Vacuus Cymba: Chapter 1
Darkness was everywhere this far into deep space, the cold unforgiving vacuum was filled only with the distant glints of uncaring stars and even the local sun was barely more than a glimmer at this distance. Out by the boundary of the Heliopause space became vast and empty in a way no human mind could comprehend, even the vast bulk of starships typically preferred to enter real space far closer to the warmth of interplanetary space. Yet today the quiet emptiness was disturbed by movement, the first time signs of life had been seen here in a billion years.
Spinning gently in the void was a large cylinder, it was as long as a strike craft yet far thicker and more robust with Imperial aquilla's engraved on its hull. One end was covered in plasma thrusters, still warm from a sustained burn and the other was a forest of drill heads and grappling claws. It was an Imperial boarding torpedo and it moved with deadly intent seeking a target in the infinite blackness.
Far behind it the distant silhouette of a Hunter class destroyer was shrinking into a tiny speck but before it a new shape was emerging. A hunk of metal that was encrusted with soaring towers and flying buttresses, one end was an elongated launch bay and the other a mass of plasma drives.
It was a sleek predator of deep space, with the speed and manoeuvrability of an escort yet the mass and armour of a Cruiser. Massive gunports loomed open all along its sides and spine, gaping maws promising annihilation to all they saw, for this was the unmistakeable image of an Astartes strike cruiser. For millennia these vessels had been the doom of heretics, the sight of such a ship blazing into battle often the last thing traitors ever saw.
Yet this ship was not roaring through space on a comet tail of plasma, today it was merely drifting on minimal power with its running lights subdued and gunports closed. It was not responding to hails and it was not broadcasting identifications or hololithic pennants, it could easily be mistaken for a dead wreck save for the tiny bursts of manoeuvring thrust that kept it on course. The ship was spinning slowly in the emptiness and if there had been eyes to see then they could have discerned on its hull the name 'Mainfest Destiny'.
With what appeared to be crawling speed the boarding torpedo closed on the unresponsive ship but then as the perspective shifted the two appeared to leap together, their relative speeds making them seem to hurtle together. The Torpedo's auspex detected the oncoming mass of metal and suddenly the forward drill heads were awakened and began to spin.
The cylinder plunged towards the ship's hull which appeared to be a cliff of adamantium and it seemed that the torpedo must surely be dashed to pieces. Two seconds before impact the torpedo's nosecone lit up with the blaze of Magna-Meltas, multiple rows of weapons sending out a stream of sub-fusion fire.
The ship's hull glowed and bubbled for an instant under the intensity of the blast then the torpedo crashed into it. The drill heads spun and chewed away at the weakened metal tearing a large hole as grappling claws shot out to impale the hull. Motors whined back and pulled the cables taut then inexorably the entire torpedo pulled itself into the ship.
The outer hull gave way as the torpedo dragged itself within and tore through the internal decks like hot knife through butter until its momentum was finally spent. It sat inert with its skin steaming from the heat of its violent entry, then nozzles began spraying quick setting foam sealant around the entry wound. Soon the hole had been sealed against the vacuum of space and then finally the silence fell as the Torpedo's machine spirit went into slumber.
For long seconds nothing happened then the torpedo's forwards hatch ground open, lifting the drillheads away to reveal a passage running back up the cylinder's length. Ready and waiting behind that hatch were a line of armour clad beings, it would have been easy to take them for mere battle brothers of the Adeptus Astartes but these were as far beyond them as Space Marines were beyond mortals.
Their armour was thick beyond belief and it had been reinforced with exoskeletons and layer upon layer of adamantium plates. Their helms were swollen with aupsex sensors and superior comms gear giving them a muzzled bulldog expression. Their weapons were so large that they would have appeared comical had it not been for their lethal power and the few who had seen them and lived to tell of it would swear there was no deadlier armament in the galaxy.
Their plate was decorated with countless laurels of victory, heraldry attesting to their mighty achievements and purity scrolls earned by zealous training and the endless honing of their skills. Each one was a hero among heroes, a warrior elevated beyond the power of their lesser kin and a man whom whole armies would follow to hell and back.
For these were the feared First Company veterans, the legendary Terminators and they were clad in the colours of the Storm Heralds.
One by the one the massive Terminators lumbered out of the boarding Torpedo, making deck plates rattle and bend under their ludicrous weight until five of them stood in a defensive ring around the entrance. Four of them swept the space with Storm bolters and their power fists were already crackling with energy but the fifth effortlessly hefted a Heavy Flamer as if it weighed nothing.
With the area secured two more Marines stepped out into the dim light, these were of an entirely different order, the first wore bright red armour that had been heavily modified with augmetics and input jacks. He bore a large servo arm over one shoulder and his shoulders were marked with the bisected skull icon of the Cult Mechanicus, below that was etched the name 'Hevostan'.
The other Marine wore Terminator armour but it was an entirely different order of creation and from his back flew a large banner declaring his innumerable victories. Whereas the squad wore the classic but restrictive Indomitus pattern this warrior was fitted with the more sophisticated and agile Tartaros pattern. He had an electromagnetic longsword drawn in his fist and clenched a combi-plasma in the other.
His colours were also subtly different, the broad pauldrons and helm wreathed in gold leaf and heavy gold chains that were draped across his chest. He was a glorious sight and one that only one Space Marine in a thousand was permitted to display, for his was the heraldry of a First Captain and his name was Athead.
The Sergeant of the Terminators was sweeping the corridor ahead with a hefty storm bolter, he could not turn around in his awe inspiring plate but said over the Vox, "Entrance achieved without resistance Captain, bridgehead secured: no threats detected."
Athead stood resplendently in his glorious armour and declared, "Excellent work Sergeant Starn, everybody be sharp, the Manifest Destiny went missing without trace over thirty years ago. There has been no word of it since and for it suddenly to appear on the edge of Angle's Redoubt system is highly suspicious, be ready for anything."
"As you command" replied Starn then Athead turned to Hevostan and said "Honoured Techmarine, can you access the ships log's from here?"
Hevostan answered in surprisingly rich baritone voice, "The Machine Spirits are subdued and unresponsive, I will require a direct hard point connection to access the Logic Engine. I would recommend the bridge as the best place to obtain the Manifest Destiny's logs."
Athead nodded and said, "Sergeant Starn deploy your squad, you know what to do."
"As you wish" replied Starn then he turned to address his Terminators saying, "Brother Lorath take up the rearguard and be alert for stalkers, Brother Zeax keep near the centre there is no telling where enemies may come from and we will need your Heavy Flamer."
Then he turned to the last two Terminators saying, "Brothers Priyar and Brother Toran, you will take point, clear us a path to the bridge and let nothing stand in your way."