Prologue
Ultima-Segmentum, 345.651 M-25
It is the uncertain darkness of the 25th Millenium, there is only tragedy. It has been six decades since the conclusion of the Iron War. When Mankind's own creations turned against their masters and unleashed a horrific crusade of genocide upon them. But humanity has triumphed, but the losses were beyond the count of grief, trillions slain, worlds burned, society crippled.
Mankind is now divided, it's unifying government, the Colonial Federation of Man, weakened terribly from the war, had been forced to leave Terra or else be destroyed by those who saw opportunity for power there. And now greater horrors lurk upon the horizon, as an age of terrible Strife, draws closer.
Fleet Admiral Tarson Kerensky looked out into the cold abyss of space from his cabin view-port. The ancient strains of Loch Lomond played from the small speakers built in the wall, adding a peaceful ambiance to the breathtaking vista.
Tarson was an elderly man, well into his third century but his physical appearance suggested he was late into his sixties. His short white hair was trimmed at regulation length, and if one looked closely it was evident that his left eye was artificial, tinted to match the others natural hazel color. He wore the grey officer uniform of the CFDF, with his rank proudly displayed on shoulder boards and collar pins.
Tarson could make out the dark grey hulls of other ships that had followed him into exile, but the ones he could see were monstrous in size, tens of kilometers long super-capital ships. The vast majority of the fleet were made up of smaller civilian and military craft. Beyond those shapes loomed a large planet, it's surface lifeless and brown. It was here that mankind's future would be held secure through the great darkness looming on the horizon.
Kerensky had reservations about this venture, he was essentially abandoning trillions of humans to suffer an uncertain future, in order to save twenty-million souls. The reports coming in from the border zones of the Eldar Empire had been getting more dire through the recent century, the ancient alien superpower was currently undergoing what can only be described as civilization-wide insanity, and apparently a great exodus was underway, with millions escaping on the mighty craftworld trading ships. There was something growing in the Warp, FTL travel was already suffering complications from the warp storms growing higher in frequency, eventually it would reach a braking point. In that regard the Craftworld Eldar were right to jump ship, and it would be foolish not to follow their example.
That was why Kerensky had brought the CFDF so far into unexplored space, to distance the fleet from ground zero and hopefully have a better chance of riding out the dark times ahead.
The holotank on the table next to him lit up, and the image of a woman made from silvery light appeared above it, her skin was covered in streams of programming code, and her angelic features were morphed into a slight smile. This was Adeline, the ship's primary administrative Neuro AI adjutant. While the Men of Iron turned against mankind, Neuro AI like Adeline stood up to defend it. The Men of Stone had more than earned the trust of many in the fleet.
"Admiral, sir. Colonel Vanch is on the line from Rapture City."
For the last five months, engineering crews have been working around the clock to establish a massive underground complex within the planet's crust, and the process of interring spacecraft into dug out vaults was well underway. When completed, the facility will be able hold twenty-million people in cryo-storage, Rapture City was the name coined by many in the fleet.
"Put him on," Tarson commanded. Her image winked out to be replaced by a colored image of Colonel August Vanch, the man in charge of the massive subterranean colony and it's construction.
"What's the latest, Colonel?" He asked.
Vanch rubbed the back of his bald head, "Well, Admiral sir. Blocks thirty through fifty-four are open for business and we will be able to start icing non-essential personnel by week's end if the current rate of progress holds."
"You look like you have something else to say, Colonel," Tarson observed.
"Some of my men... they are starting to crack, there have been a few fights, nothing the marines could not handle, but being this far away from civilization, and abandoning Terra... well it's making everyone a little jumpy."
"Do what you can to maintain order," Tarson said firmly, "Warp storm activity is increasing, and it all points towards a super-massive event sometime soon, we need everything to be finished before that happens."
Vanch nodded, "Aye, sir. Do we know exactly what this event will do to the colonies?"
The Admiral was silent for a moment, "Nothing good. Send the rest of your report up, I will contact you later to discuss other matters before the staff meeting tomorrow. Until then Colonel."
The man snapped off a salute before his image vanished. As the ancient song wound down to a close, he wondered how much humanity will have changed after the next two or three millenia. Or if anyone would even recognize this song, or anything else from the past.
"Time will tell," he whispered to himself.