Ancra Mortis Chapter 13

The formal dining room was filled to capacity, men in naval uniforms sitting around long tables and talking at the top of their lungs as various dishes were brought out to them and the wine flowed freely. The room was located deep within the bowels of the Averof and it was an archaic recreation of proto-history. The decorative roof beams had been carved into a replica of an ancient wooden sailing ship's keel and oil burning lamps hung above to give an atmospheric effect. The walls were decorated with oil-paintings of famous ships of the Imperial Navy: the Lord of Light, Fist of Adamant, Hammer of Scaro, His Will, Divine Right and the Lord Solar Macharius, to name but a few.

Sitting at the wide tables were a collection of senior and junior naval officers, flight officers, senior doctors, ship's clergy, commissars and most unusually a handful of Space Marines in deep blue robes. This was the victory dinner in the Captain's mess, a naval tradition that predated Mankind's journey to the stars and to refuse attendance would have been the gravest of insults.

Sitting at the high table Toran was surveying the room, taking it all in with his augmetic eye. Technically, as this had been an Astartes-led mission, he could have hosted the dinner, but somehow he doubted the navy men would have appreciated his Chapter's fare. Nourishing as it was the tailored, chemically-laced Synthi-gruel the Initiates were fed lacked something in flavour. It was a running joke among the brothers that the Ceramite repair paste they used to patch up their armour was more palatable, so Toran had tactfully agreed to let Captain Mandas host the victory dinner.

Toran was sitting in blue robes, feeling exposed without his thick ceramite plates and his hands itched to be so far from his weapons. Toran looked down at his plate which held a thick slab of braised meat, perhaps it was a delicacy but the Captain had barely taken a few mouthfuls. It was not common knowledge but among an Astartes' many organs was the Omophagea, which allowed them to absorb genetic information via ingestion. At peak capacity the implant could ingest genetic information and muscle memory, stealing instincts and impressions from a brain, but even without the hypnogoic mantras required to awaken it the organ still told him a lot about the animal's being. Toran knew far more about his meal's life and instincts than he wished to know, so the Captain was merely picking at a few root vegetables on his plate.

Toran looked around the room and saw his command squad scattered about, each of them looming over their dinner companions and disturbing the conversations by their mere presence. Toran had invited his squad as a diplomatic gesture, but seeing how awkwardly they were faring among mortals, he was starting to seriously regret bringing them. On one table Bylan was drawing horrified stares, without his armour the sheer mass of augmetics built into his chest and throat were exposed and his companions seemed to be put off their dinner by the sight. Bylan himself was taking it stoically but Toran could see how uncomfortable he was by the glances and whispers all around him.

Elsewhere Novak was using a table knife to demonstrate fencing techniques to a pale-faced junior Astrogation officer. The man looked terrified by the steel flashing an inch before his eyes and he dared not move a muscle, yet in all the decades Toran had known him, he had never seen the Champion slip once and he knew that the man was perfectly safe. Meanwhile Furion seemed to have got into a confrontation with an Ecclesiarchy priest, given the acrimonious history between the Storm Heralds Chapter and the religious branch of the Imperium this was hardly surprising. The Priest seemed to be taking the opportunity to vent his grievance on the Sergeant; yet Furion was sitting utterly silent with his hands laced before him, staring unerringly at the tonsured man. The Priest was trying to work up to a frothing tirade but he was being distracted by the relentless, unblinking stare and he kept forgetting his point, stammering and blustering pathetically as Furion's gaze bored into him.

On another table Jediah was tucking into his meal with gusto, seeming to not share Toran's dislike for the meat. Toran had always found Jediah to be a bloodthirsty Marine but this was just disturbing, he actually seemed to be enjoying the experience with relish and had a Chaplain been present he would have just earned himself a week of penance for gluttony. Persion leaned over from his own seat and Toran's Lyman's ear effortlessly cut through the hubbub to hear him say, "How can you eat that muck?"

Jediah growled, "I'm hungry, but I will admit this slop is not as appetising as Ork brains."

Persion shook his head and said, "Then maybe you should have filled up while we were on the Greenskin's ship."

Jediah shrugged, something one could not do in power armour, as he said, "There was no time to stop for a snack while we were there."

As their table companions turned green Toran returned his attention to his own plate, pushing the meat about with a fork, hardly believing he would ever miss a bowl of Synthi-gruel. From his side a voice spoke up saying, "Not enjoying that?" Toran looked at the speaker and saw it was Commander Grenfeld, the officer had been rewarded for valour under fire by a promotion and a seat at the high table. It was a prestigious reward for any officer, but that was not the biggest surprise, the most startling thing was that Grenfeld was a woman. She was a stern-faced individual with a high collar and a pinched narrow face, her hair was bound up in a tight bun and traces of grey that hinted she would soon be in need of her first Juvenant treatment.

Toran knew that the Imperial Navy was notoriously hidebound and patriarchal, so women in the service either wilted under the prejudice or developed nerves of steel and spines of compressed Adamantium. There were few women in high positions, but those who had risen had risen high indeed. Grenfeld had a look in her eye that proclaimed she would go far. Grenfeld was talking again saying, "That's prime Carnodon meat, our valiant Commissar Kaath-Dousmanis boasts that he tracked it down over a three-day hunt and it shot himself."

Toran looked further down the table and saw a man sitting in the uniform of a chief Commissar, with a red sash and a ridiculously decorated Chainsword, worn to a formal occasion as was the discipline master's right. The Captain took the man in with a glance, seeing the softness of his un-calloused hands and the lack of muscle tone in his arms, Toran instantly deduced that the man had never swung his Chainsword outside of the practice cages. He was doubtlessly a blood relation to the great Lord Admiral Dousmanis and Toran concluded that the Commissar had gained his prestigious rank via his family connections rather than merit. Toran could well believe Kaath-Dousmanis had shot the animal in question, his organs were was telling him that the meat was too fat to have ever lived in the wild and that it was chemically tainted with opiates. The man may have pulled the trigger but the beast had certainly been heavily sedated beforehand and probably spent its whole life in a pen.

Toran was saved from making an undiplomatic comment as Georgios Mandas leaned over from the head of the table and said, "I understand congratulations are in order, I hear your Chapter has claimed the head of the Ork warboss on Glaeba."

Toran was grateful for the distraction and said, "Captain Erathor personally claimed the head of this Rotskarr, another triumph for the Imperium. The Orks hordes are already breaking up and being driven into the mountains, we estimate the crisis will be reduced to manageable levels within twelve days."

Grenfeld interjected, "Then you will not be staying?"

Toran replied, "No, the Emperor's wars call us away, the Tyranid front is advancing upon the Saint Karyl Trail and our strength is desperately needed. Once the Orks are broken we will leave their eradication to the Guard."

Mandas declared, "I think the crews of the troop ships will be glad to hear that, ever since you gave that Chaplain a taste of command he's been making their lives a merry hell."

Grenfeld commented, "You would not believe the number of complaints the vox operators have processed, it almost rivals the number of demands your Chaplain has sent to have the crews flogged."

Mandas joked, "If I didn't know better, I would swear your man's actually enjoying himself."

Toran chuckled and said, "It is good to see him in such fine spirits, but what of yourselves, where are you going next?"

Mandas drew in a breath and said, "Nowhere, for now, both the Averof and the Spetsai took a mauling and are badly need of a refit. We will stay over Glaeba and provide orbital fire support until a Mechanicus Forge-Tender can be rerouted to tend to our wounds."

Toran nodded and said, "I am sure they won't keep you in the rear for long, the Imperium desperately needs men like you at the front Georgios."

Mandas took the compliment and said, "I thank you but we will need fresh command crews sent to us first, the Navy lost too many good men in this battle. Why my own executive officer was promoted only yesterday to take command of the Spetsai, leaving me without a Number One."

Toran frowned and said, "The Spetsai, but what of Grenfeld?"

Grenfeld snorted and said, "Not bloody likely," as she resentfully bit down on a chunk of braised Carnodon.

Mandas qualified that statement saying, "The Lieutenant-Commander here did exceptionally well to take charge at such a critical juncture, but that is not enough to earn a ship command in and of itself. There is a long, long line of officers with higher connections waiting for ships to become available."

Toran picked at a tuber on his plate and commented, "But surely some reward is warranted?"

Mandas said, "Actually I was thinking of offering her the post of the First Officer on the Averof."

Grenfeld spluttered on her mouthful and swallowed half of it in surprise. Toran had to suppress a grin at the sight as she turned bright red and frantically grabbed a mug of water. He knew Mandas was boisterous by nature and suspected that he had deliberately held his remark until her mouth was full. It was a big promotion for the officer but Toran was certain it was deserved, Mandas had an eye for talent and would not promote someone who could not handle it.

The statement caused a stir of conversation around the high table and from further along Toran heard Commissar Kaath-Dousmanis mutter something about Grenfeld keeping the Captain's bed warm, but the Astartes didn't understand that comment. Surely a First Officer's role would be too important to include menial laundry duties. The Space Marine made a mental note to track down the Commissar later on and press him for details on the matter.

Meanwhile Grenfeld was coughing furiously to clear her throat while Mandas was waving a callow ensign forward, who bore a corked bottle. The man took the bottle as he said, "Now I believe we have a wager to settle, may I present you with this Gorsk white Gyn, bottled in 925.M41. It may be little coarse, but with your metabolism I doubt anything thinner would even touch the sides."

Toran held up a hand and a servitor stepped up with another bottle as the Captain proclaimed, "My gratitude, but I believe it is we who owe you. May I gift you with this bottle of ceremonial wine from our Reliquary, it is older than any man here."

Mandas smiled but said, "I'm afraid by my count the Light of Terra claimed more kills than the Averof."

Toran replied warmly, "Ah, but without you and your ship the Light of Terra would not be here, and neither would I."

Mandas smiled and said, "Then let us not call it a wager but an exchange of gifts between friends."

Toran nodded and as the respective wines were poured, "My Chapter is glad to count you among our allies."

Mandas stood and raised his glass, the room paused and everyone raised their glasses as he said, "A toast then, to stalwart friends."

Toran raised his own glass and proclaimed, "To brotherhood, may it forever bring us victory."

The Storm Heralds adventure Continues in Fame Cimex