my lord.’
‘Continue scanning the area,’ said Erwin. He stood and addressed the whole command deck. ‘We have a few hours before we must depart. We will make the translation directly to the warp from the nearest gravipause. There is no need to go to the Mandeville Point, this is a dead system. But if there are any tyranid organisms remaining here, I will destroy them before we leave.’ Erwin thought he should not tarry for such pointless exercises, but he and his men needed action. Morale was as important a consideration in war as any other variable.
‘As you will it, my lord,’ responded the Servile Locum, the mortal who commanded the vessel when the Space Marines were absent. When Erwin was present, he did his duty by saving Erwin from the dull business of giving orders to the rest of the serviles.
Erwin settled himself back into his throne and kicked out one massive booted foot. ‘All forward, Servile of the Helm. Bring us around Sciothopa, full orbit. Make it fast, let us see if we can find anything to kill. And call in our craft, I have seen everything I need to see of the facility. Give me a maximum gain augur sweep when we break orbit. Absenting a target, we leave in three hours.’
Three hours passed. Erwin’s concentration drifted to past battles.
‘My lord! We have a contact. Something is moving in a debris field twelve thousand miles ahead.’
Erwin snapped out of his contemplation to full alertness.
There was nothing visible against the red void in the oculus.
‘Hololith,’ he ordered.
A projection sphere sprang into life over the forward strategium. In its false-light rendition the glow of the Red Scar was even more lurid. Erwin leaned forward. Away from the dead world a spread of wreckage was slowly dispersing. Datascreed sprang up around the pieces. Subsidiary view fields magnified the larger items to fuzzy, indistinct shapes.
‘Analysis,’ he ordered.
‘A mixture of Imperial and tyrannic debris. Augur readings give a preliminary estimate of seventy per cent metallic to thirty per cent organic.’
The Adeptus Mechanicus put up a weak fight, thought Erwin.
‘Lock on to the contact. Show it to me.’
‘Adjusting view now,’ said the Servile of the Watch. Servitors mumbled out rote responses to the servile’s commands. The hololithic view swung around. A black shape moved at the heart of a debris field, then the hololith view encompassed a second, and a third shape.
‘I have three targets,’ said the Servile of the Watch. There was an excitement in his voice that Erwin approved of.
‘Magnify,’ ordered Erwin.
Living ships moved among the wreckage. Coiled shells sprouted masses of tentacles from wide apertures at the front. Their arms waved, plucking morsels from the shattered carcasses of bio-vessels, stuffing gobbets of flesh and frozen fluids into hidden maws.
‘A salvage operation,’ said Erwin.
Achemen looked up from his screens for a moment. ‘To what purpose? It does not seem a sensible use of resources.’
‘Who knows? I have heard reports that this tendril of Leviathan is preparing to splinter, putting out fresh shoots, as it pushes on towards Baal. This could be a seeding swarm,’ said Erwin. ‘Or it may not. I do not care. They are xenos, unworthy of life. All that matters is that they are in low numbers, and therefore vulnerable.’
‘It may be a trap,’ said Achemen.
Erwin tapped the arm of his throne. ‘You are probably right. Prepare for engagement. Do not bring us too close. Attack from maximum range. Bring torpedoes to readiness. We will stand off and destroy them.’
‘We should let it be,’ said Achemen. ‘This could be what they want.’
‘Leave it?’ said Erwin dismissively. ‘It is alive. It is an enemy. It should be dead. You are too timid, my sergeant.’
‘I am cautious, brother-captain. Letting the thirst guide our actions in this war would be a mistake.’
‘It is not the thirst that guides me,’ said Erwin. ‘You are not captain of the Second Company yet, Achemen, and will not be as long as I am alive. We will destroy them. That is my command.’ He looked at his second in command. ‘From a distance. Cautiously. I heed your counsel, brother.’
‘Firing solutions calculated, my lord. Forward torpedo batteries are aimed and ready for your command,’ announced the Servile Belligerent.
‘How many are required?’
‘Three torpedoes apiece should do it, my lord,’ said the Servile of the Watch. ‘I recommend multiple warheads, standard atomics.’
‘Recommend full spread of six for all targets,’ barked the Servile Belligerent.
‘Is that not a waste of munitions?’ said Erwin, testing his men.
‘Better to be sure, my lord,’ said the Servile of the Watch.
Erwin grinned. ‘Very good. Six apiece it is then. Time to impact, if we fire from here?’
‘Eighteen minutes, my lord.’
‘Too long,’ said Erwin. ‘Servile of the Helm, bring us closer. Accelerate to quarter speed. Loose torpedoes at five thousand miles. Prepare three spreads as per the Servile Belligerent’s recommendation. One spread per vessel.’
‘I say again, captain, it may be a trap,’ said Achemen.
‘We will release them all and break off,’ Erwin said to the sergeant. ‘Let the impetus of the ship speed our vengeance away.’
‘Revised time to impact after acceleration is seven minutes, my lord.’
‘Better,’ said Erwin.
A short-lived flurry of activity took hold of the serviles. A few moments later, the Splendid Pinion shuddered as its drive stacks pushed it towards the debris field. Erwin picked out the broken hulk of a small mechanicus arkship. He could see none of their warships among the wreckage – unsurprising for a research system.
‘I am detecting increased activity from the enemy, my lord,’ said the Servile of the Watch.
‘They have seen us,’ said Achemen.
‘If they have, what of it? They will not catch us,’ said Erwin. ‘Their ships are slow in-system. They have no power to give them speed. We will finish these ones easily enough.’
‘We are approaching optimum firing position in five seconds, my lord,’ said the Servile Belligerent. He counted down. ‘Four. Three. Two. One.’
Erwin raised his hand lazily. ‘Fire torpedoes.’
‘Volley one away!’ called the Servile Belligerent.
The ship jolted. Six torpedoes raced from the ship.
‘Second spread loaded,’ reported the Servile Belligerent. ‘Target locked.’
‘Fire!’ said Erwin. He leaned forward. This brief moment of action fired his sluggish blood. His mouth watered, and his sharp eye teeth slid a fraction further from his gums. He forced his attention away from the men under his command, their warm bodies and pulsing necks, and instead focused on the torpedoes. The hololith dimmed to cut the glare from their drive units. The first spread ran ahead of the ship where it divided into two subgroupings of three. The second spread followed the same pattern. The torpedo drives obscured the debris and their targets for a moment, but they were soon far out from the ship, reduced by the unimaginable vastness of the void to jewels of yellow on the wide red sash of the Scar.
‘Third spread loaded and ready,’ said the Servile Belligerent.
‘Swiftly accomplished. Commend the gunnery crews,’ said Erwin. ‘Extra rations and an additional five minutes’ sleep this rest cycle for such fine loading. Now fire.’
The last volley burst from the tubes in the ship’s bull-nosed prow far from the command spire.
‘Turn about,’ said Erwin. ‘Full reverse thrust. Turn us away from the enemy. Keep the hololith locked on our targets.’
Jets of fire stabbed out from the starboard prow shield, slewing the ship to portside. The Splendid Pinion groaned under the pressure of the manoeuvre. Erwin laughed as the ship shook.
‘Accelerate into the turn, Servile of the Helm,’ said Erwin. ‘Servile of Empyrical Transit, have the warp engine prepared.’
‘The Master of the Enginarium insists activating the core under this stress is unnecessary and risky,’ said the Servile of Empyrical Transit.
‘Noted. Do it anyway,’ said Erwin.
Achemen’s boots clunked as he activated his suit maglocks. Erwin grinned savagely to see his brother reach out to the dais rail to steady himself; Achemen was not so strong as he maintained. Inertia pulled the Space Marines sideways against the drag of the deck grav-plating. It was good to push his ship and his men so.
‘Spikes the blood, eh, Achemen?’
Achemen stared stonily ahead, disappointing Erwin. Achemen was a fine warrior, but precious little joy was to be had from his company.
The ship’s real space engines thundered, shaking the command spire with their sudden, massive increase in output. At their driving, the Splendid Pinion swung around in a wide arc, coasting along the gravity plane of Sciothopa and using it to accelerate out of the system. Perfectly done, thought Erwin. He was proud of his crew, mortal and Adeptus Astartes alike.
‘My lord, torpedoes about to make contact.’ The Servile Belligerent’s voice sounded out of the hardline vox by the throne, vastly amplified but barely loud enough to be heard over the roar of the ship. ‘The enemy have released torpedo spines and boarding pods in response.’
‘Then destroy them!’ said Erwin. The thirst rose in him, eager for the kill. ‘They will get no time for a second volley.’
Indeed they did not. One of the tentacled scavenger vessels disappeared in a sphere of brilliant fire. So bright, Erwin thought. Nuclear fission purged the sick redness from the void for a moment with pure, clean light. Seconds later, the next torpedo spread hit the second ship. Three bright globes of fire were followed an instant after by three more, the six together swelling into a ball the size of a miniature star. Then the third ship was hit, and the small fleet was gone. The fires faded.
‘All hit,’ reported the Servile of the Watch. ‘Targets destroyed.’
‘We have debris coming in hard after enemy munitions. Activating point defence systems,’ said the Servile Belligerent.
Faintly, right at the edge of Erwin’s enhanced hearing, guns chattered. A cloud of approaching shapes picked out in red on the hololith thinned as bio-missiles were shot down. Large segments of the cloud blinked out of existence.
‘A fine job, serviles,’ said Erwin. His brief joy at battle was fading as quickly as the spheres of fire. ‘Are there any more?’
‘No, my lord,’ responded the Servile of the Watch.
‘Then set course for the next system.’ Erwin glanced over to Achemen. ‘Gather the company. I will address them in the Siege Joyous. We head to Baal after our next reconnaissance, at last.’
‘My captain,’ said Achemen.
Erwin depressed the head of the leftmost lion. It clicked gently. A flicker of status lights ran over his displays.
‘Captain departing,’ said a machine voice, broadcasting the news across the command deck.
