Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 178

The war for Lutum was dying down and the long process of re-establishing Imperial authority began. Preachers spread through the cities and towns, singing praises to the God-Emperor. Tithe-functionaries started assessing the planet's material worth and beginning tortuous calculations as to how it would repay its outstanding debts to Terra. Spaceports bustled as mineral wealth was lifted into orbit, streams of cargo shuttles taking off constantly. Among them passenger lifters were packed with stinking and ragged masses of people, sent to serve an unknown fate, truly it was said the greatest resource of the Imperium was the blood of its people. Adeptus Arbites made their presence known, black visored gazes cowing the fearful masses into submission, or perhaps it was the shotguns and shock-staves they held in firm grips. So peace was returned to Lutum, the peace of the gun.

High above cargo ships sucked up the rising flurries of shuttles, drinking deep of the bounty of Lutum. The Indomitus Crusade was humanity's last hope, but its needs were voracious and never-ending. Dozens of cargo ships filled their bellies to the brim with minerals, while three mass-conveyors embarked the people. Warships by comparison were few and scattered over the high-orbits, watchful for threats from the void. One of these ships was cruising over the equator, auspex straining to catch a whiff of danger. To the casual observer she could be mistaken for a Dauntless-class light cruiser, the Navy's premier anti-pirate unit, but to the experienced eye she was subtly different. Her lances had been reconfigured to reduce atmospheric diffraction, her engines were leaner and less well armoured and her gun decks had been stripped entirely, replace with fighter launch bays. She was Enforcer-class, a civil suppression vessel, designed to cow rebellious governors back into line and her name was Carmilla.

Within her bridge a man stood upon the command dais and surveyed the crew going about their stations. He was satisfied with their performance though he did not show it; he never smiled for his lip was downcast in a permanent sneer. His hair was frosted with grey and his hands scarred. He wore a tightly buttoned blue tunic and black trousers, hung with a chainsword and stub-pistol at his belt. He seemed old and proud enough to be the Carmilla's Captain, but he was not, his rank pins declared him to be a commander only. He was Juto Hornan, first officer of the ship, though he did not let that fact diminish his authority over the crew.

Sternly he ordered, "Mr Gansay, signal fury squadrons Uno and Dua that they are hanging too close to our flanks. They are useless to me so close; tell them to sail further out to extended Auspex range."

"Aye aye skipper," came the voice of a grizzled officer from the ordnance Pulpit.

Hornan then turned to the gunnery pews and queried, "Mr Torhay, why are the lances showing an amber warning?"

A scarred man called back, "Apologies Skipper, one of the capacitors is being a churlish devil. Tech-priests are on it, they say they need two hours to perform a mass and discharge static build-up in the coils."

"Tell them they have one," Hornan uttered.

To his surprise Torhay muttered something to his subordinates then walked over to the dais. Hornan waited till he was close and then said, "Problem?"

Softly so as not to be seen to be arguing in front of the crew, Torhay said, "With respect sir, I'm not one for padding my estimates. If I say something will take two hours, it will be two hours."

From anyone else Hornan would have taken that as insolence but Torhay was a veteran void-sailor, one who had seen everything and done everything. His missing right arm attested to that, a hook serving as his replacement. Surely a man of his rank could have obtained an augmetic replacement, but he had declined one. He said he liked his hook and often boasted he had once plucked out an Ork's eye with it. A tale few doubted. He hailed from Ultramar, a realm famous for its discipline, though with the Crusade's fluid structure he had ended up serving on a Jovian-built craft.

Hornan accepted the rebuke in good candour and said, "Very well, two hours, but not a minute more."

Torhay nodded and made to turn back, but before he left said, "May I say how good it is to see you standing there. You fit command well."

Hornan felt a stab of pain at that, he knew it was a compliment but it hurt more than any knew. Sadly he said, "We both know that's not going to happen."

Torhay shook his head and said, "How can they deny you a command? You've proven yourself a score of times."

"Not enough to expunge my family's history," Hornan sighed, "The Imperium never forget treachery."

"Blast them," Torhay spat, "A man should be judged by his deeds, that's the Ultramarian way. To hold that over you forever..."

"It is what it is," Hornan stated briskly, "Now back to work before Commissar Landry sees you lollygagging."

Torhay smirked and departed, leaving Hornan to stare over the bridge. Before him officers and rating toiled over their stations, as a preacher read aloud litanies of obedience from a brass lectern. Hornan longed to command a vessel of his own, even a frigate, but it was not to be. His family had a black mark on their record, a shameful rebellion against Imperial rule. Wenas Hornan, the family patriarch had denounced the Imperium, only to die soon after on a guardsman's bayonet. Juto didn't know why his relatives had shamed the family name so; he had been a babe in arms at the time, all he knew was his family's wealth had been stripped, their seniors executed and the survivors left under a cloud of suspicion. Getting him into a Naval academy had consumed all his mother's days, and he suspected a few sordid nights spent swaying certain officials, leaving her a stranger to him. He had risen high by working himself ceaselessly, but would never command a ship of his own.

His bitter brooding was interrupted as a pair of voices came to his ear. He turned about and saw a pair of figures approaching. The first was a rotund woman in a long trenchcoat, heavy with medals. Her face was full and her manner quick to smile. She appeared a harmless matron but the many medals hanging from her coat proved she knew how to fight. Indeed her tongue could turn from mirth to spite in a flash, a fact her crew knew all too well. This was Captain Yarret, mistress of the Carmilla, and the person Hornan owed his rank to.

Next to her walked a thin man in a black coat, with a red sash and a peaked cap. His face was sour and gaunt, lacking any extraneous fat. He looked like a vulture ready pick over a fresh corpse and as welcome in polite company as any other carrion-eater. Commissar Landry, the chief political officer of the ship and the bane of Hornan's life.

The First Officer jumped off the dais as the Captain approached, symbolically surrendering command in the traditional faction. The pair mounted the steps with a familiar gait; the Commissar being the only person on board permitted to do so without the Captain's permission. Yarret looked over the many pews and the preacher standing at the lectern fell quiet as the Captain called, "All stations report!"

Many voices cried back, signalling the ship's status and Hornan was last to speak, "Spot of bother with the prow lances, but it should be remedied in two hours."

"Well done," Yarret replied, "A good watch Mr Hornan."

Landry scoffed, "No more than any officer of the God-Emperor's navy could do."

"Now now," Yarret chided, "Credit where credit is due. Let's see what we've missed. Pull up a Hololith."

Light shimmered overhead as a three-dimensional image appeared. Inside were all the various vessels in orbit, their courses and velocities picked out in glowing lines of colour. A ground-pounder would have found it a blurring mess of icons but to an officer of the Imperial navy it was an open book.

Yarret instructed, "Mr Hornan, would you say the Veritas is too low?"

"No ma'am," Hornan replied, "The Tyrant class has extended range gun batteries, she can hit anything in deep space and provide fire support at the same time. Admiral Belliad is merely being efficient."

Yarret beamed, "Exactly right, you see Landry he does know."

"A first-year cadet could have told us as much," Landry sniffed.

Hornan guessed the Captain was trying to prove a point, the pair had been arguing over his appointment since he set foot on the Carmilla. He was proved right when Yarret ordered, "Give me your assessment of the Astartes' vessels."

"Them?" Hornan snorted, "Not much."

"Details," Landry snapped.

Hornan took in a breath and elaborated, "Oddly substandard, for Astartes. No Strike Cruisers, no Battlebarges. Four frigates of unimpressive calibre, none of them a match for the Swords of Myrmidon squadron. They have a modified Vespergo class trade carrack. Middling guns, limited fighter capacity, no real threat to the fleet."

Landry sniffed, "Naval intelligence believes these Amber Vipers operate from a mobile starfort."

"If that's true they left it somewhere in deep space," Yarret mused, "Tell me what you make of the Space Marines themselves."

Hornan answered, "I find them unimpressive. Low-grade gear, few in number and slovenly in discipline. The Crusade has far superior examples to hand, I find it odd these dregs were sent with the taskforce."

Yarret agreed, "Very odd, yet the order came from the top, the very top. Someone important wanted them here, for reasons above our pay-grade. A mystery, one that hacked Captain Anthor off no end."

Hornan's eyes drifted over to a craft hanging in low orbit. It was squat and bulky in form, unlovely compared to the proud majesty of a line cruiser. She looked slow and cumbersome, massing the same as a light cruiser but surely a brick in the turns and sluggish in acceleration. Yet her spine boasted the squat barrels of Magma Bomb cannons, a lethal threat to any defence or an unwary starship. The Jormungandr, an Annihilation-class assault monitor, a rare sight in the Imperial navy.

Hornan sighed, "I've never seen the point of the Annihilation-class. Why do we need a dedicated bombardment ship when there are Space Marines to do the job?"

Yarret scoffed, "Because the Space Marines aren't always around when we need them. How many invasions have stalled because the Astartes took off on some daft mission of their own devising?! Always chasing honour or glory and leaving us in the lurch. Hence the need for own assault ship. Slow, ugly and handles like a pig, but throne, they can tear a space station to scrap. Captain Anthor was looking forward to blowing up some defence platforms, until the Amber Vipers decided to tag along."

Landry sniffed, "Isn't it past time he was promoted, or retired?"

Hornan grinned, "Scuttlebutt has it Anthor took command of the Jormungandr as his last hurrah before being put out to pasture, that was thirty-eight years ago."

"Sordid gossip!" Landry protested.

But Yarret laughed, "No, I heard it from his own mouth. He's never giving up command, his type never does."

That brought a wince from Hornan, who would never enjoy command at all. He noted commissar Landry smile coldly, and knew the man had guessed his thoughts. The disdainful Commissar was firm in his opinion the Hornan line should have been exterminated and had made it clear he opposed Juto's presence in respectable company.

Thankfully Captain Yarret declared, "That's enough star-gazing. Prep the drives for extended cruise and recall the fighters."

"Aye aye maam," Hornan stated, "Course plot?"

"Lay in a vector for those trinary moons," Yarret ordered, "Admiral Belliad doesn't like the look of that ion storm, so we are going to go picket them."

Hornan relayed orders to Astrogation and helm control and then turned back and stated, "Pardon Captain, but isn't this a job for Myrmidon squadron?"

Yarret grinned, "That's what they said but I talked the Admiral out of it. I'm getting bored circling the planet; I want to stretch my void-legs."

"Grabbing a little glory for the Carmilla?" Hornan quipped, "So for once the Astartes won't steal all the credit."

Landry snapped, "Our duty is a solemn burden, not a game for tawdry praise!"

Yet Yarret retorted, "A worthy aspiration, but nobody said we couldn't enjoy our work. Come, let's go see what's out there. With the God-Emperor's favour we might even find some rebel scows hiding and claim a few kills."

With that the Carmilla turned her prow to the stars and set sail. Hornan was pleased to have some action to keep them busy, anything was better than trading barbs with Commissar Landry. He looked forward to the days to come and with fair fortune may even find an opportunity to prove his worth once and for all. He thought the only shame was they were unlikely to encounter anything that could seriously challenge the Carmilla. An assumption that would turn out to be wrong in every particular.