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2: Threshold
Air bled through the hypersonic cavitation shield. It clawed at Gigaron's hair and robe and eyes like a storm wind. He felt alive.
"Commonwealth Strike Magus to South Equatorial Air Control. Permission to approach defensive line."
Permission granted, Strike Magus. Colonel Narvariel commanding the Fourteenth Grelm Halbardiers on the ground. We weren't expecting you so soon, but all should be in readiness.
"Acknowledged." Gigaron cut the signal and arced down towards the intersection between land and sky. This close, the Grelm Astronomican filled half the world. A highway pushed into the jungle at its base; obviously well-made, to have lasted so long without repair. Descending, he saw the defensive line arrayed across the road, and altered course to land before the command pavilion.
A pair of flight-capable guards and attendant drones escorted him in. This Narvariel ran a tight camp. Gigaron approved. Touching down, he ran an eye over the duty guards, assessing their equipment and bearing. These were heavy troops; they wore breastplates and vambraces over their black-and-violet battle robes. They carried solid psi halberds slung across their backs; the venerable weapons had the look of long service about them. They were no Intelligences, but he had a feeling the guards knew how to use them.
Elsewhere in the camp rose the murmur of troops reciting focus mantras. Also a good sign. The more fanatical Imperial loyalists despised such mental control and the stability it brought the Warp, but most Imperial citizens made the most of Starchild's gifts. Even the uneasy ones – a row of Gift Soldiers stood utterly motionless and apart from the main camp, necrodermis glittering darkly in the equatorial sun.
"Strike Magus Gigaron?" The speaker was an eldar, wearing the bars of a House Grelm Colonel. Her cool gaze betrayed the merest glimpse of concern. And that was itself concerning.
"At ease, Colonel. I'm just checking over your picket before heading into the structure. These are good soldiers."
"Thank you, sir."
"How would you rate the soldiers that went in three months ago?"
Narvariel frowned. "The scout regiment was led by my cousin. Four Moon Spectres were veterans, Strike Magus. Losing them was unprecedented."
"No survivors? Not even a signal or premonition?"
"No, sir. They left redundant line-of-sight transponders all along their route. Four hours after they entered the structure, the transmitter network registered sudden signal loss across the gateway. Since then, nothing. We sent a drone to examine the gate, and we can identify what looks like their transponders just inside, but they aren't broadcasting. Nothing from the other worlds in the Realm Glorious, either. They're just... gone."
"Well, at least it looks like the problems are limited to the internal spaces. Just in case, however, put your people on high alert. Whatever's in there, I aim to get its attention. It could get unpleasant."
"Acknowledged. Will there be anything else?"
"Have your astropaths record my signal for as long as possible. Oh, and forgive the intrusion, but how is your grandmother taking the loss of your cousin?"
The woman blinked. "She mourns his passing, but our family know that service means sacrifice. Why do you ask?"
"Family is important," said Gigaron. "Pass on my regards when next you see her." It hurt him to be dishonest, but if eldar had gone into the corridors, he had to check. The eldar had always kept secrets. If Narvariel and her cousin had been born like most eldar, that was one less thing to worry about. "I will enter the structure in 5 minutes. Be alert."
"Yes sir." She saluted as the Strike Magus lifted off his feet again, and accelerated smoothly down the old highway.
The Grelm Astronomican yawned ahead.