Rhacelus walked with the Lord of Death. His psychic senses prickled with the touch of the warp. The ship bore little sign of damage from its rapid exit from the empyrean, but the unpleasant energies of the warp lingered. This put Rhacelus on his guard, but far more of his attention was absorbed by the presence of his lord, whose soul blazed bonfire-bright in his witch-sight.

  They had spoken of this, he and Mephiston. The Lord of Death’s powers were growing.

  There were few signs of the crew anywhere. Blood was splashed liberally on the walls of one chamber, and the plating gouged by deep claw marks, though no bodies were visible. In another place further on, the severed heads of four servitors rested at the crossroads of a transverse way and a minor walk, staring away down each corridor. They saw no other signs of any soul, ­living or dead. Bioscanners gave blank returns. Voxes hissed with strange static that hummed and whispered, only to collapse back into electronic noise when hearkened to.

  ‘It is as if the ship was abandoned,’ said Daeanatos.

  ‘It is taken,’ said Dante. ‘The hand of the warp is heavy on the Dominance. The only questions are, what manner of foe has manifested here, and when will they attack?’

  ‘We will find them soon enough,’ said Daeanatos, ‘and the crew.’

  ‘The crew will all be dead,’ said Antargo. ‘I have walked the deck plates of too many daemon-haunted ships to judge their survival likely.’

  As they ventured further, the silence became oppressive. Places that should teem with human life were empty, and yet everywhere there remained signs of people, as if the entire crew had stepped out for a moment, and would imminently return. The paraphernalia of everyday life lay abandoned. Transport vehicles stood unpiloted, engines running. In the refectoria, warm mugs of recaff stood on tables. Dante stepped over a clipboard of store dockets riffling in a ventilation breeze. Self-motivated mechanisms still ran. Where they required human control their ready lights gleamed, awaiting input.

  ‘The machines of this ship are unaffected,’ Dante said.

  ‘That is so. I shall tell you something strange, though.’ Delphinus paused by a control panel and stabbed a mecha­dendrite into an input port. ‘A ship of this size should have a complement of servitors in the thousands,’ he said. ‘But I can find no trace of them.’

  ‘Disconnect yourself and move on, Techmarine,’ Dante said.

  ‘There is no corruption in the machine world of this ­vessel,’ Delphinus said.

  ‘There appears to be no corruption,’ said the Chapter Master. ‘You are not as safe as you believe. Disconnect.’

  ‘As you say, my lord.’ Delphinus’ probe whipped out of the socket and back into its housing.

  There was a tranquillity aboard one should not find on a starship. The quiet hum of shipboard systems and the creak of metal shifting soothed the Blood Angels’ warrior instincts, and a peculiar soporific effect fell on them that they struggled to combat.

  ‘The influence of the warp is strong,’ said Rhacelus. ‘I see a presence shifting in the currents of the immaterium. We are being led onwards.’

  ‘Where there is intention from the denizens of the warp, there is greater danger,’ said Mephiston. ‘I too sense it. I taste it. They call to me.’

  ‘I hear nothing, my lord,’ said Rhacelus.

  ‘The words are not meant for you, Gaius,’ said Mephiston.

  There came a moment when everything seemed to change. Rha­celus and Mephiston were walking ahead of the rest down a secondary way, nearing the lifters to the command decks, when they passed some unseen barrier, and the feeling of the vessel altered.

  Mephiston passed through first. Then Rhacelus. Both came to a sudden halt. Mephiston swept his gaze from side to side, and held up his hand.

  ‘What is it?’ said Rhacelus.

  ‘Turn around and look behind you.’

  Rhacelus did as he was bid. The corridor was empty. ‘Where are the others?’ he said.

  ‘Watch,’ said Mephiston.

  A trio of Intercessors crossed an invisible threshold, guns up, ready for combat.

  ‘Lord Mephiston!’ one said. ‘We thought you taken. You vanished.’

  ‘As did you. This is intentional warpcraft, no anomaly,’ Mephiston said. ‘Go back. Tell Lord Dante the passage is safe, but that there is a temporal barrier here set by our enemies. If the commander desires to proceed, tell him my advice is to signal the fleet. Warn them that our locators will vanish from their communications web, and that we will not be contactable.’

  One of the Intercessors bowed and went back, vanishing a few feet from his brothers.

  ‘You two, range ahead, fifteen yards,’ Rhacelus said to the others.

  ‘My lord,’ one said. They jogged ahead, red armour blending into the gloom.

  Rhacelus took a deep breath. Blue warp light glowed around his skull-headed staff.

  ‘That will not be necessary, Gaius. Not yet.’

  ‘I prefer to be ready, Mephiston,’ he said. ‘Even if it risks attracting the foe.’

  ‘Employing your powers is a risk.’

  ‘You employing yours is a greater one. Your gift is a torrent to my trickle.’

  ‘It is still getting stronger,’ said Mephiston.

  ‘How do you fare?’

  Mephiston’s helm tilted towards Rhacelus. ‘I feel the power in me, Gaius. I feel I could end the galaxy if I chose.’

  Rhacelus grunted. ‘Best not do that, then.’

  Calistarius of old would have shared Gaius’ smile. ­Mephiston had not a whit of humour in his body and stood silent and icy.

  A second later Dante appeared with two of his guardians at his side. They emerged as if they came out of deep water, their weapons appearing first, then disembodied hands, then their faces.

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Rhacelus.

  ‘Lord Dante,’ said Mephiston. ‘The servants of the Dark Powers play their tricks.’

  ‘How far are we from our proper timeframe?’ said Dante.

  ‘It is impossible to tell, it could be a dislocation of a s­econd. I do not think it more than days. The ship’s condition appears the same this side of the time effect as it does on the other. Observe.’

  He played a light from his high suit-collar over the wall. Bloodstains there were dry and brown, but not yet black with putrefaction.

  Dante put out one golden hand and thrust it through the space he judged to divide one time from another. It duly disappeared. ‘We seem free to move between the two,’ said Dante.

  ‘It is a challenge,’ said Rhacelus. ‘We are being goaded.’

  ‘There is no signal from the fleet,’ said Delphinus. ‘I assume in this timeframe they have moved on.’

  ‘Is that likely? Surely Captain Gallimimus would not leave the lord commander behind. Have we not only been moved in time, but also been pushed into some other place far from them?’ said Antargo.

  ‘It is possible,’ said Mephiston. ‘It is also possible they were attacked or driven off. Most likely is that we accomplished what we came to do, returned and departed with them. Whatever has occurred, it is of little consequence. Once this is resolved and we return to where we should be, whatever has happened in this time stream will cease to be.’

  ‘Until then we are isolated,’ said Antargo. ‘There are but seventy of us spread over the ship, twenty here.’

  ‘If we press on, we will be cut off from reinforcement from within the vessel and outside it,’ said Rhacelus. ‘Whatever is in here wants us alone.’

  ‘We are being challenged, that is all,’ said Dante firmly. ‘The beings of the warp are tiresome in their predictability.’

  ‘You should think about going back, Lord Dante,’ said Mephiston.

  ‘I will not do so,’ said Dante. ‘This is likely a trap, but it could equally be a ploy to separate us. I could step through that veil and find myself alone and under attack. We shall see this task done together, brother.’

  ‘As you wish, my lord,’ said Mephiston.

  ‘The way ahead is clear,’ voxed one of the Intercessors ranging ahead.

  ‘Then we proceed,’ said Dante. ‘The lifter nexus should be half a mile ahead.’

  When the rest of the party came through the temporal barrier, Mephiston bade Rhacelus go ahead with the Intercessors. ‘Guard them,’ he called after his friend. ‘Limit the use of your powers. We are in the enemy’s territory now. Do not give it strength.’

  ‘As you wish, Lord of Death,’ said Rhacelus.

  Sergeant-at-Arms Tephis held up his arm to tell the party to halt. Juvenel ducked back into cover.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. The rest of them held their ground behind Juvenel. The first officer’s palm was damp on the butt of his pistol. His finger cramped with the expectation of pulling the trigger. Seven armsmen protected the admiral a few feet back. There were a gaggle of other crew behind them, ranging from the lowest rating to senior warrant officers.

  There had been substantially more of them a few days ago.

  With the environmental controls out, heat beat at them. Sweat ran into Juvenel’s growing beard. He preferred to be clean shaven. He couldn’t stand the itch.

  Tephis panned the stablight mounted on his shoulder back and forth across the corridor. It was wide and not too ornate. Not as many places for shadows to hide.

  ‘Is there anything there?’ hissed Midshipman Chorkin. She was small and young, but braver than most of the others.

  Juvenel shook his head and frowned. ‘Shh!’ he said. The light ran over the shadows, banishing them instantly. They shrank back into the grille covering the cabling trench running down the corridor centre. They vanished around the stanchions reinforcing the walls. They fled up into the beams, where water ran from stalactites of rust. Drips flashed in the light as they fell and splashed on the ground.

  So readily did the shadows vanish that when one did not retreat, but instead screamed and reared high into glistening, wet blackness, they all jumped.

  ‘Emperor’s teeth!’ someone swore.

  Juvenel was already firing by that point.

  Las-shot was best against the shadows. Juvenel worked that out early. It made sense that if they did not like light, they would like coherent beams of it even less.

  Sergeant-at-Arms Tephis opened fire at the same time. The carbon spray of his shotgun hissed into nothing on contact with the shadow.

  The shadow billowed up to the ceiling, like a rush of oil falling upwards, and reared over the sergeant.

  Juvenel’s first shot burned a smoking hole right through the living black. It shrieked and dropped down, taking on the shape of a scuttling, bent-legged thing. Glossy fangs sprouted from a newly formed maw, and it rushed away from the shocked Tephis towards Juvenel. The other officers stepped out behind Juvenel, laspistols out, rangefinders winking.

  They riddled the shadow being with holes before it got to them. It sprang up, and for a moment it writhed, its form re-coalescing into a vaguely humanoid shape sporting a pair of giant crustacean’s claws.

  Juvenel put a final beam through its forming head, and it split into shreds and vanished.

  Laspistol barrels creaked with dissipating heat. Juvenel holstered his gun. The rasp of metal on leather was unpleasantly loud.

  ‘Any more?’ he hissed. He couldn’t help but whisper. The ship seemed to listen to anything louder.

  Tephis gave him a blank look from beneath his visor.

  ‘Are there any more shadows?’ Juvenel approached him, grabbed his shoulder and leaned in close. ‘Pull yourself together, man!’ he whispered. ‘I appreciate that shook you up, but we need a little more spirit here. The other armsmen are looking to you.’

  Tephis nodded once. ‘Yes. Of course. Armsmen! Flood this place with light.’ He looked to Juvenel. ‘We might as well scare them out. They know we’re here now.’

  ‘Now that’s a bit more like it,’ Juvenel said. He released the sergeant.

  Stablights came on in profusion, lancing through the dark, and lighting up whole sections of the corridor at once.

  Ensign Elmor came to Juvenel’s side. He still had his laspistol out. Its barrel radiated heat.

  ‘Funny old turn of events when the officers have to protect the armsmen,’ he said.

  ‘Their shotters are useless,’ said Juvenel. ‘We should find them lasweapons, if we can.’

  ‘There’s an armoury five decks down from here. We should go there next. The hardline you wanted is over there. Get to that first, sir. We should be moving on.’

  ‘The hardline is why we’re here.’ Juvenel went to a section of the wall where a box was bolted. A red canister was strapped to the wall next to it. He took out a pouch of tools from his belt, selected a handled socket spanner and undid the bolts holding the box shut. There were a number of useful supplies inside.

  ‘Chorkin!’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Get this stuff out, would you?’ He caught sight of Danakan. The admiral gave him a grim nod.

  Chorkin squeezed in to take away the items stowed in the box. Behind them, held closed by straps embossed with the aquila, was an emergency hardline handset.

  ‘How do you know the shadows haven’t got into the damn comms system?’ said Elmor.

  Juvenel shrugged. ‘I don’t.’ He glanced at Elmor. ‘Do you have a better idea?’ He picked up the vox-horn, listened a moment, then set it back. ‘Nothing. No ready signal.’

  Elmor looked at him, then jerked his head backwards. ‘What are you going to tell the admiral?’

  Before he could answer, a crackle of static and a burst of voices came loud over Juvenel’s vox-clasp. There’d been nothing on their comms systems for days except the whispers of the shadows, and the party froze.

  When nothing came, they relaxed a touch. Juvenel’s finger uncurled from the trigger of his pistol. He hadn’t even realises he’d drawn his gun again.

  ‘It’s the vox, stand down,’ said Juvenel. ‘Someone’s trying to signal us.’

  ‘Who, first officer?’ Danakan asked. Juvenel gave a silent prayer to the Emperor that he be the only one to hear the tremor in the admiral’s voice.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Juvenel unhooked his vox-clasp and fiddled with the settings. He called forth only sibilant whispers that came close to forming words, but fell disturb­ingly short.

  ‘Shut that off,’ said Tephis. ‘Please, sir,’ he added, remember­ing who he addressed.

  ‘Do as he says,’ said Danakan.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Juvenel. He strained his hearing. ‘There is something… There!’ Underneath the hissing of the vox was the faint pulse of Imperial signum beacons. ‘Friendly forces. They’re finally here.’ He couldn’t hide his own relief.

  ‘How can you know it’s not a trick?’ Ensign Follin spoke only in terri­fied whispers. Juvenel frowned at him.

  The hissing gabbled on, terrifying yet seductive, full of false promises of salvation. Juvenel sniffed.

  ‘Can anyone smell perfume?’ he said.

  Two dozen gaunt faces stared back.

  ‘Please, Juvenel, shut it off now,’ said Danakan. ‘The whisper­ing is upsetting the men.’

  Juvenel glanced at the admiral’s face and wished he had not. It glowed sickly white in the dark corridor, and his eyes were unnaturally wide.

  ‘I can only agree,’ said Juvenel, attempting to project enough calm to cover Danakan’s nervousness. If Danakan had his courage, he would have ordered him to silence the vox, not asked. ‘I will check every fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Perhaps Lord Dante has come for us,’ said Chorkin. Her young face shone with hope beneath the grime and sweat.

  ‘He’s taken long enough. It’s been a week,’ growled Tephis. ‘What have they been doing all this time? Sitting in their thrones and sipping wine while we die here?’

  ‘I shall take it that this encounter unnerved you, sergeant. But I warn you, know your place,’ said Elmor harshly. ‘Even the admiral wouldn’t question Lord Dante.’

  Elmor stared at Tephis until he looked down.

  ‘My apologies, sir,’ the man muttered. ‘I’ve had a fright, that is all. I shall watch what I say.’

  ‘Don’t argue, men. We should pray that it is them,’ said Danakan. He affected an air of insouciance that just about passed muster, but only just.

  Juvenel frowned to himself. Tephis wasn’t the only one close to losing his nerve.

  ‘Let’s move on,’ Juvenel said. ‘We shall see if we can find their signal. If the Blood Angels can help us retake our ship, we’ll get out of here with our honour intact as well as our lives. That’s something worth fighting for.’

  Although Dante’s splinter force was in constant communi­cation, no vox warning came when they encountered the foe, nor was there any indication that their signals were being suppressed. The sound of gunfire alone signalled their advance party was under attack.

  ‘We are ambushed. Move up to engage,’ Dante said. The Axe Mortalis crackled in the stale air as he upped the output of its disruption field.

  The Space Marines ran down the corridor towards the noise of battle. A domed chamber opened up ahead, where ­several corridors joined. Shrines were set under arches between the corridor mouths.

  ‘A midship temple,’ said Dante. ‘The kind of place the Neverborn enjoy profaning.’

  The two scouting Intercessors had reached the far side of the room before being set upon. The flash of their bolt rifles flickered, periodically driving back the dark. At first it seemed their brothers were shooting at nothing. There were no returns in their helms, and their threat indicators ­hovered uncertainly at the edges of their displays, awaiting an enemy to lock onto.

  A dark shape wrapped itself around one of the Space Marines.

  ‘The shadows. They are under attack by the shadows,’ said Dante. ‘Illuminate them.’

  Stablights fixed on black shapes speeding around the room. When caught in the full beam of the light they keened and attempted to flee. They appeared wet, like oil, until they escaped the light and slipped into the dark places of the chamber, where they became impossible to tell apart from natural shadow.

 

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