Chapter One, Prologue
By BloodRaven117
Commissioned by Mace Shepard
[Soundtrack - Warhammer 40000 - Space Marine Soundtrack - Prologue]
The Imperium of Man.
A vast collection of worlds and systems, from the most insignificant of research stations, to the mightiest of Forge Worlds, and the most humble of Imperial holdings. It seemed to be in these dark times that the Imperium of Man was forever at odds, both with the xenos, the heretic, and the various ordos which ran its finer workings. There had been no comfort in the machine, maintained by the priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus where technology was said to be forgotten daily. Nor consistency in bureaucracy by his holy Adeptus Administratum, where worlds were lost in the literal mountains of paperwork, to the ravages of warp storms, and to the invading armies of the heretic, the mutant, and the xenos. Nor was his holy Emperor's armies in the Imperial Guard ever mighty enough to push the tide back, just enough to tip the tides, just enough to send the invader off, to recapture lost worlds and sectors, despite recruiting trillions of soldiers per annum.
Even his mythical and insurmountable bulwark, the space marines, were not enough, 'We're never enough.' Antros thought. Despite new chapters being founded every century, despite battles, wars, campaigns, crusades; won by mere handfuls of the Emperor's angels, 'We are few.' Antros added. He had seen the numbers, in the High Administrator's mind, 'hardly a million.' The mortal had concluded.
Yet Humanity stood, for ten thousand years, the Imperium has fought all comers, has defeated, if not annihilated, countless xenos, traitors, heretics, and demons. It could be said even, that the Imperium was its own worst enemy, while a billion worlds burned, many billions more laid safe and peaceful. To scheme and conflict with one another, for the various adepts and ordos to squabble and politic.
This local peace bred contempt for the truth of the precarious nature of Man's place in the galaxy, barely a neophyte, and Antros had already faced a galaxy of threats. Savage orks, massive beasts that outmassed a normal human by two. Eldar, whose swiftness nearly matched their arrogance and overconfidence. His traitor kin, Astartes who had turned from the light of the Emperor. That had been a true test of his skills.
All of them, from the brutal orks, to the disillusioned cousins of man, paled before the Imperium's might. But they were infinite, and the Imperium's resources finite.
The Imperium must expand.
The Imperium will expand. It had to, to survive, even as it contracts.
Looking out of the bridge, through the auspex arrays of the Spirit of Sanguinius, Antros Imbael, Librarian of the Blood Angels, held no doubt as to their success. As his ship drifted past the gargantuan, continent sized bulk of an Ark Mechanicus, even he was in awe. This was no ship, it was a mobile forge world. His own Gladius frigate barely spanned the 't' of the name painted on the side of the gargantuan vessel.
"Omnissiah's Wroth"
The ship alone could destroy fleets of Imperial navy vessels alone, but as an afterthought it seemed, it was escorted by a trio of firestorm frigates also crewed by the Adeptus Mechanicus. With the industrial capacity of a forge world, it has the dock space of one too. Under its armored shell, manufactora built frigates, interceptors, tanks, guns, tractors, and any imaginable thing the fleet could possibly need or want.
But it was not alone, drifting past the 'Wroth, the auspex got a clear signal in the midst of their fleet. Sixty massive bulk freighters hung in the void like fattened fish, each one unique in its own design, make and world of origin, no design alike. Except for the ten in the middle of the squadron, looking battle worn and rusted, limping along as if wounded animals, protected by the herd. In Antros's peripehral, he could see Brother Sergeant Koltos leaning in to listen to the Serf-Captain and Tech Marine Carmine.
"A clever ruse is it not?" Serf-Captain Jellic grinned darkly. Antros knew Jellic well, why, the two had fought one another in the blood games at Angel's Fall, Jellic had defeated all who opposed him! It was when they had been taken in the Thunderhawks, and their blood tested, their bodies examined, that Jellic was deemed unsuitable, a waste it would have been to throw him into a Blood-casket and let him die with certainty. He was made part of the chapter's serfs and from their ranks he flourished.
His only failure had been a slight difference in genetics that made implantation certainly lethal. A shame, he would have made an unparalleled Angel. He was cunning and calculating, skilled in blade and bolter, and a marvelous tactician. Antros had no doubt that if his genes were but slightly different he would have been made Captain of a company by now. Only one hundred and fifty.
Koltos, without helm at this time of rest, cocked his head. The old Sergeant bore two golden studs with the Blood angel's device stamped in his cranium, denoting him as a vetearn of four hundred years of age. His noble face was besmirched by a litany of scars, burns, and augmetics. A vox vocaliser, augmetic eye, steel jaw, bionic ear, "I do not follow." He uttered, his vox vocaliser working perfectly, sounding smooth and fluid like blood dripping from a clean cut, "It looks like we were given rusted coffins instead of ships."
Indeed, the central ten ships of the bulk lifter formation appeared old and ragged. Glancing to the Auspex, Antros furrowed his brow, touching the servitor he intoned the rites of command, and ordered it to get a clearer look at the vessel in question. It appeared to be a light cruiser sized bulk freighter, Necromunda class to be exact. They were so numerous in the Solar Segmentum, that there were copies of it being made on Mars.
But something was off.
"It is all appearances honored Sergeant, under the guise of a wounded animal, a devious trick is being played." Jellic echoed, "Those are Necromunda Class Light Cruisers, anti piracy ships." His eyes lit up mischievously, "I have serious doubts as to if our own complement of Marines could take on even one of those ships."
Koltos fixed Jellic with an indecipherable look, caught between a spark of anger, and genuine curiosity no doubt. Jellic didn't make such claims lightly, "You see brother Sergeant," the smaller and aged man pointed to the auspex reading, "They feign helplessness, a piratical ship of chaos or traitors thinks it easy prey, boarding hooks are extended, tubes deployed. Torpedoes fired. Then when they're close, when they have hugged their prey, and prepare to sink their fangs." With a flourish the serf raises his arms and the voluminous robes dramatically, "The guns ports raise, lance batteries so close the gunners would have to TRY to miss, and on all vox frequencies, it is declared that they surrender to the Emperor's will! Counter boarding is initiated as twelve thousand and more strike back like a viper unto their attackers. The hunter is now the hunted."
Jellic's smile transformed to a grin as he turned to the auspex, "Imagine my lord, in the narrow halls of our ship, as hundreds, if not thousands of void suit clad hive gangers, so dedicated to your destruction that they will run over one another just to have the honor of engaging you in melee. As your holy bolter runs low of shells, you draw your gladius, but it is too late, a brute of a man latches on, he is not as strong as you, you throw him into the bulkhead, and then they're upon you, dozens, stabbing, shooting, sticking bombs and grenades upon your sanctified armor. Your holy form is made to attack, to strike, to use your strength, speed, intelect, and equipment to move before the enemy can respond. If we are boarded, there is little to do but disentangle and run." Jellic stroked his bare chin.
Koltos looked back to the unassuming ships in the midst of the flotilla, "If what you're saying is true, each ship holds a regiment of mortals." He breathed unconvinced, but his own intrigue piqued.
Jellic nodded somberly, "I have had the honor my lord of participating in anti eldar piracy in the Solar Segmentum, with the 9th squad 7th company. We made many assumptions about our charges, it would turn out they hardly needed our assistance. A waste of our angel's time it turned out. Still, a valuable lesson for us all."
They drifted past the remaining bulk freighters, instead of fattened fish, Antros saw reptilian predators behind a veil.
What took their place were real monsters. Taking the lead of the formation, a pair of twin Lunar class cruisers. The most common cruiser in the Imperium, even feral worlds could construct them. They were but minnows in comparison with the Ark Mechanicus taking up the rear, but deadly in their own right. They took up the lead of the formation of bulk lifters, but all around the bulk lifters was another sphere of defense, six Dauntless Light cruisers arrayed in a spherical formation around their precious charges. For in those many freighters held the objective of this fleet.
Nearly 200,000 munitorum adepts, workers, labourers, colonists, and camp followers resided in those massive ships. Their ultimate destination was the Ultima Segmentum, where they would be settled in the outer edges of the galactic rim, a supplementary colonization force to the Segmentum Ultima. These colonists were also refugees from the Segmentum Obscuras, where the 13th Black crusade currently raged above Cadia, many were now homeless, or the shattered remains of regiments which fought in the accursed conflict.
As they drifted on from the leading edge of the bulk lifter flotilla and their escorts, the engine burn of the Retribution class Battleship 'Divinity of Man' appeared on the auspex readings as miniature suns. Whilst the mechanicus had provided the Omnissiah's Wroth, the Divinity was the one who was actually expected to do any fighting. The Ark Mechancius was much too valuable to endanger in petty squabbles, and it was a miracle of politics the ship was providing an escort at all for the colonization fleet.
It too dwarfed the Spirit, but the battleship was still a fraction of the size of the massive mechanicus ship taking up the rear. Surrounding the massive vessel was its escorts, the bulky vessel ill suited to combat small ships like raiders and frigates, these Sword frigates were more than capable of seeing off any strike force of chaos frigates.
"Docking sequence initiated." A servitor intoned dully. Jellic looked dreamily at the massive battleship, perhaps envisioning himself manning the helm of such a powerful extension of the God Emperor's will.
Koltos sauntered up to Antros, he seemed hesitant, then spoke, "I'll assemble the squad, we shouldn't keep the conclave waiting."
Antros breathed out. Now would come the arduous part of this journey. Politics.
The sharp clang of feet hitting decking echoed along the gilded officer's halls of the Divinity of Man. General Eleonora Nizienko strode with purpose amongst her honor guard. The gold laden halls stank of sacred incense and antiseptic, a world's difference from the stifling and sour atmosphere in the lower decks where her regiments of guards resided.
Adepts and naval crewmen stood aside at attention as she made her way through. They weren't getting much work done, she could tell, the gallery had been awash with dozens of high ranking officers of the various organizations. The plush and luxurious crimson carpet she currently trod on was smashed and ripped by power armor footsteps, ruined by ash and oil lubricants rubbed in from the Sororitas and Cog-heads.
Now the dirty boots of her honor guard who had marched from the lower cargo and barrack decks were defiling it further.
"By the emperor this carpet costs more than a noble's ransom." She sneered under her breath in underhive low gothic, to the suppressed sniggers of her guards.
The gallery was indeed disgustingly rich for her tastes, a spartan woman, she had fought on one too many shitholes, and born the burden of too many fools to revel in wealth like this. She gritted her teeth and bore it however, let the navy nobles settle in their gilt and traditions, as long as her women and men were delivered to their trophy world the navy could snort gold dust and gill themselves to servo skull marital aids for all she cared.
Approaching the truly massive polished marble double doors, the quartet of naval ratings halted them. A servitor with an inbuilt bioscanner trundled up, "Please insert hand." It intoned obediently. Nizienko removed her leather glove and inserted it in the gap, a pin pierced her weathered appendage as it withdrew blood. She didn't even flinch.
"Access granted." It intoned in coral tones, before turning sharply and lumbering to the side allowing them passage. The double doors creaked, then parted for the Imperial Guard entourage.
Being the last to arrive, the General was destined to bear the weight of nearly a hundred eyes as she marched confidently to her seat at the table. The air was still, as if her ignominious entry had silenced a heated debate.
She stood by her seat, and met the eyes of those who were her equals in this journey. First was her naval opposite, Admiral Jorous Dorner. Dorner would have been nothing but skin and bone, ancient and wizened by centuries of life and war. But bulky cybernetics filled out his frame with artificial weight and deceiving mechanisms. The man's grey hair was a comb over for half his skull, replaced by a metal plate that had wires and cables extending under his blue naval uniform. His lower jaw was replaced with a vox caster and speaker also connected by wires and cables beneath the cloth of his uniform where untold technology was hidden under his uniform. The weight of gold and medals probably exceeded even his ballooned mass.
To his left was the Mechanicus representative, Magos Iane Oppier. He… She.. It was more heavily augmented than the dear Admiral. Hunched over like some obscene underhive freak, their lower mouth was a vox grill, pale grey flesh peaked around it, while the upper half was dominated by a fractal set of optical lenses, like a sump fly's eyes, a glistening carapace of sickly green glowing ominously under that cowl. The rest of the body could only be vaguely made out, as the trademark red robes of the mechanicus concealed all. Eleonora had no doubts that more than a few mechadendrites held laser or plasma weapons, even the servo arm that Iane certainly sported was enough to use its crab-like pincer to decapitate her in a flash. As her predecessor fell foul to, when he presumed a captured heretek subdued.
Continuing down the line, Chief Administrator Ivano Leder was alarmingly NOT the stereotypical Administratum drone. Thin to the point of skeletal, his face was framed by his angular skull and augmetic eyes. A far cry from the chronically obese desk frackers she had worked with before. Corded muscle rippled under his skin like over taut cables set to snap. His face was grim, his lips turned in like he was sucking on a sour candy.
To her left, the enormous bulk of a Space Marine stood. He was a Blood Angel. His crimson armor stood guts and chest above her, at his hip was a sword, in his hand a staff with an aquila head, and around his head a massive collar, with cables connecting to his skull crackling and humming. His armor purred, making her gums itch, her muscles spasming imperceptibly. Despite this he had a babyish face, with big brown eyes, and thick lips, he was cute in a young sort of way. Unmarked by war so far. She knew better, he could smack her, and she'd be decapitated, her chest smashed to meat pie, her hips shattered, her limbs taken off. That sword alone, which was more a large dagger to him, could eviscerate her, and if the slight dip in temperature was to go by, he was a psyker too.
To her right was Ecclesiarch Piuos Ansel, a broad, brooding man, he weighed a good hundred kilos more than Eleonora, and that was all muscle! His staff head was a brazier, burning golden flames, flickering shadow across his scarred and pitted face. Of everyone here, he was perhaps the only one devoid of augmetics, even his sororitas escort bore replaced eyes, limbs, fingers, and more. She felt she could take him as he stood, get in close pull one of her knives and get under his armpits to slit his arteries, he'd still kill her, if she knew ecclesiarchy members, he had a hand flamer on his body which in the last seconds before his blood pressure dropped, would immolate her.
Past him the Navis Nobilite Navigator of the fleet, a Sir Currie, stood imperiously, headband across his forehead, shielding his third eye. The mutant made Nizienko's skin crawl. Dressed in fine robes of gilded silk, he was, without a doubt, the richest man in the room.
Past him, was the real interesting sight. A hooded and robed woman. She could tell a woman from the smell when it wafted over the great table. Lavender and honeysuckle perfume, powerful, but not intoxicating. The only distinguishing symbol was the big red inquisitorial I on her heart. Presumably she was just on for the ride, if she were here on official business and not just to be nosy, she'd be more upfront about it in some fashion. Eleonora could relax then, she had travelled alongside and even worked with inquisitors. Many could be quite agreeable, but some were a hair's breadth from suffering a formal execution by the next person who could be alone in a room with them. While it never paid to underestimate an inquisitor, it did pay to understand the circumstance of their presence. Eleonora had nothing pertinent to hide at this time, and so stood confident if someone were to die today, it would not be her.
Dorner cleared his throat, a phlegmy cough as his Adam's apple bobbed, "Now that we are all here, we can lay out our course to our various destinations." He keyed an ignition rune and the table lit up in a holographic fashion, it flickered once, twice, then stabali- nope more flickering, a groan of disapproval emitted from the admiral, "Techpriest!" He called, and a red robed machine adept stepped from the shadows, his mechadendrites interfacing with a machine port.
Iane emitted a sharp squeal of machine noise, low enough to not overly grate the ears, thank the emperor, but loud enough to be noticed, a reply was sent by the tech adept, and the image focused and finally stabilized, the vision sharp and clear, "Apologies lords, the Machine has been ill tempered as of late." The Tech adept apologized with a bow, and remained at the table, mechendendrites flickering in small spastic movements. The image to a layman of the Imperium would have been incomprehensible without context, looking like a collection of motes of light and dust, hanging in the air, a galaxy map. It was purely astrographical in nature.
Clearing his throat again, Dorner leaned in and highlighted a sector of space, "The ultimate combined destination of this convoy is the Segmentum Ultima. From there we gather in sub sector Kariel, and embark through the Yukari Gap." Despite herself, Nizienko nodded, no deviations so far. "We will then finally convene at the mission station Sabbat's Tanith, and make our own separate ways."
He looked to each of the members of this high council in equal measure, "Normally this sort of information would not merit a full quorum of our presence." His finger keyed a different rune, and control of the machine fell to Iane.
"Indeed Lord Admiral." The tinny voice of a woman emitted, "The mechanicus does not send the greatest of the Omnissiah gifts on trivialities like refugee and Imperial Guard escort." Her mechadendrites interfaced with the machine, "It is our belief, that past the Yukari Gap, is an intact set of worlds uncovered by the warp storms that plague the region." The auspex reports appeared on the holographic image showing a clutch of worlds unphased by the passing interference of the empyrean.
"If these reports are to be believed, there is a prime system in the region for settlement and establishment of a forgeworld. We agreed, as part of our deal with the Administratum for our services, that we will claim the fifth world here," a planet popped up, an airless rock from the looks of it, the technical readouts indicated a high metallic content and the presence of Dark Age human inhibition, "as our own fief. In exchange, for the services rendered to his holy Omnissiah and the Imperium at large, the Imperial guard regiments will be given their trophy world, alongside the proper relocation of the two hundred thousand plus refugees of the Cadia sub sector." The ecclesiarch beside Eleonora tightened his grip on his staff every time the omnissiah was brought up, but beyond that, his emotional control was exceptional.
Sir Currie looked over, "My navigators have pre planned the route, if the tides are calm we shall arrive at our first supply waypoint in three months time. Until then, It is my advice to you all to prepare your forces for a prolonged trip in the Immaterium."
Administrator Leder looked to Nizienko, and arched an eyebrow, "Quite. The administratrum approves of these plans, and all the paperwork has been completed. General Nizienko, do you have any input on this course of action."
As if she had a choice, what weight would a humble ground pounder commander, leading five battered and bloodied regiments about to be disbanded, still…. "Are we sure this Yukari Gap will remain open? Forgive my ignorance Magos, Lord Admiral, but what guarantee do me and my men have that our children, our children's children, will not be cut from the Imperium's tether?" Many eyes shifted to Sir Currie, who hummed.
Closing his eyes, everyone waited patiently for his mind's eye to churn the very stuff of evil, "If my memory serves General, your concern is not unprecedented, but my peers in the Choir Astropathica have spoken. It will remain open for at least the next two thousand years, unless an unprecedented shift in the winds of the warp occurs. In which case being cut off from the Imperium will be the last of our concerns."
Everyone looked to one another, then an awkward silence fell, "So no objections? Master Librarian?"
"I see no reason to bicker." Came the low statement.
"General?"
"My Lord Admiral, if I truly believed I ever got a say in my life, do you think I would be standing here?" Nizienko disparaged.
"E-Ecclesiarch?"
The voice of an orator, booming and charismatic flowed, "I agree with the general, if I had actual power on if I was to be here or not. But I see no reason to judge the emperor's will on my path now." Nizienko couldn't help a slight smile, 'Why rock the boat when it will accomplish nothing?'
The Lord Admiral was lost for words, stammering, he looked to his right, to the inquisitor, "L-Lady Inquisitor? Surely YOU have objections?"
The hooded figure merely turned her shadowed head, and presumably meeting the Lord Admiral's eyes, "No."
A wave of discomfort passed through everyone, after a few moments of silence when it struck everyone like a ration pack to the face, "Unbelievable. Un-fraking-believable." Nizienko finally declared with a barking laugh, "The one time, the one damned time that politicking doesn't occur, happens when I'm finally going into retirement." She chuckled darkly, "It's the same for the rest of you too, ain't it? Ecclesiarch, 'retirement' to a world to set up a convent and settle down?" The ecclesiarch shifted his feet but eventually let out an imperceptible nod.
Nizienko's finger turned to the High Administrator, "Desk duty, end of munitorum service." She declared flatly.
"And not a damned moment too soon." Unheard grumbling after that emanated from the ancient man.
Her finger, accusatory, directed at the Admiral, "Newly formed Sub Sectoral fleet, protection of a forge world, piss easy duty. Retirement essentially."
The man straightened his gold laden jacket, which extended down to the floor with medals, "Glory is for the young! A quiet post to bookend my career, retire in fashion!" The human half of his face lifted into a smile.
The finger arched to the Techpriest, "We all know why you're here."
Machine noise spurted, as if in laughter, "Do you know how annoying the Martian council can get?" The feminine tinny grew in pitch, as if in laughing agreement. So that was everyone, except…
All eyes turned to the Librarian, his own eyes flickered as he met them all, "What? We wouldn't be here unless it suited our masters' will. Its not-"
"It's not like you answer to us, yes Master Librarian." The Lord Admiral finished. Then looked to each of his new found travel companions, with a slight uptick in his facial muscles he clapped his hands together and rubbed them, "Well, I guess I can get lucky in these meetings once a century! I believe this concludes today's meeting, Lords! Ladies! If you desire refreshment I would be happy to host you for a banquet tonight. Even you Magos! I don't want to miss this opportunity to encourage us all to work together in the future!"
"How did the meeting go, my lord?" A hooded navigator greeted Sir Currie, as he left the grand chamber.
"Surprisingly well. Everyone is tired, so the argueing was nonexistent. I believe our trip will be either uneventful, or disastrous with our luck today!" Entering a lift to the ships Navigator's Sanctum, "The benefit of working with veterans is they didn't give me a second thought. Shame most of them are retiring as we speak."
The lift stopped in the heart of the Navigator's Sanctorum, "We are to make all due course to our first relay! As soon as the bridge gives us the go ahead, the fleet will embark into the Warp and we shall begin our journey. For the Emperor and the Nobilite!"
The choir, numbering in the hundred all around him in tiered seating cried out, "For the Emperor and the Nobilite!"
The fleet transversed after a single hour more in real space, enough time for Magos Oppier to return to the Omnissiah's Wroth. She was the only delay in the departure, as she got on a shuttle and returned to her flagship. Three months at minimum was three months she could not bear to be away from her post. Looking out from the rapidly shuttering bridge windows, the leading edge of the fleet was pulled into the warp. The ships would remain in formation as best they could, so their gellar fields may overlap and give as much mutual protection as possible.
A grumbling of human mouths to her rear caught her attention, the ship's astropaths and Navigator representatives were complaining in their own coded languages. No matter, the Wroth would soon traverse- The entire ship rumbled as it was gripped and pulled into the pinkish abyss. Iane could feel it in her few remaining bones as she tightened her hold on her staff of office.
Something was wrong.
The fleet was in utter disarray! Antros tried to return himself to his feet, thrown across the bridge by the empyrical forces of the Immaterium as something happened. His mind warped and disoriented.
"Antros!" Koltos fell to his side, pulling him upright. The Librarian steadied, before tipping forward again and ejecting his last meal with a torrent of blood. His eyes wept crimson tears, his nose ran with it, rapidly crystallizing as it coagulated but running afresh atop the previous layer.
Teeth clenched, Antros sobbed out, "I saw him! I saw our Emperor!" He cried, finishing heaving out the last contents of his stomach. The last thing he could remember seeing, was the over bright shine of the Emperor's visage, with words on his lips. Antros fell forward, unconscious.
Chaos reigned as Eleonora came to. Her head ached with a splitting pain. Feeling her skull wet, she retracted it to see crimson. Sparks and stars cracked in her vision, and she could smell colors. Last she remembered, she had excused herself from the banquet to return to her men and follow Sir Currie's advice.
Searching about, she heard the faint clicking of a servitor, a broken one, its legs snapped, it tried over and over again to return to its feet. Seeing that, she felt a bit more fortunate. Pulling herself upright alongside a bulkhead, candlesticks and wax were littered and splattered across the floor, holy incense spilled from its jars and kettles to spread their ashes, intermixing with the congealing wax. The bouquet smelling of feet and sundried black.
She gagged, trying, then failed, to not throw up, vomiting acidic bile up onto the floor. Left heaving and dying to get back to the floor, she soldiered on. Dragging herself forward, she got to the next bulkhead's interface, seeing atmosphere and structural integrity green, she observed it had been locked down, using her officer override, she flashed her palm and pulled the latch, whispering an incoherent prayer to the Machine Spirit. On the other side, a work crew was repairing the various systems and cleaning. They all looked up immediately, and saw a haggard figure in the uniform of an Imperial Guard officer. They ceased what they had been doing and rushed forward, past her towards the officers quarters and dining halls.
Letting them pass, a rating and medicae stopped by her quickly, seeing her injury, they said something to her. She couldn't hear, merely looking at them blankly. They jabbered and jibbered, before pulling her down onto a litter carried by two servitors. She blacked out.
[Soundtrack - Ruthless Queen by Epic Score]
Lord Admiral Dorner thanked, not for the first time and certainly not the last, the Emperor for his magnetic feet. While many others in the ship went flying and were injured in their violent ejection from the warp, he remained upright and imperious, "Astropath! What the hell just happened?! Where are we?!" He boomed out with his vox assisted voice.
The Astropath, at the fore of his bridge, locked into a command throne, writhed and wrenched about, the cables and tethers holding him hostage in the machine threatening to snap and short circuit his nervous system, "The Beacon! I cannot see the beacon! It is gone!" He burst out, sounding on the verge of tears, "My Emperor! My Emperor, why did you fling us so?!" He screamed out, invading all of the bridge's mind with his babblings.
"My Emperor?! What did you mean! What did you mean with your vision? Who are these? Who are them? Why? Why?! WHY!?" The final tearing noises as he ripped the mechadendrite cables from his skull resulted in a frothing bubbling before dying out.
Sneering in disgust at the witch, he turned to his command crew, "Communications! Report status of the fleet!" An ensign manning the station had a broken arm, his brow was streaking blood as half his face had been torn from its place, hanging on his skull like a poorly fitted mask, "My lord! We have casualty reports across all decks of the ship. Reports from other ships claim the same, several bulk carriers have impacted one another, superficial damage only, the Ark Mechanicus has gone dark, escorts report power fluctuations across their vessels. Half the fleet is using visual signaling that all motive power has been lost!" Bad news and more bad news came, the only mercy was that no ship had been lost permanently.
"Bring all ships to tactical alert! Contact the Space Marines, I want them ready to counter any demonic incursions on our ships. Have the Lunar cruisers initiate search and repair protocols for the rest of the fleet. Get a line to the mechanicus, I don't care what you have to do, I want their priests crawling on our ships, I want everyone combat ready as soon as possible!"
"Sir!" The sensorium ensign called out, looking a little worse for wear compared to his compatriot, "I'm getting readings of several dozen unidentified ships making speed towards us! Largest are approximately three kilometers, squared cubes, each supported by a dozen 600 meter diameter spheres!" The man sounded shaken. Looking at his youthful face it was no wonder. The Lord Admiral gritted his few remaining teeth, damnit, if only he had his old crew! He had a bunch of pale faced juves!
The Lord Admiral shook his annoyance at their youthful inexperience, he needed no further warning, "Pull all escorts into formation!" He barked at the sensorium ensign, then immediately turned to the fire control commander, "Weapons, open fire on the larger vessels!" Escorts screen us! I want those Lunar cruisers deploying their fighter wings at the earliest opportunity, protecting the refugee fleet!"
A Communications ensign interrupted him, "Sir! Communications from the Spirit of Sanguinius, they're at full power and accelerating towards the unknown fleet to engage!"
His weapon's officer piped up next, "Sir, gunnery is reporting 40% efficiency, they need half an hour to repair the lances! Macrocannons on port and Prow side report full operation, awaiting target orders!"
Dorner snarled, "Cover the Spirit! Destroy those cubes!"
This chapter has been commissioned by Mace Shepard, at 5$ for a thousand words.
Writer is Blood Raven.
Author's Notes: Lets just get this out of the way now before I get a flood of reviews regarding it. I don't do hitfics, stomp fics, or grotesque stories of annihilation or blatant genocide. The story, is yes, a 40k/Trek crossover, but I'm not going to give special preference to either side in debate or power and instead look hard at the sources. If pre contact Federation is still using particle weapons and have fleet sizes in the dozens at most, that's because in cannon thats all they had. If the Imperials don't trust computers and have trouble adapting or understanding technology thats the breaks for them.
Look point being, I respect both properties for what they are and try to say. I'm not doing a spite fic, a stomp fic, or going to preach to you the reader about the rights, wrongs, evils, or goods of anything. Life is full of people, people with opinions the same and different, weird and familiar. My stories try to reflect that.
In conclusion If you like the story leave a review, they're an author's food pellets and can really lift the spirit and be helpful in identifying flaws or things that can use improvement.