Diem Infamia Chapter 6

The shuttle's interior was small and cramped, filled with odd smells and worn seats. It was a crude bulk-hauler, fitted for cargo and a small number of passengers, a graceless slab of metal, pushed about by plasma thrusters, nothing more than a means to get men and material from one place to another. Inside Captain Mandas was sitting on a frayed chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest and trying to ignore the smell of too many unwashed bodies packed into the confined passenger bay. He was hardly a stranger to such things but the lack of standards on a Naval shuttle irked him, this was a demeaning way to treat a ranking Captain. Mandas had spent the better part of a week unloading the Averof, seeing his officers dispersed and watching the midshipmen disappear into the various bars and bordellos that dotted the dockyard. He didn't mind their urges; he had done far worse things in his youth. Eventually the ponderous weight of Imperial bureaucracy had noticed the arrival of a city-sized starship and ten thousand souls, so Mandas had been ordered to report to Salamis naval base.

Mandas peered through the small porthole next to his seat as they closed on the base, seeing its vast curves laid out before him. Salamis base was ancient, a true wonder from the Dark Age of Technology. At first glance it resembled a vast plate, fifty miles wide and ten high. It was festooned with towers and spires, ancient defence installations, triple reinforced buttresses and soaring starscrapers that extended above and below its surface. Strange devices and unknown artefacts dotted the exterior walls, relics whose origin and function baffled the finest minds of the Imperium and Mechanicus alike. The perimeter was ringed with piers and gantries and twelve great cathedral-like hangers stuck out of it, like spokes on a wheel. Each one was able to drydock a Battleship and indeed in one berth sat the Poseidon, an apocalypse class ship-killer. Salamis base was a sight to take the breath away, a supra-orbital plate akin to those that had once circled Terra, when the Emperor walked as a man. No one could build such mighty cities in the sky anymore and as far as anyone knew it was the very last of its kind in the galaxy.

Salamis sat in orbit above Tectum's moon GT-XXIV and was tethered to it by an orbital lift tower. At the other end of that bridge was a Hive city, the abode of the Lord Governor of the entire sector, but the base was older than either edifice. Salamis predated Battlefleet Karyl, for it had been found waiting when the Imperium first arrived. Saint Karyl himself, that historical visionary who had led the faithful away from the dreadful infighting of the Nova Terra Interregnum seven thousand years ago, had found this base. Searching for new worlds to colonise his armada had stumbled upon Salamis and instantly seen its potential. Saint Karyl had entrusted the facility to his loyal Admiral Themistocles and commanded him to build a bastion against the dark horrors that dwelt between the stars. He had succeeded beyond measure; Themistocles had built not only a base to rule the sector from, but laid down the foundations of Battlefleet Karyl itself.

Mandas watched in awe as his shuttle crawled nearer, creeping through the blizzard of traffic surrounding the base, eager to dock at the multitudes of airlocks and docks that spotted its surface. Mandas saw a gargoyle encrusted gate loom up before them, then they plunged into darkness. There was the familiar tang as the shuttle passed through an atmospheric integrity shield, then it settled down onto its skids and the engines cut out. Mandas expected to be greeted by an adjutant but to his surprise the shuttle's pilot trudged in and muttered, "We're here, you lot get out."

The other passengers, a gaggle of junior lieutenants and logistical clerks, stood up and departed via the small hatch. Mandas however waited in silence, fuming as the pilot lounged against a bulkhead. Eventually he pulled a jacket over his shirt and marched up to the man, filled with outrage. The pilot glanced at him and said, "Eh... what do you wa…"

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he spied the rank epilates of a Fleet Captain and he jerked upright in shock as he spluttered, "Sir!"

Mandas glared at him with narrowed eyes and growled, "Flight Lieutenant, have thousands of years of naval tradition been overturned or did you merely decide this morning to disembark junior ranks before a Senior-officer?"

The pilot quickly grasped he was in a monumentally deep pile of crap and he spluttered, "Yes sir… err... No sir!"

Testily Mandas spat, "Did you vox ahead for an adjutant to meet me or arrange for a ground-cab?!"

The pilot was turning pale now as he spluttered, "Terribly sorry sir, it was a miscommunication, didn't know you were on board."

Mandas hissed accusingly, "You mean you didn't bother to check your flight manifest. Pre-flight checks are not optional; a man who disregards flight manifests is as likely to feel he can skip inspecting airlock seals and fuel pumps, risking not only his life but those of far more dedicated officers. One fuel leak and you could kill everyone in this bay. I shall be reporting your negligence to your superior."

"Let me fix it sir," the pilot pleaded, "I'll get you a ground-cab."

"Be quick about it," Mandas snapped, "And don't forget my bags."

The pilot scurried away, and Mandas shook his head. A lot of naval traditions were nonsense but some existed for a damn good reason. Enforcement of the hierarchy was fundamental to the Navy, even a dock-rat like Mandas couldn't let lesser ranks get away with disrespecting their superiors. That pilot might only be one bad apple, but if left unchecked such rot could spread through a crew and that was where mutinies began. Mandas waited until the pilot came back, leading a small wheeled transport to the shuttle. Mandas glared at the pilot who sweated profusely as he hauled a small pair of bags into the storage bay, then saluted as the Captain climbed inside. Mandas left the pilot to his shame as he said to the driver, "Take my bags to apartment 245-768, in the Third Concourse, but drop me off at the Saint's Arms first."

"Very good sir," the driver replied and they hurtled away.

Mandas settled back as they left the docks, making a note for later of the pilot's flight number so he could file an official request for the flight controllers to go through the shuttles' log-book with a fine tooth comb. Swiftly they passed various security checkpoints where his biometrics were scanned and cross-referenced then they plunged down an arterial highway, moving deeper into Salamis base. Warehouses, repair facilities, crew habs, shops and markets came and went, a veritable city where millions of people lived their lives without once seeing the stars beyond their walls. The districts flashed by as they headed into the far more refined districts, where officers and their families dwelt. This part of Salamis was far more opulent and luxurious, places where even minor logistical officers and strategic analysts lived in finery that would make the richest ground based noble envious. Mandas paid no mind though, he had long since decided not to be impressed by such things, he had been born in squalor and wore that like a badge of honour.

Soon his ground-cab pulled into a wide street with rich townhouses and real trees lining the road. His carriage pulled up outside a red door and Mandas disembarked before sprinting up three shallow steps and knocking on the door. His cab pulled away, taking his luggage to his rented apartment, but the Captain waited as a prune-faced butler opened the door and looked at him suspiciously. Mandas was used to that, the haughty upper crust of the old blood resented a jumped-up dock-rat like him and he did not have the features of one born into the aristocracy. Yet his Captain's epaulettes impressed the man enough to open the door, after all this was an officer's club, for those of Captain rank or above. It would not do for Captains to be seen getting inebriated in front of their crews, so discrete establishments like this existed for them to get roaring drunk in private.

Mandas was led into an interior room, filled with stuffed leather armchairs and Holo-pictures of famous Admirals. Mounted animal heads hung on the walls and a real fire roared in the hearth, but Mandas ignored that and focussed on a circle of chairs set around a low table where two men awaited him. The first was red-nosed sot, fat around the belly and flushed in the cheeks. This was Captain Armin Anthes, who had arranged this meeting, he was from the old blood but not priggish about it. The other was another old friend with a bald head and a sharp jaw, Captain Jonto Elias, another friend who lacked ties to the old blood but whose family operated an exceedingly wealthy merchant consortium.

Anthes saw him coming and called jovially, "Mandas! You old-void dog, where have you been?"

Mandas took off his jacket and slid into a chair as he said, "Trouble at the docks, nothing I couldn't handle."

Elias lifted an eyebrow and said, "Shouldn't you be reporting to the admiralty?"

Mandas shook his head and replied, "I'm not due to report till eight bells, so I've got all night."

"Hold on," Anthes chuckled, "Before we talk shop, we've got to pay our respects. Benje Callas bought it above Almanium, tussling with Night Lord raiders."

Mandas sighed in sadness as a gold-plated servitor brought them three rums in shot glasses. Anthes slapped three star-shaped pins on the table and said, "For old Callas, Emperor rest his soul."

Mandas and the others picked up their pins and dropped them into their rums, an ancient naval toast to a friend who had died at the helm of his ship. The three looked at each other and then slugged their rums back. Mandas felt the rum scorch his throat but as he did so the pin clattered at his teeth. He tried to snatch it but his lips slipped and the pin rattled back into the glass. The other two slapped their glasses down, pins caught in their teeth and then Anthes spat his out and cried, "Ha, I knew you were going soft. Come on... you know the penalty."

Mandas gritted and placed the pin over his bicep, point resting against his chest. A heartbeat later Anthes' meaty paw slammed into his hand, driving the needle into his muscle and drawing a drop of blood. Mandas managed to keep a flinch off his face, the wound was nothing save a sharp discomfort and he had suffered far worse.

Elias pursed his thin lips and said, "No flinching, still some steel in you then."

Mandas pulled out the pin and threw it on the table muttering, "Good job our crews can't see us, brawling like cadets out on a bender."

"Oh cheer up," Anthes chortled in amusement, "We're not just mourning, we're celebrating. Elias here just hitched."

Mandas started in surprise and exclaimed, "Elias, you left our fraternal bonds of bachelorhood behind?!"

It was genuinely surprising, serving officers tended to avoid marriage until they retired. The prospect of a husband disappearing into the stars for a few decades at a time was a disincentive to most ladies. Yet Elias had a strange expression on his face as he mumbled, "She's a good girl, from the Theotokis family, they're old blood. My family were insistent, they want ties to the upper crust and her relatives wanted our money."

Mandas thought his friend made it sound like a horse trade, but he put on a smile and said, "Congratulations."

Elias lifted his eyes and said, "She's got an unmarried cousin, young and pretty too."

Mandas laughed at that, "Are you playing matchmaker now? No thanks, I'm married to the Averof."

Neither of his friends smiled and Anthes leaned in and said, "Georgios, you seriously need to think about accepting this."

Elias lowered his voice and said, "Things are changing. The Dousmanis family have finally ousted the Kountouriotis household and they're grabbing everything they can. Ships, academies, dockyards and orbital towers, all are seeing their best and brightest replaced with the Lord Admiral's favourites. It's a land grab."

Mandas frowned and said, "What do you mean?"

Anthes grumbled, "If you're not old blood, you're out. You need more friends Georgios, they have their sights on the Averof next."

Mandas gasped in dismay, "They wouldn't, they couldn't."

But Elias looked down and said, "They would, they took the Leonides from me."

Mandas spluttered, "But... but you've been together for decades. You're telling me they took an Overlord battlecruiser from you and relegated you to ground work?!"

Elias muttered, "That's why I had to get married, my new relatives are very well positioned. A few words in the right ears and they got me command of the Spartan."

Mandas was perplexed, he thought he knew every ship in the fleet but all he could say was, "The Spartan… she's… she's a…"

Elias informed him solemnly, "They pulled her out of the fleet reserves, she's a Siluria class light cruiser."

Mandas was shocked, the Siluria class was obsolete, an outmoded relic put to pasture millennia ago. To be dragging such fossils out had to mean the fleet was in more trouble than he had realised. Yet to go from a proud battlecruiser to a dusty old light cruiser was a slap in the face. Mandas looked for something to say and mumbled, "At least you're still sailing."

Elias grimaced and said, "For now and only patrols around the system. But it's better than commanding a perimeter watch post."

Anthes concurred, "You need to be wary, the Averof is a plumb post and they won't let you keep her for long. If you don't act fast you'll be commanding a supply depot."

Elias continued, "Think about my offer Georgios, it might be your only chance to keep a real command."

Mandas sank back in his chair as their words sank in. He couldn't believe it, the very idea of being separated from the Averof struck at the heart of him. He couldn't imagine not being on her bridge flying into the teeth of enemy fire, to command was life itself to him. To be relegated to some supply depot or watch post… he as might as well be dead. With a sickening lurch Mandas realised he was caught in the midst of a battle he had no idea how to fight.