n. pl. in·cu·nab·u·la (-l)1. A book printed before 1501; an incunable.
2. An artifact of an early period.
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Except from Confidential Briefing Report of Interrogator Demrai Ehketz to Senior Interrogator Jamal Ekvenion of the Ordo Hereticus Date: 101.791.M41 Location: Evidion Alep (secure facility Gamma Omega Epsilon) Subject: Adeptus Arbites – unusual activity – heretics Report Begins: It is with great honour that I have the pleasure to present the esteemed Senior Interrogator with the following information, which I fervently hope will assist both the Senior Interrogator and his refulgent magnificence Inquisitor [redacted] in pursuing the holy work of the Emperor. The attached report by a Proctor of the Adeptus Arbites to the Marshall Tertius at the Sector House on Primor Station has been severely altered sometime between its original drafting by Proctor Brenner and its passage to the Court House on Evidion Alep, passing via the aforementioned Sector House and also the Precinct Office of Argo-Navis (located on the primary refining station). After due and diligent enquiry involving many local agents and operatives, and several suspicious deaths and disappearances, I have located a fragment of the original report. It reads as follows:- “The abomination of flesh partially constructed by the unknown heretics was purified by the Pastor, a man clearly out of his depth. The extent of the purification must be in severe doubt. The quarterdeck was then sealed and exposed to the void. This catastrophe must receive –“ I attach the official version of the report, for comparison purposes. You will see no mention of heretics. No mention of abominations. I believe these issues should be brought to your attention forthwith and that the cleansing light of a full investigation be shone into this system, where I have long suspected corruption – in all its forms – dwells. Although it is not my place to say so, given the importance of this system’s industrial output you may agree that this warrants the personal attention of his excellency Inquisitor [redacted]. I remain your faithful and obedient servant. (Junior) Interrogator Ehketz ***EXCERPT ENDS*** 792.M41 Crewman Nivalis, weighed down by the open-topped crate of data-slates he was holding, was almost hopping up and down in the hatchway to the medicae ward. “I am afraid I cannot speed up the crypto-encoding, crewman – ah.” Roke struggled for the man's name. “Ah. Crewman. You will just have to – ah, it’s done. Here you go. Take good care of this,” said Roke, placing the data-slate on top of the dozens of identical slates in the crate. Nivalis started hurrying off down the corridor as soon as Roke let go and quickly vanished into the transverse at the end. Roke strolled down the same
corridor, enjoying being without his cane after his morning meds, and
looked out into the transverse. It was crowded with crewmen hurrying
one way and the other, the air ringing with shouted orders, confirmations
and oaths. Roke saw Pastor Ossirak making his way slowly up the transverse,
and Roke shrank back into the corridor until he had passed. He wasn’t
busy, but on the other hand he was sure he had better things to do than
get trapped in a conversation with the Pastor about his garden on Primor
that could easily last all morning. It would not have been so bad, if
Roke had not already seen the garden weeks ago and knew that, due to
insufficient rad shielding at that location, the garden was now reduced
to a single, suspiciously plastic-looking, cactus in a pot. The cargo bay was a maze of teetering stores and machinery, crates and steel boxes. Cranes in the ceiling were moving larger items around to make room for the procession of crewmen bringing yet more crates and boxes through the main hatch leading to Uttupar. Keir and Purser Oblensk were standing together on top of a dismantled manip-arm shouting and yelling at the crew squads. They both seemed to be enjoying themselves, Roke thought, in that peculiar way some people had of enjoying being angry. “Captain. We are leaving Uttapar then?” Roke craned his neck upwards. “Ah, Doctor! No, you bloody fool, does it look like it goes there? Sorry Doctor – yes, we are leaving in exactly three and half minutes. Don’t want to lose the trail. Hurry up, Ramifer, look lively, eh? Hey, Doctor, look at this. Ramifer’s got the body armour from those Sword mercs we captured. Once the damaged ones are cleaned up and patched we should have about fifty suits of the stuff. Fifty! By the Emperor, can you believe it? That and a stack of weapons and ammo.” Keir climbed nimbly down and then jumped the rest of the way. The decking trembled noticeably under the impact. “Wire rifles too. Bloody barbaric things, of course, give you a hell of a time in your Cheirurgia but against unarmoured men they are just the thing, eh?” Keir was beaming. “And,” he went on, leaning conspiratorially towards Roke, “a heavy stubber that belonged to Uttapar. Brenner’s over the jets about that, not that you’d know it to look at him. Not much ammo for it though. We’re leaving Uttapar some crew, so it’s a fair trade.” Keir looked around the bay, and then back to Roke. “Throne, but I'm hungry. Did you get your mail off? I sent Nivalis along.” “Yes. Yes, thanks. The relief ship for Uttapar will take them to back to Primor when it arrives, then?” “Eleven days, Doctor, exactly.” Keir’s eyes were still roving around the packed cargo bay. “Two minutes!” bellowed Keir. “Get that hatch closed Ramifer. If you put that there again, Crewman Judd, I will tear your fecking arms off! There, you fool, it goes there. If he puts it there again, Purser, shoot him!” Keir strode off with gleeful fury in his eyes. As Roke headed back to his medicae ward he heard the voxhailer alarms go off and felt the ship shudder and thrum as she de-clamped from Uttapar and immediately began accelerating hard in pursuit of the Sword. # Keir stood over the chart table on the quarterdeck, arms outstretched. The trail of plasma leakage from the Sword, as he had expected, headed straight in-system, for the deeps. It gave Commander Scrima the choice of trying to lose Anteus in the Greater Clouds or to set up and wait for their arrival. He knew what Scrima would do, though, as clearly as if the Commander had sent him a memo-slate. He wouldn’t try and lose the Anteus, but would pick his spot, turn and fight. Exactly what Keir would do if he had the better ship. “Take us on a parallel course to the leakage cone, but keep us thirty kloms outside it. Further if you can, Master Brant. I don’t want to run into any little surprises Sword may have left in her wake. Not at full speed.” From the dimensions of the leakage cone and the velocity of the residual plasma it looked as if the Anteus would catch the Sword in four and a half days time, but Keir knew it would come much sooner than that. They were only a day from the Greater Clouds, already looming ahead of them behind the charcoal cliffs and canyons of the Lesser Clouds they were skirting, and Sword would make her stand there. He had a lot to do, and not much time to do it in. “Mister Fuyrance. Pass word to Machinist Anath and Gunner Zyphyr to meet me in staging area Gammal on the port side.” # Anath and Zyphyr were waiting for Keir when he arrived, and made the sign of obeisance. Zyphyr was a large man, almost as large as Keir, with very short, very dark hair. Keir had heard that he had a history as some kind of prize-fighter back on Primor, but he could not see any sign of vat-muscle. Anath on the other hand, was slim and wiry, dressed in oily overalls. As the Adeptus Mechanicus’ representative aboard – the techpriests too afraid of the baleful effects on their kind of what they called the banestar to actually come on board a PDF vessel – Anath was expected to wear the metalled robes, and carry flasks of sacred unguents with him at all times. He had an extensive collection of holy texts, although these were heavily redacted, with only the most basic rituals, litanies and incantations remaining – he was not of the Adeptus, but the PDF. As with every other PDF Machinist in Argo-Navis, however, these robes and flasks lasted about as long as it took for the embarkation shuttle from Primor to loosen its clamps, and the parchment of the texts made useful insulation for some coolant pipes. His hair had almost completely grown back and his scalp could hardly been seen any more. He would shave it again just before they returned to Primor, and put his robes back on then too. The texts, sadly, were always being lost in some ship-board fire. As a concession to his sacred duties his cap, which he removed when Keir approached, had a rough drawing of a cog-wheel around its brim, and he wore one of the flasks on a chain around his neck. Word was it contained Resac. Keir got right to the point. “Machinist. I need four things from you. One, I need a burst of speed from the main engines. Absolutely everything they’ve got, ready to go on my command. Two, I need the counter-thrusters to do the same thing. Understood?” Anath grinned, his toothless smile slightly unsettling Keir. “As it were, sir, we can do that. Could give you a few extra kilo-dynes of power, probably blow out the plasma ignitors, take a few minutes to restart.” He scratched his head, and then his chin. “Could you give a lot more kilo-dynes of power, but the engines would be fecked once the burn chamber gave way. A few seconds, a good jolt of speed, but two – three days repairs afterwards. Be dead in the void till then, as it were. Same with the counter-thrusters.” Keir thought about it for a minute. “If it doesn’t work we won’t be dead in the void, we’ll just be dead. Give me the lot. Number three, Mister Anath – the boarding rams. I want them as strong as you can make them. Zyphyr – you’ll need to help out with this. I don’t want the bracing fouling the guns, understood?” Zyphyr nodded. “If you want to strengthen them there’s not much room to play with, as it were. Not and still stuff the beetle-boys down ‘em,” said Anath, still scratching himself. “Forget about putting boarding crews down them. Just make them as strong as you can. Brace them from here to Secundor. Number four is the main crew and cargo hatches. We need to have a look at the cutting wheels there. Come on.” Keir turned. “Nearly forgot. Zyphyr, I need the guns to be able to fire at point-blank range. That means not servo-ing them out beyond the outer hull when we beat to quarters. Can you rig that?” “Aye, Captain. Reckon I can.” There was not much time at all. # Keir left Machinist Anath wriggling his way deeper into the mechanism around the main crew hatch, Anath’s crew already arriving with tools and boxes of spare parts wrestled from the Purser. More was on the way. They would be working round the clock, without sleep, as would Gunner Zyphyr and his crews. Better get Roke to give them something to keep them going, thought Keir, as he swung onto a ladder and slid down. He could feel a headache coming on, a real beauty. Perhaps see Roke about that, too. He stepped off, expecting to be in a maintenance corridor leading back to the staging areas, but instead found himself turning round and almost walking straight into a clear glass wall that blocked his way. There was a flash of light. He floated naked in front of the thick glass, only able to move his eyes. Cold light spilled out from somewhere behind him, illuminating a medicae ward somewhere he was very familiar with. He felt his mouth move. “You have to take me with you, sir,” he said, his voice high pitched and soft, but knew that the voice only existed in his head. Someone was approaching the glass, a man whose face he could not see, and he struggled futilely against the iron bands that seemed to bind him, wanting to hammer on the glass, wanting to scream. He slammed his clenched fist into the bulkhead with surprising force, lances of pain shooting up his arm. Gritting his teeth to avoid crying out he snatched his laspistol from his holster with his left hand and swung it around as he turned, and turned again, crouching low. He was in the maintenance corridor, alone. There was no glass wall. He wasn’t naked any longer, and the ladder was right behind him. Keir let out a long breath, with a shudder, and realized that he was sweating profusely all over, and trembling. He felt something warm on his face and put his hand up. It came away reddened with blood from his nose. His headache, which had only been beginning moments ago, was now raging behind his eyes, making him feel nauseous. His hand holding the gun wavered and, unable to find a target on which to vent his fear and anger, he slammed the butt of the weapon into the bulkhead twice, swearing furiously. The echoes rang down the narrow corridor, and made him jerk around again, waving the muzzle of the gun at the still empty corridor behind him. Holy feck, he thought, what the hell had just happened? Holy fecking God Emperor. He made the sign of the Aquila hurriedly, his back to the bulkhead. He glanced up and down the corridor, and then peered up and down the ladder chimney. Nothing there at all. Shaking his right hand to relieve some of the pain – nothing broken at least, he thought – he hurried off down the corridor, still holding his laspistol at his side. Roke gave him some stabs for the pains in his head and hand, which were receding slowly. He also fancied Roke had given him something else, because the trembling and the sweating seemed to pass away too. As he leaned against a med-trolley he began to look back on what had just happened, look back on it and see that it had been a delusion, a tired mind stressed and over-worked, nothing more. Just his own nerves getting the better of him. He must have been more wrought about the Sword and the fight on the Iohantch than he had thought. He must be getting old. “This is not normal. Care to tell me what this is all about, Captain? What happened to you?” asked Roke quietly as he cleared away his vials. “Isn't that your job, eh, Doctor?” Keir laughed, but not with his usual vigour. Roke's cold eyes flared. “Very well, since you insist. Stress. Diet. Obesity -” “Doctor!” “I make clinical diagnoses, Captain, not ego-salving appraisals. Please don't interrupt. Where was I? Yes, high blood pressure and lack of exercise. Sort all of those out and the headaches should go away. Or is there something you're not telling me? Any history in your family of brain tumours? Schizophrenia? Insanity? Mutation?” Keir didn't say anything. He knew the Doctor was annoyed with him for obviously not telling him the full story, but Keir had no idea where to begin describing what had just happened, assuming he even believed it had happened himself. He left Roke’s questions unanswered in the medicae ward, and headed for his cabin. He would pray, and rest, for ten minutes or so, and get his strength back. He was utterly unprepared for the wave of nausea that hit him as he slapped the control on the hatch to his cabin. It felt like a storm-hammer driven into the backs of his eyes, that blackened and warped his vision and made him grab for the edge of the hatch as he retched again and again. As his vision cleared and steadied he reached for the lux control and turned it on, staggering into his cabin. All he wanted to do now was collapse onto his cot. The strip in the ceiling brightened, but the illumination did not seem to touch anything in his cabin, which remained in deep darkness. It certainly did not seem to touch the shadowy shape on his cot. Keir stopped, and stared, a thin strand of bile dangling from his lips mixing with the blood streaming from his nose. The shape was human, Keir could only just see that. The body lying on his cot was small, like a child, and had its back to Keir. Ice seemed to run in Keir’s veins as he saw what was between the child and the bulkhead, barely visible at all despite the futile glare of the lux strip. Thin, thrashing, fleshy tips – hundreds of them – writhing and tangling with each other in the gloom at an incredible speed, like vid-footage of a swarm of blood-eels, speeded up. The sound was worse, the sickening, moist sound of the thrashing tentacles frantically slithering round, over and past each other filled Keir’s ears, and it seemed to be getting louder. Then the child turned his head round to face Keir. Right round. It’s mouth parts chittered. “You have to take me with you, sir,” said Xafal. And this time Keir really
did scream. A nightmare scream that brought flecks of blood spattering
out of his mouth along with specks of bile as he pulled out his laspistol
and fired again and again into the thing on his cot. The shots seemed
to vanish into nothingness and he emptied the clip still screaming. Keir came too lying on the decking of his cabin. The lux strip was on, shining directly above him, and the room was as brightly lit as it usually was. Although it caused lightning to explode inside his head he craned his neck up to look at the cot. It was vacant, although torn to pieces by the rounds from his laspistol. The small room was empty. He lay there for a while, as his heart rate returned to normal, the pain in his head and eyes worse than before. At least the nausea had passed. His mouth was dry, but he could taste blood and acid and something like burnt metal. Eventually he recovered enough to sit up, biting his lip to stop himself crying out. He seemed to have cracked his head when he fell, although he found he actually hurt all over. He felt as if he had just been expertly and thoroughly beaten by the Disciplinarii. He sat there, facing the image of the Emperor, triumphant but dying over the body of the traitor Horus. He could see the smudge of his fingerprints where he had just touched it, and he reached out with his cuff to wipe it clean. If nothing else, it suggested he was on the right track, thought Keir. Not a track you can stay on for long at this rate, eh? a part of his mind suggested with a dark laugh. Whatever the heretics were doing, they were coming at him through his son. He should really have expected nothing less, he supposed, from such arch and vile traitors. His son. The thought struck him like a bolter round. Alone on Primor and utterly vulnerable in the lights of that holy machine. Could the unknowable powers of corruption reach him there, reach him even in stasis? Is that what had just happened? Use him to get at Keir? Holy God Emperor, thought Keir, what have I started? It would be months till he could return to Primor. What would happen to Xafal in that time? There was an alternative answer, of course, and an obvious one. That he had gone insane, that he really now was ‘Krazy Keir’. To an outside observer, of course, he had just staggered into his cabin, screamed and shot his cot to pieces. He wondered briefly how he would know if he was insane, but then remembered hearing somewhere that if you thought you were insane, you probably weren’t. Not the soundest platform to rely on, he thought, but enough to be going on with, perhaps. Keir’s vox bead clicked on. “Captain. Lieutenant DeGreer, sir. We show the trail leading right into the Greater Clouds, sir.” Keir fumbled for the bead with unfeeling fingers. “Sir?” He finally found the key and flicked it on. Keir muttered a brief acknowledgement, struggled back to his feet, and keyed the vox again for his steward. Gerrid arrived a few minutes later, by which time Keir had managed to get a grip on himself. The look of shock on Gerrid’s face would have made Keir laugh in different circumstances. “Gerrid. Get this mess cleaned up.” Keir gripped his head in one hand as the pain flared briefly. “And get me a hammock. I’ve finally decided I’m sick of that cot.” # Keir’s arrival on the quarterdeck attracted plenty of hidden stares. He knew how awful he looked; his dark skin pale and sweaty with a blotchy red face. He probably smelled of vomit, too, although he had changed his uniform jacket for an older, cleaner one. Striding to the front of the quarterdeck, he stopped, hands behind his back, looking out on the gargantuan Greater Cloud drifting ahead of them. They were right at its tail, and the bulk of its two million klom length curved imperceptibly away off to the right, to spinward. Keir saw a reflection in the viewports ahead of him. Midshipman Ramifer glancing over at Salem and miming drinking, with a sly grin. Feck them, thought Keir, he didn’t care what they thought, as long as they did their duty. It’s not as if he hadn’t put up with worse over the last two years. “As you were, Mister Ramifer.” Keir derived some satisfaction as he saw the reflected Ramifer stiffen and gape. “Officer of the Watch, report.” Lieutenant DeGreer moved up level with the chart table, but no further. “The trail goes into the tail-end of the plasma cloud, sir.” Keir tutted, and began to pace across the quarterdeck from port to starboard. “This is slightly disappointing. Does he take me for a neophyte? Mister Salem. Tell me why the commander of the Sword did not actually go into the tail-end of that Cloud up ahead.” “Ah, because that’s where the, ah, charge-storms are, sir. The radial rad-winds hit the clouds at the rear, pushing them outwards from the banestar in a widening spiral and, ah –“ Keir nodded as Salem quoted from his holy texts. He stammered much less when he did that. You could tell the texts had been written by the Mechanicus, Keir thought, only they called it the ‘banestar’. It did seem to kill a lot of their kind, to the point where they were a bit superstitious about it. Salem finally remember the next bit. “-ah, the particle-winds create charged storms in the tail of the cloud. Suicide to pass through the tail, sir.” “Very good. Why does the Sword’s trail lead into it, then? Quickly, now.” “Ah –“ “Ramifer?” snapped Keir. “Sword probably fired off – em – a targeting drone, or another of those boarding torpedoes, trailing its own plasma leakage, sir. If we hunt around we should pick up the real trail in no time, sir.” “Do that then.” Keir stood for a moment, running one hand through his close-cropped brown hair. It was past time he spoke to someone about everything that was going on, he knew, and there was only person he felt he could trust. “You have the quarterdeck, Mister DeGreer. Next time try and think it through without me holding your hand, Lieutenant.” Keir left the silent quarterdeck, and went to get some rest. He would see Roke in the morning. # The doctor was sitting down in the medicae ward reading a book when Keir walked in. Keir strode straight into the doctor's tiny office without saying a word. Eventually Roke sighed, stood up and followed him in. Keir closed the hatch behind him. “It is quite an interesting book, Captain,” said Roke, sitting down on the only chair while waving the ornately-bound volume. He was still annoyed with Keir and had no intention of making it easy for him to get to what was obviously a very pressing point. “Which book is that, Doctor?” asked Keir as he perched on some field med-packs piled in the corner. “Melminar's 'The Great Houses of Evidion'. Lieutenant K'eto was good enough to lend me his copy. Your account of the Orkish incursion was almost spot-on.” Roke put the book down on the desk. “Well. That's very wonderful for you, Doctor. I am pleased you have found a good book. I wish you great joy with it.” Keir's voice rose in exasperation. Roke just stared at him, tapping his fingers on the book's metal-plate covering. Keir looked away for a minute, as the silence dragged on. “I haven't seen you at the Pastor's services. I take it you are not really one for the spiritual side of life, eh?” Roke frowned, wondering where Keir was going was this. “I attended the odd service on Primor – as you know. But no, I am not what you would call religious.” “You don't believe
in the Emperor?” “That's not what I meant, Evan.” “I know,” Roke sighed. “I know what you meant. You're talking about faith. Do I have faith in the Emperor? Do I believe? I hope you’re going somewhere with this.” Keir gave an encouraging nod. Roke slumped back in his chair, and crossed his arms. “All right. Since you ask, and since I consider you a friend, the short answer is no, I don't.” He thought for a moment, looking off into space and then spoke slowly, as if feeling his way. “The Imperium is vast beyond the real measure of man. And I have seen a vanishingly small part of it. Less than a fraction. A few worlds – although, one or two of them were fairly important ones. I saw all kinds of things, Nas. Death and violence. Plenty of that. But I never once saw any indication that the Emperor was looking out for even a single soul in all the vastness. Not one.” “So because you’ve traveled around, this means you know about it than your country cousins? Is that it?” Roke glanced up at Keir, but there was no rancour in his broad, dark face. “No, not at all. It really makes very little difference. I think you could stay in one city on one world your whole life and see the truth of what I say, round about you, every day. Can you stomach a little heresy?” Keir gave a bitter laugh. “You’ve no idea. Go on, then. I think I know what you are going to say, anyway. I won't summon the Inquisition if you won't, eh?” “Very well. I mean no offence, Nas. The Emperor is dead. He has been dead for millennia. There is nothing left on Terra but an effigy. A totem. Mankind is, and always has been, utterly alone. I am genuinely sorry if this offends you, Nas, I know how you see these things. But you did ask.” Roke held up a hand as Keir opened his mouth. “Let me finish. Look, you don’t need to be well-traveled to know this – take the Imperium. Did you ever stop to wonder why there are so many powerful organisations in the Imperium? Each of them vastly powerful, empires in their own right, and each of them butting right up against all the others, overlapping everywhere, constant turf-wars. They all have armies. All of them. They all have power, planets, influence, resources. Do you wonder why the Imperium is the way it is?” Keir was silent, and just scratched his chin. “All these empires within the Imperium are at each other's throats all the time," Roke went on, "fighting for power, resources and influence, in perfect balance. What is the most dangerous thing that could possibly happen?” Keir shrugged. “Two of them getting together against the others.” “Exactly. The balance of power would be completely wrecked. You would have civil war within a decade. But it never happens, because it is balanced so well, and because the factions are kept at each other's throats. Deliberately. They are kept from trusting each other enough to form the kinds of alliance that would destroy everything. Deliberately. Now, does this sound like the kind of Imperium with one absolute and godlike ruler, who watches over us all? Or does it sound more like a bunch of frightened men who know how fragile it all really is?” Roke shook his head in disgust and looked away. “Do you hate the Imperium then? Is that why you deny the Emperor?” Roke laughed. “Thone, no! There is nothing greater in all the long history of man. I hate that we need the Imperium, Nas. I hate that mankind is so weak that we need it. Nature is very red in horn and claw – the galaxy teaches that very harshly indeed, and only ever teaches it once. No, we need it, because without it we are nothing. If I prayed I would pray for mankind to be strong enough to be free to roam where it wants, how it wants, to do what it wants and crush anything that gets in our way. That is the only law of nature, the only law worth obeying but we need the Imperium to be able to do that. And it is like a suit of power armour, as deadly in offence as it is impenetrable in defence, but we can never climb out. It is a prison. The Imperium is our prison, and we will die the instant we ever leave it. I love it and, yes, I guess I do hate it. I suppose you think I am a traitor, then?” Keir shook his head. “The Imperium would be very different were the Emperor not confined to the Golden Throne – I agree with that, but not with your belief that the Imperium itself is proof that the Emperor is dead. And you are no traitor, at least not in my eyes. You believe in mankind. Mankind excelsior. Mankind triumphant. That is exactly what the Emperor seeks for us all, it is where his path for us is leading. You may not have faith in him, Evan, but you and he may be on the same path without you realizing it. The Emperor will not forsake us. Or you.” Keir paused, then lowered his voice. “And what of the Warp, eh? The unnamable powers?” Roke’s eyes narrowed. This was a surprise. “What of them? I know of it – them, whatever, but I have never had dealings with the Warp or its spawn, thank the heavens. I am not sure I ever want to, quite frankly. I have – met – some people who have. Loyal people, I hasten to add, good people who have faced the terrors of the warp. Brave people, and true. Braver than me. They were – changed – by the experience. Is that what this is all about?” Roke sat forward. Keir lowered his voice still further. “You may have heard some things about me already. Some of this might not be news to you, but I guarantee some of this no-one knows but me. Anyway. I feel I have to tell someone, and I can think of no-one else – no-one who, hah, isn’t in stasis that is – I would rather confide in, that I would rath-” Keir swore as his vox bead clicked into life. “Captain. DeGreer, sir. The trail leads straight into the middle of the next Greater Cloud. I think he’ll turn and wait for us, sir. He’ll have the advantage – there’s a rad-storm picking up counter-spinwards. Mag-spikes coming.” “Acknowledged, DeGreer. All stop. I’m coming to the quarterdeck.” Keir turned off the vox-link, and swore again, softly. “This will have to wait, Evan.” Keir opened the hatch to leave, and then stopped. “It’s going to get a bit hectic from here on out. The Sword has lost a lot of crew – hopefully many of their best close-quarters fighters, but she is still a giant of a vessel and may still have numbers over us. I will need everyone – you and your patients. Make sure you’re all armed when we beat to quarters, those that can hold a gun at least – one of the other officers will tell you where you are needed. Cheer up! You're going to see some action, eh?” Roke leapt to his feet, disbelief written in his face. “Who will treat the wounded, for the sake of all that's holy? You can't just -” “I can and I have.” Keir frowned. “You're an officer, Doctor, remember?” Roke had vague memories of Keir telling him this, and his bafflement must have shown through his anger. “Emperor, man, you bloody didn't, did you? Ask the Purser what those stripes on your cuff mean. I need every man there is, and probably more. I can't have –“ “- but without field medical -” “No, Doctor. I can't have crews running back and forth to triage when they could be charging down defenders on the Sword. We pick up the badly wounded at the end, assuming we prevail, of course. Everyone else who can still hold a gun will be considered to be en combate. I will take the Sword, Doctor, make no mistake. This is the Emperor's will we are carrying out.” “But surely if I just attended to the fallen -” Roke protested, but his anger was fading. “You are not a military man, Doctor, I know this. You do not understand. This is how it is. This is how it has always been. On ship we have our functions, our roles, but in battle we are each one a soldier, until we die or the battle is over. You included.” Roke took a deep breath. He hoped that Keir did not think that his concern for his duties towards the wounded meant he was afraid to fight. “Very well. So be it. I will see you at the boarding hatches then.”. “Hah – if we get that far! There's a lot of guns on the Sword says we never even get close enough to try, eh? And right now she's well positioned to slag us before we even have her on auspex.” “So the Sword is haunting, yes?” “Exactly, Doctor, exactly. And if we go straight on she’ll get the drop on us easy. Need to try something else. Excuse me, Doctor.” Roke sat back in his seat, wishing DeGreer has not interrupted, and that he and Keir had had that conversation before he had sent off his report at Uttapar. # Lieutenant Suilvan completed the pre-flight, skipping most of the non-essential steps, and punched the controls of the ship's boat. It shot away from the Anteus into the ink of the void. The long-range comms boosters and the mag-field generator took up most of the space freed when Machinist Anath had torn the benches and lockers out. The rest of the space was given over to the jury-rigged changes made to the boat's transponder and to the engines. Suilvan was alone in the boat as it sped off, and then eventually came to rest a few hundred kloms away. He shut down everything but air-recyc and the comms, and sat back nervously to wait, and to contemplate the insane charge the probably equally insane Captain had asked him to carry out. If nothing else, it would make his bastard of a father proud, he thought, as the blood-red glow of the looming Greater Cloud directly ahead cast the dead control panel before him in a sinister monochrome. # At the Captain's word the Anteus screamed and awoke, as two hundred men leapt into action as one, hurrying to get the vessel ready for combat. Keir paced silently on the quarterdeck, holding the vast playground of the deeps immediately around him and his command in his mind, plotting courses and positions and possibilities. The howl of the voxcasters would have crippled this process in most of the peoples of the Imperium, but to Keir it was a soothing backdrop – the sound of distant rain, the promise of thunder, the heralded approach of a welcome guest. He lived sometimes, he thought, for the thrum of the engines through the soles of his feet, the dark of the deeps and the promised litany of violence sang by the loudhailer as the ship beat to quarters. The thundering of the guns. This was where he belonged. The pit of Primor was a distant memory. Eventually K'eto informed Keir that the ship was now cleared for action, and the voxcaster gave one final 'Rawp' and slumbered uneasily again. Keir turned and paced over to the chart table, punching up a rough schematic of the area, as best as the long-range auspex could resolve anyway. The deck officers gathered around at his signal. “He's here, or hereabouts,” said Keir, one finger circling a small section of the monumental cliff-wall directly ahead. “We can't just charge straight in, so we circle around, meet the cloud wall – say here – and come along the face towards Sword. That way neither of us has the rad-storm at our backs. Simple enough, but he'll know that too. I must confess to being slightly puzzled as to his intentions.” Keir drew in a deep breath. His officers were silent. They would know when he wanted them to speak. “If we come from here – counter-spinwards – we can deploy the mag-sails and go with the lode lines as we run across the cliff face towards Sword. It's a gamble, since we're not deep enough to get much benefit from them, and they will compromise our armour, but I want all the speed I can get. We go this way.” Keir instructed Master Brant as to how to set his course, and then resumed pacing back and forth across the quarterdeck. As the frozen billow of the cloud grew larger in the viewports and the red light deepened Keir ran over in his mind his interrupted conversation with Roke. It was odd, but the man's lack of faith – his unapologetic and open lack of faith – made Keir more, not less, determined that he should seek his counsel. Keir was well acquainted with pious men, mostly he found their zealotry and rabid proclamations of faith a thin, public veneer barely covering the decay of corruption, self-service and vice. He tended to shun their presence, and their advice. But Roke was different – his insistence that mankind stood alone before the awful reality of the galaxy with no-one and nothing looking out for him – well, it seemed utterly at odds with Keir's own views, if not bordering on the heretical, but perhaps that was the point. He had no doubts about Roke's loyalty. Not only was Keir's impression of him a sound one but Keir had done some discreet checking back on Primor, and Roke's background seemed straightforward and honest. Keir knew his own faith blinkered him to some things. He knew people would take advantage where they could, and a genuine faith – not a carefully applied veneer – was a powerful lever in unscrupulous people's hands. The Emperor's will could not be thwarted, but Keir's could be, and perhaps what he needed now was a head uncluttered, a clear mind, another strong will to help him chart his course. He needed to talk to someone about the things that had happened to him yesterday, the things he realised now had been happening for some time. The almost-remembered dreams. The half-heard words. No man alone could deal with the Warp. No man alone could deal with the possibility that the Warp had just taken his son. That it might be coming for him too. Roke might just be able to help. Keir shook his head to clear the cobweb of thought, to return his mind to the task ahead. They were nearly at the Cloud. # The Anteus slid along before the hazy edges of the Cloud, a gnat following the contours of a colossal mountain. Heavy armour plates fore, aft and amidships shuddered suddenly and then moved outwards a few metres, shuddering once again as they came to a halt. After a brief pause blinding white light pulsed and spat between the large, flat plates and the hull of the vessel. The plates' surface began to change colour, taking on a bluish tint before starting to glow very faintly themselves. The blinding white light vanished as suddenly as it came and the glow from the plates settled down into an almost invisible deep purple, extending well into the ultraviolet. “Charge plates deployed, Captain,” reported Master Branc, but Keir already knew. He could feel the surge in speed as the mag-sails picked up the lode-lines, amplified by the rad-storm bearing down on them, and pulled the Anteus forward. A small speed boost – the mag-sails were really intended for the very deepest parts of the system where the Anteus' engines simply would not operate – and one that came at a slight cost in the form of weakened armour. Hopefully worth it, thought Keir. # The Arbites waited in the marshalling yard, suppression shields and shotguns at the ready. Brenner stood, head bowed, leading them in prayer over their private vox-channel. Usually they would be manning the turret guns, but the Captain wanted them ready to deploy into the Sword at a moment’s notice. They stood in formal ranks, at attention, aloof and oblivious to the crewman hurrying around them forming up into their own boarding squads. At the far end of the yard, two crewmen struggled to shift the boxes of flak armour captured from the mercenaries on Iohantch. Crewman Gigof leaned his head in towards Purser's Mate T'sayi. “You think the officers'll be getting this stuff, then? What'd you hear?” Gigof said quietly. “Shut it and lift.” T'sayi grunted with the effort. “Officers don't wear armour, collar boy, but that don't mean you do.” He grunted again as he shifted his hold on the plasteel crate. “Look. Don't worry, you know. If they have wire-rifles just. Just duck, ok.” The unexpected if fleeting look of concern in T'sayi's eyes sent a shiver down Gigof's spine far more readily than any obvious attempt to scare him, and he suddenly wished he'd paid better attention to the stories of the action on the Iohantch. Gigof shook it off, however, and grinned, nodding his head over at the rows of immobile Arbites, eager to please. “Heh, why does the Navy have rats and the PDF have Arbites?” T'sayi just pushed the box as they walked sideways, causing Gigof to stumble. “Heard it. And watch it.” Gigof was familiar with the Arbites from the hive slums of Evidion Dalath, but he had forgotten how effective the helmet pick-ups were. He froze in place as he saw the intimidating face of the Proctor rise to look right at him, before T'sayi hissed at him and he moved on. “Just remember who's watching your back in there, you fecking idiot!” said T'sayi. “Lot of warm targets in a firefight. S'all I'm saying, ok?” Gigof said nothing as the two men carried the box out of the yard. As they were leaving he lowered his voice and whispered, glaring at the dull-orange carapaces that had accounted for so many of his mates over the few years of his adult life, “Navy always gets first choice.” # “Auspex?” “Nothing Captain,” replied Ramifer. Keir sighed inwardly. This was where the Sword should be. Auspex should be picking her up. He was starting to get a little worried – someone had the upper hand here, and it wasn't him. Auspex couldn't see into the Cloud, but it couldn't see out either, so unless Sword really did want to hide from him she wasn't in there. Where the hell was she? “Give me a spiral pattern centred on -” The active auspex alarm started screeching. Someone was bouncing auspex signals right at them – an active sweep. “Ramifer – where in the lost name of the Emperor is that coming from?” Keir almost ran over to the chart table – the auspex was still blank. Nothing there, just the wall of the Cloud like a barrier of iron to the beams of the auspex, and the usual hiss and chatter. Then he noticed it, at the same time as Ramifer did.“Captain! It looks like some kind of – array. Never seen it before. Three kloms astern, the same up-plane. Trailing out of the Cloud like a lure – oh, holy feck!” There was something large pushing against the outer edge of the Cloud wall behind them, pushing from the inside. Keir could see it billowing out on the auspex. Something large coming out fast, like a gargantodon breaching the surface of a gas giant sea, the charged plasma clouds clinging to it like oily smoke. “Hard to port! Turn this boat, Mister Brant! I'm not giving her a free shot at our engin-” It was too late. The Sword was free of the plasma cloud, her full broadside jacked out and pointed straight at the Anteus. There was a strobe of light on the auspex rolling along the length of the Sword from bow to stern, a long moment where the quarterdeck seemed to hold its breath and then the Anteus slammed forward as if it were a toy struck by a titan's fist as the solid rounds impacted on the stern. Keir was sent flying backwards, tumbling over the length of the quarterdeck until he was brought up with a crack against the viewports. Around him the ship lurched and heaved as it was rocked again and again by round after round ramming home. Klaxons and warning signals burst into life “Turn, dammit!” Keir tried to haul himself to his feet as the decking leapt beneath him. He knew the Anteus couldn't stand toe-to-toe with the Sword like this. “Put us in the Cloud, Master Brant!” The stocky Master had kept his grip on the chart-table, and was stabbing runes with his thick fingers. The force of the impacts on the Anteus' stern had actually helped jolt the vessel around, and she was now pointing almost directly at the Cloud wall. That meant, thought Keir, that her broadside might be pointing at the Sword. As the ship's engines surged and the wounded vessel leapt forward Keir keyed his vox. “Gun crews. If you have a shot, take it now.” He was disappointed at the reaction – only a few guns spoke, but the Anteus still resounded with their recoil. The cliff-face was rushing up to meet them. “Ramifer. Ship-to-ship – open channel.” “Ready, sir.” “Riptide. Target located at these co-ordinates. Let us bring the dark fury of the Emperor's wrath down upon her.” The reply was just on the verge of being inaudible through the crackling interference. “Ackn---edged, Ante--. Riptide mo---g to assis-” The rest of the vox-signal, if there was any, was cut-off as the plasma seethed around the hull of the Anteus, and she was swallowed instantly by the Cloud. # Commander Scrima frowned as he watched the Anteus disappear into the Cloud. He had sprung his trap well, and knew that Captain Keir could not afford to spend long in the Cloud with a mag-storm bearing down on them. The forces in the Cloud would tear his ship to pieces far faster than Sword's guns ever could, so sooner rather than later Anteus would have to come out, and Sword would get another chance to hit her before she knew what was happening. But that other ship. Riptide. According to his employer's records the Anteus had been escorting a convoy with the Riptide, but there had been no sign of the other PDF vessel so far. It must be a ruse. A simple one. Perhaps this Keir was going to prove just a light diversion after all. He heard the chords of the auspex warning system, and moved over to the vis-panel, brushing the crewman aside. His frown deepened even as the crewman confirmed what he was looking at. “Beg to report, Commander. Large hull up-system bearing down on us. Flank speed. ETA five minutes.” “Identify!” hissed Scrima. “MPV Riptide, by your leave, Commander. She has her transponder on. A light cruiser. Forty guns.” Scrima stared at the vis-panel as if daring it to go on lying to him. So Keir had sprung his own trap, had he? He could fight Anteus and win easily enough, but two of them coming at him from different directions? No, too risky. He laughed, once. He couldn't hide in the Cloud for the same reason that Keir couldn't. He would have to make a run for it. His engines were not as badly damaged as he had led Anteus to believe anyway. He could outpace both of them, run spinward ahead of the mag-storm, especially with a few minutes head start. “It being so, Captain Keir. And likely. Till and then,” Scrima said quietly, and then turned to address his helmsman. “Make us for spinward. Running with all speed. Out the sails. Now and now.” # Keir wiped a smear of blood away from his eyes. “How badly were we hit, Machinist?” Inside the Cloud even internal comms hissed and popped. “The nacelles took a bruising, as it were, but the engines are in decent shape. Lost a bit of speed, I fancy. The armour held – wouldn't do it again, like – but it held. Hit a fuel line though – bit of a fire – lost a couple of guns on the port side, a few hull breaches. She’s holding together, but it was a nasty knock, as it were.” That was a relief. The Sword must have been firing from too great an elevation to get her shots right down the exhaust barrels of the engines. If she had, they would likely be crippled. Keir knew he had been lucky. He had underestimated the Sword, and her Commander. That auspex array trailed out of the Cloud was a new technology – again, something the Mechanicus would want a good look at. There was a hell of a lot of money behind the Sword, that was very clear. Money and resources. If Keir hadn't known better, he would have thought that only one of the Great Houses would have had the infrastructure to design and build something like that, but it made no sense for the Great Houses to prey on their own miners. Keir switched vox channels. “Doctor. Any casualties?” “Two dead and eight injured, Captain, only a few bumps and bruises I am sure. Nothing that will stop anyone picking up a gun.” Keir wasn't sure if the Doctor was having a dig at him, but he let it go, along with the vox link. His mind was already working out the position and velocity of the ship's boat piloted by Suilvan and how quickly it would show up on the Sword's auspex. It would, of course, show up as the Riptide thanks to Anath's butchery of the transponder spares and imaginative use of the mag-field generator, and be making the same speed as the Riptide might be expected to – for a while at least. It wouldn't hold up to close inspection but, with the Emperor's blessing, it should be enough to make the Sword think twice about the engagement and run. And he knew Scrima would retreat, rather than fight. His game was hit and run. He laid traps – twice for the Iohantch and once for the Anteus. He would not fight when he did not know he was going to win. He would run, thought Keir. And there was only one way he could run, only one direction, Keir knew, even though he could not see what the Sword was doing. Keir stood for a moment, staring out at the swirling, warmly hypnotic colours of the enveloping cloud. He could hear the hull creak, groan and ping as the superthermic plasma quickly began to heat the adamantium hull, and already the ship had been swayed by very minor mag-quakes. Worse were on their way, much worse. Anbaric threads crawled across the viewports, etching microscopic lines in the clear ceramite and lighting the quarterdeck with a harsh blue glare. “Master Brant, make your course fifteen points by the lat and drop point three on the long, diverg five by six.” That should bring them out of the Cloud right behind the retreating Sword, if Keir's arithmetica was up to scratch. He didn't want to wait any longer and give them a chance to resolve the auspex view of the “Riptide”. That mag-field generator would only fool a long-range auspex into thinking it was a larger hull for a few minutes. “Mister Anath,” said Keir. “I will need your burst of speed pretty soon. Stand by.” Keir felt the pressure as the great engines surged once more – a few stutters from the greatly increased mag-field here in the Cloud, but that should pass as they exited. A few stutters from the damage sustained, as well, unfortunately, observed Keir. The view did not change noticeably, moving through the Cloud looking remarkably like staying still. Suddenly a patch of void appeared ahead of them and the plasma tendrils framing it rushed apart as the bow of the Anteus broke out of the Cloud. It took the auspex a moment to free itself from the mag-interference, and then he had her. The Sword, directly ahead. Keir allowed himself a self-satisfied grin. Spinwards and her engines flaring, picking up speed as she fled along the face of the cliff-wall. It was now or never. “Full speed ahead, Master Brant. Keep us in close to the Cloud. Make her think twice about firing those ion beams, eh?” Keir gazed intently at the image on the vis-panel, and then turned to look out of the huge viewport, the retreating Sword half-lit in the blood-red glare of the Cloud. Keir gave a nod of appreciation. “Not as badly wounded as were led to believe, eh K'eto?” “No, sir. She might have the legs to outstrip us. Even with our mag-sails out.” said the Lieutenant. “Very well, let's get her attention. Ship-to-ship, Mister Ramifer. Mister Suilvan, time to turn your proper transponder back on, I believe. You know it is a serious offence to broadcast a false signal, Mister.” “Acknowledged, sir. Please accept my sincere apologies.” Suilvan sounded slightly relieved, thought Keir. The prospect of bearing down on the Sword in a unarmed ship's boat was not one any man would relish, perhaps. A winking glyph on the chart-table behind Keir showed Suilvan had turned off the transponder, and a second later the mag-field generator followed. She would show up as just a ship’s boat now. Would the Sword turn and fight though, thought Keir? Would Scrima play along? The seconds ticked by, as the distance between the Sword and the Anteus continued to widen. Keir stood stock-still, hands behind his back, eyes fixed on his adversary. Keir keyed his vox. “Mister Freyser, have your turret crews target the Sword and fire.” The damage would be negligible, but it would be like a slap in Scrima’s face. From the quarterdeck only one of the two forward turrets could be seen, and Keir watched as it rotated slightly to acquire the diminishing target and fired. There was no flash of light visible, but the sound of the twin batteries firing still reverberated throughout the ship’s skeleton. An instant later a puff of iron fragments glinted redly at the rear of the Sword. Keir wanted to walk, to pace, to move, but he could not take his eyes from the ship directly ahead. And then she started to turn, hard. “Yes!” breathed Keir. “All hands. Brace for incoming. Master Brant, the viewport baffles, please.” The Sword turned hard to port, facing towards the Cloud wall and stopped with her port broadside facing directly at Anteus. The distance between the ships began to lessen. With a grinding noise the heavy adamantium beams outside the viewport slid up into position like a vertical fence, breaking up but not obstructing the view. As they did so a ripple of flashes slipped down the side of the Sword. A few seconds later the first of the shells whipped by invisibly in the void, but only a very few missed. Most of the thirty impacted on the snout of the Anteus, and the view from the quarterdeck vanished in a blizzard of shrapnel and debris as heavy armour plating simply exploded into shreds under the awesome kinetic impact. The entire ship bucked as if it had struck an asteroid and yawed to starboard, and every man on board who was on his feet was sent hammering to the decking. The armour managed to stop or deflect many of the solid-tipped shells, but several made it through gaps or weaknesses and plunged on into the unprotected heart of the Anteus, tearing down the length of the vessel, ripping bulkheads apart like straw and breaching compartment after compartment, opening them to the void. Travelling at many times the speed of sound the almost solid compression waves from their passage pulped men and smeared their remains across walls and floors, even as they were being torn to pieces by the hurricane of debris that followed in their wake. The devastation of their almost instant passage through the ship was total, nothing and no-one survived where they passed and only the heavy shielding around the engine compartments eventually halted the last of them. Keir prayed silently to the Emperor that none of them had passed through the cargo bay or the yard, or this would be the shortest boarding action in history. Dozens of warning glyphs and sirens sprang into life on the quarterdeck, but it was the hiss of escaping air that occupied Keir’s full attention. One of the shells had richoched off the squat nose of the ship and, nearly spent, had slammed into the viewport baffles as it carommed end over end. The baffles were buckled and one of the viewports sounded as if it was fatally wounded, and would go at any moment. “Raise the shutters!” bellowed Master Brant, as Ramifer struggled back to his feet to comply. The black ceramite panel was soon rising into place and the hissing sound died away. Brant and two crewmen struggled to get a bulkhead braced against it. Keir hauled himself back up to the chart-table, picking bloodied shards of viewport out of his right arm and shoulder, and quickly scanned the vis-panels and slates. The Anteus was still closing the gap, wounded though she was. He entered a course correction, and looked out of the viewport at the Sword. She was close, and he saw with a thrill of vicious delight that she was beginning to spin around on her long axis. In less than a minute she would roll through one hundred and eighty degrees and her starboard broadside would then be pointing at them. It was quicker to roll than to reload, but it had its risks. Anteus couldn’t take another hit like that, and certainly not at even closer range. But this was more than he had been hoping for. He realised his heart was pounding. His plan had always been to get as close as possible as fast as possible to the Sword, board and take his chances, since he could never win a shooting fight in the void, but if she was going to present him with her weakest armour it was a possibility he could not have dreamed of, and one he could not ignore. Her commander must be arrogant indeed to take the risk of rolling his ship like that. Arrogant, or certain that a second broadside would end the engagement – by no means unlikely, Keir had to concede. But he wasn’t going to get the chance to fire his second broadside. He opened a vox link to the Anteus’ Machinist, hoping he had survived the deluge of metal that had gutted the ship. “Mister Anath, I need everything the engines have.” “Yessir. You’ll get about thirty seconds, then they’re dead, sir, as it were.” “Boarding crews stand by,” said Keir. He had never attempted this before, but perhaps it was not just the Sword that had a surprise or two. Keir felt the engines surge, and then there came a roar of power from them the likes of which he had never heard, the sound of metal and plasma being pushed to breaking point. Beyond breaking point. If that lasted thirty seconds he would be amazed, he thought. The Anteus leapt ahead towards the Sword, looming now in the damaged viewport. She was committed to her barrel-roll now, and Keir grinned as he saw the vessel rushing towards him. Scrima had thought he had enough time to complete the roll before Keir could close the gap, but as it was Anteus was going to reach the Sword while she was half-way through her turn. And the armour on the dorsal spine coming into view was much weaker than it was on the flanks. The engine roar was at a crescendo now, and a tortured scream was beginning to rise through the noise, the superstructure howling in protest as the engines flared way beyond their design limits. They were almost upon the Sword when the Anteus rocked as if kicked and the engine noise died almost instantly, the sudden quiet sending chills down Keir’s spine. The main engines were gone. Completely. Time to turn. “Sharply now! Brant, turn us hard to port. Mister Anath, I need the breaking thrusters now. All hands, brace, brace, brace!” Keir and the other officers ran to the harnesses strapped onto the bulkheads as around the ship the crew did the same. The Anteus began to slew around as the Sword rushed up. The braking thrusters fired, fighting against the Anteus’ immense speed. Anath was true to his word, however, and the thrusters had been overloaded to the point of collapse. With great plumes of plasma flaring the braking thrusters fought the Anteus’ headlong charge, but the old ship was still moving at just less than quarter speed when the entire starboard flank of the vessel slammed horizontally into the dorsal spine of the Sword. The quarterdeck erupted in front of Keir’s eyes as deck plating buckled and leapt and support braces groaned and snapped. Debris blasted across the room as bolts sheared and joints failed, razor sharp fragments of iron and steel that hit the officers like pellets from a shotgun. Keir was shaken like a rag-doll despite his webbing harness, his eyes wrenching in their sockets as his head snapped back and forth. The air pressure dropped as hissing sounds came from every viewport, a wind snapping the pieces of debris back into motion. The Anteus and the Sword were almost completely hidden behind plumes of iron fragments forced out by the explosive force of their collision, and by the venting of internal atmosphere and other essential gases and fluids from innumerable hull breaches on both vessels. But the force of the impact, colossal though it was, was not enough to keep the two ships bound together, and the smashed hull of the still spinning Sword began to grind and rasp against the equally demolished hull of the Anteus, sliding over and past each other like continental plates of adamantium. Keir raised his head, pain seeming to fill him like light filled a cloud, but he managed to open the control panel beside his harness, and stab in the code that deployed the boarding rams. The explosive charges detonated immediately as all along the battered flank of the Anteus sharpened, barbed spears thirty metres long and five metres wide shot out with unstoppable force. Carving through the weaker armour of the Sword like mist they punched deep into her spine in a millisecond. No sooner had they stopped than the barbs fully deployed, mangling and mashing into the bulkheads and framing of the vessel, locking the rams in place. Acid gas sprayed and hissed out along the length of the spines, melting the flesh of any Sword crewmen unlucky enough to have survived. Foam sealant bubbled out in its wake, expanding and hardening rapidly to seal the hull breaches. The monumental weight of the Sword tried to continue turning, and the iron flesh of both ships screamed like never before as the blades fought against the momentum of the other vessel. Anath’s bracing held, however, and where the boarding spikes would normally have been sheared clear off, these simply dug in deeper, cementing the death-embrace of the two ships. Keir struggled to clear his head and free himself from his the harnesses, even as the lurching and yawing Anteus still fought the Sword to a standstill. He keyed his vox with a savage smile on his face. “Starboard gun crews. Fire at will.” There was a pause, and then the immense noise came. It was like the sweetest music he could recall, the long, thundering barrage as those guns which had survived the impact discharged at point-blank range into the light armour of the Sword, ripping unseen but devastating holes. Keir looked around at his officers, all of them bloodied and battered, and all of them starting to grin. The Sword could not return fire – neither of her deadly broadsides could target the Anteus, stuck like a limpet mine to her dorsal spine. He couldn’t believe his luck. He had prepared the Anteus for this encounter thinking he would ram her into the Sword’s side and board. Anteus would have been lost as it would have been clamped onto the Sword right in front of her guns, but he would be happy to sacrifice Anteus to capture the Sword. And it would have been an excellent motivator for the crew, not having a ship to go back to. But now – there was the tantalising possibilty he could come away from this with both ships intact. In a manner of speaking. The Master gave a bellowed and savage roar. “Permission to join my boarding crews, sir.” Brant’s huge and hairy face was looking at Keir with nothing short of bloodlust in his eyes. Keir looked at his other officers, and saw the same in each of them. “Permission granted, Master. Let us do the Emperor’s work today. Ramifer, find us a clear route to the cargo bay.” It would not be possible to send the crews down the boarding rams – the bracing took up all the available space. They would need to cut their way in. He keyed his vox. “Proctor. Start the grinding wheels.” His steward met him at the main cargo bay with his flak jacket and extra ammo, just as the great guns fired once more into the captive Sword, gutting her yet again. The decking rattled and shook. Keir looked around the cargo bay, seeing it filled with PDF crewmen, armed and – now – armoured. The captured armour had been repainted to prevent confusion, and the finest close-quarters fighters the Anteus had to boast looked formidable in their PDF dark blue. The banner of the Arbites loomed over them all from just before the main cargo hatch, as the screams of the cutting wheels filled the air. This would not take long. The weak armour of the Sword would not last long compared to, say, the main cargo hatch itself as had been the case on the Iohantch. Usually cutting wheels were used to grind off other hatches since otherwise all you succeeded in doing was creating a hull breach, but Anath had modified the hatch. It would extend out into the Sword once the hole had been cut and then seal the breach in the same way as the boarding rams did. In essence it was now another boarding ram, just much slower to deploy. And it was nearly finished cutting. The ship shuddered as the Sword raced her engines, and then her braking thrusters, over and over again, trying to dislodge the Anteus. It would usually have worked, Keir knew, but the strengthened boarding rams held fast. The Sword wasn’t getting away this time. Brenner appeared out of the throng of crewmen. He held out a bolt pistol to Keir, holding it by the muzzle. “With the compliments of the Arbites, Captain. I hear you lost yours,” said the Proctor impassively. Keir took it, and turned it over in his hand. It was Arbites-issue, all right, but it had been customised. It had Keir’s name on it, and also the name of the ship, and some useful-looking targetting gear. “I am honoured, Proctor. Thank your men for me.” “It is good to have a fighting captain aboard again, sir.” Shouts and cheers of approval rang around the cargo bay at his words. Keir grinned, but put his hands up to forestall any premature celebrations. “Well, it’s time to see about that, eh? There’s a long way to go and a lot of ship left to capture.” The sound from the cutting wheels changed to a high-pitched shriek as the motors suddenly raced against zero resistance. They were through. Keir wasn’t foolish enough to think the job was done. Even torn as she was, Sword still boasted a formidable number of hands. This would be desperate fighting, through a ravaged and dying vessel against a crew who knew that no quarter would be given. Keir saw Roke through the press of men around him, holding a laspistol in one hand and his stick-sword in the other. Keir nodded to him silently, and the doctor acknowledged with a grim nod of his own. “Anteus!” bellowed Keir in the sudden quiet. “For the Emperor of Man – we will take this ship from the enemy or we will take this ship to the void. Follow me!”
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