Chapter 17
Although the face of the Arch-Traitor, Horus Lupercal, had been pockmarked by ten thousand years of astral debris, still his stern gaze, clear and focused, looked out into the void. Maternin observed the long dead monster's gold-plated eyes through the porthole as their shuttle flew in close to the Stallion of the Empire, a ship built before his heresy and betrayal had thrown a burgeoning young Empire into chaos. But Maternin was less interested in the monument than in the ship on which it was affixed. Warped hull plating and countless battle scars marred the magnificent treasure galleon, but for a member of the Adeptus Mechanicus, these were but minor blemishes in a creation that had stood the test of time.
Bursts of excited binary crackled back and forth through the cabin of the shuttle as the explorators got their first clear look at the galleon up close. This was a holy moment, a precious moment, but also one in which the important work of protecting and reclaiming the ship began in earnest.
"Observe the hull," Dhukov said to his explorators. "Scarring, but no buckling, no penetration."
"Perhaps there is more damage on the ship's port side," one of the explorators said. "We should order the shuttle captain to take us around the ship and observe her from all angles."
"There may be more damage on the port side, but the power needed to make such a ship inoperable would pass straight through her armour. We would see the evidence of it here, we would see the damage, but she is remarkable in her condition. I believe that this ship was not lost in battle."
"Still, we should inspect the whole of the hull," the explorator insisted.
"It would be more efficient to run diagnostic rites from the primary command consoles," Maternin said, leaning forward in her seat. "Look, there is still emergency power." She pointed to the light that spilled from the vista dome of the Stallion's bridge, a faint, bluish glow that had survived through the millennia stranded in the void.
The explorators ignored her, but Maternin knew that they had to concede her point. Finally, Dhukov said, "We will land at the shuttle bay. I do not trust the captain left alone on board this holy vessel."
"I don't know what you all are beeping and buzzing about," their pilot, Tellmos, called out from the front of the shuttle. "but that is one damn fine looking ship."
"A fine looking ship," he repeated as they disembarked on the command deck launch bay. The cavernous space was darker and more streamlined than the Yolenna Symphony's but there were far more similarities than differences between the two ships. The enormous power cells for the ship's small craft, the emergency fire bunker for crew to huddle in if explosions rocked the deck; all were where one would expect to find them, all laid in out in the blessed templates passed down to humanity from the Omnissiah. Maternin saw crew from the Yolenna walking about without rebreather masks and removed her own. The atmosphere was thin and stale but tolerable.
The captain was speaking to one of the first boarders of the ship. Seeing the tech priests disembarking, he waved them over. He stood tall and commanding before the group, but Maternin could hear the boyish enthusiasm for exploration in his voice as he addressed the boarding party.
"Alright ladies, gentlemen and red robes, eyes forward and guns ready. We don't know what's still living aboard this ship so we need to be ready for anything. Our priorities are finding out what condition she's in, securing her astrogation logs and locating the psychic beacon that called out to our AT. Dhukov, I want you to take your team and locate the ship's bridge. Al Dessi's squad will go with you for protection."
"Very well." Dhukov pointed at Maternin. "That one goes with you. You requested her presence here."
Jak shrugged. "That's fine. Leave me one more of your people in case we come across any locked purity seals. Now," he looked about the launch bay, "do you know how you're going to get to the bridge?"
Dhukov turned slowly, eye things glowing as he scanned the ship. "No," he said at last.
"The third hatch past the frame" Maternin said, pointing. Dhukov and Jak turned towards her. "It will take us to a central passageway, three decks below the bridge. That will be the shortest route."
"How in the good God-Emperor's galaxy do you know that, Shyendi?" Jak asked.
"My… my father used to show me ship schematics and have me memorise them. He would give me two points on a random ship and I would have to describe the fastest route."
The captain stared at her in silence for a time. "And I thought my childhood was strange," he said at last. He turned to Dhukov. "Well, there you are. Shyendi goes with you, unless you want to be blundering around in the dark. My group will be guided by Halksis. Al Dessi, get your people together. Sergeant Mkall, your armsmen are to keep this launch bay secure, don't come running unless you hear from me and me only. Tellmos, Quetrian, your shuttles will be ready to leave in a hurry if we need?"
"Aye, Sir," the two pilots saluted in unison.
"Very good. The rest of you are with me." Filled with a mixture of reverence, zeal and trepidation, the explorers of the Yolenna Symphony set off into the ancient ship.
=][=
Jak's group walked the vast lightless passageways of the ships, every footstep echoing out into the seemingly unending distance. Jak was struck by just how silent a ship could become with her main reactors powered down, how every metallic creak and rattle stood out, making nervy sailors start and look about them. Whereas passageways on the Yolenna Symphony were cramped, boxy affairs, the bulkheads busy with cables, pipes and terminals, the Stallion of the Empire was a sleeker ship, and her pale grey bulkheads were smooth and curving.
The void had preserved the ship over the millennia, but in certain pockets the atmospheric scrubbers had failed and the explorers needed to wear their rebreathers for a time, or a grav plate had buckled and they were forced to take slow, mag-locked, footsteps across the decking.
Halksis took the lead, with Borjean alongside him. The captain's bodyguard carried one of the Yolenna's few bolter pistols, and Jak's instructions to him prior to departure had been clear; blow the astropath's head off at the first sign of any daemonic possession.
Jak kept to the centre of the party, alongside the two keepers, Salazar and Casanovus. He took a moment to assess them as they walked the long, dark passageways. Both men would surely be the weak links in any sustained combat action that they came across.
The portly confessor Salazar carried his traditional flamer with him. It would be difficult to think of a more useless weapon for the pressurised atmosphere of a void ship than a flamer, but although the Navy had tried for ten thousand years, it had been forever impossible to dislodge the ecclesiasty from their traditions. At least Salazar was sensible enough to keep his unlit for the moment.
Casanovus was a man Jak did not know well, except by reputation. Young and foppish, the Keeper of the Librarium had been something of a minor celebrity on Scintilla, an author and adventurer of some notoriety. Jak had no idea what fate had brought him to the Yolenna Symphony, but he looked comfortable enough with a las-pistol in his hand, and although Casanovus looked nothing like your typical crusty librarian savant, Jak hoped he'd possess some knowledge that would come in useful during their explorations.
"Captain, look." Jak turned to the voice. It was one of his personal guards, Helmsworth, who had spoken; the man had only just been discharged from the med bay when he had volunteered for this endeavour. He was pointing the lumen on his rifle at the bulkhead, which had been stained, smeared and gouged. Jak thought he recognised the distinctive splatter patterns, although the stains were likely thousands of years old, and one of Dhukov's explorators confirmed his suspicions.
"That is human blood, captain. Ancient, possibly from one of the vessel's original crew."
Runes had been carved into the bulkhead, strange symbols that seemed to suck at the eyeball and make the stomach heave. Jak had to squint to keep looking without his eyes watering. The largest of them ran from head height to the decking, deep vertical scours emanating from a central tangle of impossible angles. It seemed that the blood had been poured to run down the carved rivulets.
"Salazar, Casanovus. Can either of you make something of these?"
"These symbols have the stench of chaos about them, my Lord," said the confessor, turning away with a sneer. "The lost and the damned have infected this ship." Casanovus took a more academic approach, leaning in close and studying the runes.
"I agree, Captain. This is chaos script." His voice was strained as he said it and he dry retched a little as he turned away from them. "It's forbidden to study, so I can't tell you what it says, but I've seen descriptions of similar markings on pirate vessels, including the somewhat nauseating effects of studying them too closely." His mouth twisted in gentile distaste, as if he'd just eaten something unpleasant.
The group turned as one to Stieg, the gunnery master and ex-pirate, who scowled to hide his embarrassment at the sudden attention. "What?" He growled. He had been training his las-rifle down the passageway, studiously ignoring the runes.
"What do you make of these symbols Stieg? You seen anything like them before?"
Stieg stared at his captain for a time, and then, with a scowl and a glance towards the confessor, he walked over to the bulkhead and studied it. The runes seemed to have no obvious ill effect on him.
"I know that big one," the old man admitted finally. "It's a placation of Burn."
"A what?"
"Old sailor's script. You see it on reaving ships when… when the fighting's getting out of hand. A message to the gods between the stars." Stieg almost never spoke with this kind of hesitation, and he stole nervous looks at the thunder-faced confessor as he spoke.
As most naval officers learned to do, Jak took a somewhat relaxed approach towards religion and the doctrines of the Imperial Cult. Everyone knew sailors had odd beliefs and superstitions: the Laughing Boy who sailed the Warp in a ship made of secrets, the Stars that Walked in Winter, the 'Lucky Deck' and Saint Spotless. The naval ecclesiasty was generally accepting of some deviation from doctrine, as long as certain, very specific rules were followed. For example, the God-Emperor could have three names, but never four. Any suggestion that he had a xenos bride waiting for him in the Immaterium was punishable by death. And no one, no matter their background or culture, was ever allowed to engage in blood rituals on board the ship.
"Tell us what you know, Mr Stieg," Jak said gently. "We know these beliefs are in your past."
Salazar ostentatiously turned away as Stieg continued. "No priests on a reaving ship, see? No one to say a prayer for your soul, to commend it to the Emperor. A man wants to believe in something more than a foot of adamantium between him and oblivion, so he carves messages into the walls." He traced a finger down one of the runes, and gave a small shudder. "Like the placation of Burn."
"Burn?"
"Lots of names, but we always called him Burn. He was just one of 'em, the ones who guided your ship as and when they chose to. Burn, Thirst, Blight and Scupper. Not just reavers know 'em either. You'll still hear their names muttered on the old Yolenna at times, when the Gellar fields shudder and the shadows lengthen."
"I can see I have some burning to do when we return to the ship," Salazar said, hefting his flamer.
"What's the point of a placation to Burn?" Jak asked, ignoring his confessor.
"Can't gain his favour, though fools think they can. But you can appease him for a time. Carve rivulets into the bulkhead, make your sacrifices, let the blood run down the walls. Keeps Burn at bay. Somebody didn't want him stalking this ship no more."
"Bloody hell," Borjean breathed. Alongside him, Radhati Halksis moaned.
"Please, my Lord," the astropath said. "She is still calling. She knows we are close. It is agony to hear her wail."
"Lots of blood, but no bodies," Jak said, thoughtfully. "No bones."
"What does that mean?" Casanovus asked.
"It means something dragged the corpses away." Casanovus shuddered. Jak gestured at Halksis to continue moving, which the Astropath did eagerly. The group set off again. As they began to walk, a noise behind the bulkheads drew a number of gun sights towards it.
Tck-tck-tck. It was a small, skittering relaxed a little and laughed. "Rats, gentlemen. Rats in the run of the walls." The group gave a nervous laugh, but it was comforting to know that at least something had survived the ten thousand years in the void, and they continued onwards to find the source of their mysterious beacon.
=][=
Maternin lead Dhukov and Al Dessi up seven decks from the launch bay to the bridge. They did not take any elevators; Al Dessi did not trust them, and Dhukov was loath to disturb them unnecessarily. He cossetted over every purity seal they unlocked as if each contained the spirit of a Titan. Maternin began to resent his ostentatious display of machine piety, regarding them as unnecessary and excessive, until they got to the bridge, and her irritation was replaced with reverence.
The bridge was a grand circular space with ornately decorated control and sensor stations arrayed in rings around a central command throne sunk into the floor. Vapour clung to the floor, a fine mist presumably created by some malfunctioning system and the change in pressure as the purity seals were unlocked.
Maternin saw Ravenna Al Dessi looking upwards in awe. The great dome overhead would have given the captain and crew a panoramic view of the void, a view befitting the magnificence of the bridge. Dhukov was on his knees, gently running his metal fingers across the deck and singing canticles of restoration and recovery. His green eyes shone as he looked up at his priests.
"She is returned to us. The Stallion of the Empire. Brought back into the embrace of the Omnissiah through us, his emissaries."
"What are you saying, Chief Enginseer?" Al Dessi, spun around. "Would you do me the courtesy of speaking Gothic whilst we are on this endeavour."
Dhukov slowly stood up. "Very well," he said, in gothic this time, but Maternin could sense that he said something to his explorators at the same time, on a frequency that Al Dessi could not hear and Maternin had not been forewarned to tune into. Wishing that she had more sensory augmentations, Maternin strained to pick up the private communication stream.
Al Dessi ordered her armsmen to fan out and secure the bridge, before turning to the Archmagos. "The bridge appears to be in working order, Chief Enginseer. Can we get her operational again?"
"There are rituals, First Officer Al Dessi, certain rituals and procedures that are followed in these situations, where a ship of such age is recovered. Some are known to me, others are not. It may be that we can commune with her spirits and gain a greater sense of her capacity and history."
"Get started then, if you would be so good."
Dhukov gave Al Dessi a long, expressionless glance, and Maternin thought for a moment that the Enginseer Primaris planned to confront the first officer, but Al Dessi had already turned away. She walked to the command throne, and looked down into the recess from which it rose. It was a masterpiece of design, similar to the Mind Impulse Units in the god machines of the Adeptus Mechanicus. When captained, it would sink into its emplacement and fill with synapto-haptic fluid; sitting in the throne a captain would be almost one with her ship. Maternin watched Al Dessi stroke a hand across the glowing platinum plating of one delicately wrought armrest.
"There's no sign of any crew, ma'am." Called out on of the armsmen. They had spread out across the bridge, shining their lumens over every corner. "Someone's drawn some pictures to make your skin crawl, but there's no bodies and no sign of a battle. It's like they all just got up and walked off."
Dhukov and his team had taken their places as various command consoles. The layout was familiar to all of them, with only a handful of differences from modern vessels. They connected to the consoles and a harmony of binaric cant rose from the explorators as they communed with the ancient systems.
"What can you do with her, Chief Enginseer? Can you power her up?" Al Dessi called out. Dhukov did not look up from his console. His metal face glowed green from the light spilling off the pict-screen.
"We do not know the correct rituals to respectfully awaken the primary system spirits," Dhukov said. "But we can release the diagnostic domovye and align the central cogitation matrix."
"Very good. Do so."
Maternin found the frequency of Dhukov's private subsonic binary, but she could not understand what her Enginseer Primaris was saying. It was a hexamathematical cypher, Maternin realised; what he was saying was locked out to her as well as First Officer Al Dessi. She stepped in front of a tertiary console and manually began taking it through rituals of awakening, but as she did so she listened, and began to work on cracking the Archmagos' cypher.
=][=
Radhati Halksis led Jak's team deeper into the superstructure of the ship, a series of long narrow decks that extended along her spine rather than climbing upwards as a battleship's typically would. He picked up pace as he got closer to the source of his psychic beacon, until the elderly astropath was nearly jogging and Borjean needed to put a hand to his shoulder to slow him down.
The armsmen pointed their guns warily at every dark doorway and ladder shaft, but no threats emerged as they progressed, and the only sounds they heard were their own footsteps and the scuttling of vermin behind the bulkheads. Jak could feel his heart pounding in his chest; he forced himself to slow his breathing, to control his excitement as they got closer to the beacon.
Radhati turned to take them down a wide, arched passageway. Its bulkheads were plated with stone friezes of battle, but not the usual images of warfare, Jak realised as he ran his lumen across them. These were images of the wounded and dying being administered to on the battlefield by saints of the narthecium, doctors, chirugeons and battlefield medics. The coiled snakes and skulls of the Caduceus was a repeated symbol across the friezes.
"The officers medical bay," Casanovus suggested, looking at the images, and Jak had to agree. Halksis raised a hand and pointed down the end of the passageway, where twin snakes twined around a single vertical purity seal handle.
"She is behind that door," Jak could not tell if the tone he heard in the astropath's voice was terror or wonder. The group's pace slowed as they reached the med bay entrance, which dwarfed even Jestross.
"Kiletev?" Jak asked, and the explorator moved forward, placing his augmented hand around the handle, microfilaments extending out to enter into the locking mechanism and commune with the spirits of the seal. With a sharp hiss and a groaning exhalation of stale air, the door unsealed.
Halksis rushed forward into the room and Borjean struggled to keep up. Overhead lumens flicked to life, sensors activating automatically after ten thousand years. A sterile, surgical space extended out before them, the bright lights making Jak squint as his eyes adjusted.
"There" Halksis cried out and stumbled towards the large upright box in one corner end of the room. It was eight-foot-tall and solid adamantium, with a plasglass covered hatch inlaid with ivory and gold. The tech priest, Kiletev, burst into binaric prayers at the sight of the thing.
"Bloody hell," said Borjean.
"A stasis pod," murmured Casanovus. Jak walked up to the glass, frosted from the internal cold, but clear enough that he could see the woman behind it, her eyes closed and face projecting the peaceful serenity of stasis-sleep. Jak placed his hand against the plasglass, staring at her face.
"This is your beacon, Radhati?"
"She calls to us, my Lord. We must release her from her prison. Thousands of years of agony, asleep and awake, trapped and screaming out for help."
"She looks happy enough where she is," muttered Stieg.
"We cannot open this pod," Kiletev said hastily. "We do not know the correct prayers and blessings to safely release-"
Jak thumped a large red button recessed into the frame of the hatch, and it turned green. With a hiss of released air, the hatch opened.
"We will have time for machine prayers later, Kiletev," Jak said. "For now, let's remember the Litany of Focus."
The sailors quickly took up positions as a cloud of vapour briefly occluded the sleeping woman. The Litany of Focus was a soldier's prayer, a plea for good aim and quick reflexes. Stieg stood to the side of the hatch, whilst Helmsworth and Farisr took up positions on either side of Jak, weapons pointed into the stasis pod. Borjean kept his gun pointed at Halksis, whose sightless eyes were transfixed.
The vapour cleared, and Jak caught a glimpse of the woman as he eyes began to flutter, her face pained, as if having been woken from a deep sleep. Her hair was long, and so fair as to be almost white. Her dress, soaked from stasis fluid that was draining away into grates beneath her bare feet, clung to her slender body. Her pale skin had been pierced in a dozen places by mechanical tubing that disconnected itself with wet sucking sounds, retreating into the inner walls of the stasis pod.
She opened her eyes, wide as saucers. They were a cloudy, pupil-less white, the blind sight of an astropath. Halksis began to moan, a long, low sound.
"You have come," the woman's voice was barely above a whisper. Halksis continued to moan, the sound getting higher and more insistent.
"What the bloody hell are you playing at?" Borjean poked Halksis with his bolter pistol, but the old man gave no indication that he had even heard him. Jak could feel his guards shifting nervously either side of him.
The blind woman stumbled forward, hands groping out. Jak caught her as she tripped over the lip of the hatch. Her eyes turned up to him. Her face was young, ethereal. Jak found himself drawn to her, as if perhaps it had been his destiny all along "You have come to save us," she said, her voice growing stronger.
"Sir! Something's happening with the AT, and I don't bloody like it," said Borjean. Halksis was swaying and keening, pointing at the woman from the stasis pod. Her hands were gripping Jak's arms, knuckles white. "You must hurry," she said. "This ship contains vast treasures, immeasurable treasures, but an ancient curse will take them all from us if we do not move swiftly."
"We should not have opened this pod," Kiletev said, the explorator seeming to be talking mostly to himself."
"Sir, maybe you should step back from the young lady," Helmsworth said uncertainly.
"The pod was not blessed before we opened it, its functions cannot properly be-"
"You have come to save me and I wish to reward you. Please let me show the secrets-"
"Sir, the AT's really gone right off his-"
"Stieg!" Jak shouted. "The hatch!"
"Aye, Sir!" Stieg called back. Jak gave a short, sharp shove throwing the woman back into the stasis pod. She shrieked with rage and pain as she fell back. Halksis shrieked as well, collapsing to the ground. Stieg kicked the pod hatch, leaning back against the wall and putting his whole weight behind his boot. It swung shut and lights flashed red and green as the pod re-sealed. Kiletev's hands were a blur across the pod's console, ensuring that it was locked. The last thing Jak saw of the woman before the pod filled with steaming vapour clouds was her face contorted in fury and her eyes transforming from white to a midnight black.
Halksis was still screaming, even after Helmsworth helped him to his feet. Losing patience, Borjean knocked the astropath out with the butt of his bolter pistol.
"Alright," Jak panted in the blessed silence that followed. "Anyone who doesn't think that woman was part of some elaborate and sinister trap raise your hand."
In the stunned silence, everyone's hands stayed down.
"Good. We'll work out what to do with her later. I want to make this very clear, in case there are any misconceptions. We are not here to lift ancient curses, or solve mysteries, or rescue suspiciously well-preserved beauties. We're here to steal this ship, loot everything that isn't nailed down and get the hell back home. Does anyone have a problem with that? Good. Then let's keep searching."