PART 2
Daenor Varnn climbed slowly out of the doorway in the Glorificus Irae's left leg. He blinked as he emerged into the harsh artificial light of the transport's cargo bay.
The huge chamber had been specially refitted to carry Titans. Grav-plates lined the steel walls, which, when activated, would keep the Titan centered in the bay. Huge straps, meters thick, lay coiled at the edges, awaiting the servitors that would attach them to the Glorificus Irae. Crew scurried about the floor, preparing to secure the Titan ready for transit.
Not that it was necessary while actually in transit. Then, the transport's artificial gravity would hold the Titan in place, along with the Glorificus Irae's immense weight. It was during the drop landing that the restraints would be used, when the planet's gravity began taking an effect.
The voxcasters in the walls screeched with static for a moment, and then a voice emerged. "Princeps Varnn to the atmospheric launch bay. Repeat, Princeps Varnn to the atmospheric launch bay."
Daenor sighed, and began walking towards the access transporter that ran the length of the ship. The usual post-action briefing. He disliked leaving the Glorificus Irae, but this was one of the few events that he had no choice over.
It fell to the Archmagos Veneratus, the overall commander of the fleet, to organise all actions, and as such, he expected a thorough report on that action, from all points of view. The ship captains would have been called first, as was most convenient, and then the Skitarii, who were first to be withdrawn from the planet. Now it fell to the Princeps of the Titans attached to the fleet to make their report.
He thumbed the call-stud on the transporter, and it hissed at it arrived. The doors slid open with a quiet hum. He stepped inside, checking to see if anyone else required it, before shutting the doors and pressing the destination into the interface. The transporter made no noise as it travelled down the flank of the massive ship.
Silas Xanax stood, silent as usual, in the conference chamber of the Deus Mechanicus. He leant against the guard rail that surrounded the main area, arms crossed over his blood red uniform. Jacks and ports stood out silver against the crimson and the copper-coloured trim. He had not bothered to change after returning from Verdis, having preferred to watch as the planet died.
It was necessary to remain aware of the destruction unleashed, for whatever purpose, lest it be forgotten that it was destruction, and not simply a tool to be used. This sentiment was echoed more by the Skitarii within the force, than his brothers of the Adeptus Titanicus, shielded as they were from the combat and the death by meters of steel and iron, killing from afar with such power that deaths ceased to be deaths and became mere statistics and data.
Silas was unwilling to let that happen to him. He knew that the others saw him as silent, as brooding, but he refused to allow their impressions of him to strip him of his value for life. His attitude was born of the scars that the constant war had wounded him with, and he bore it as a mark of honour. As long as he could still feel those scars, he had that honour.
He looked up from beneath his long, midnight black hair as Daenor Varnn strode into the chamber. The Princeps had command of the Glorificus Irae, an immense Emperor-class Titan. It was the single most valued thing in the entire fleet, save perhaps for the Ark Mechanicus Deus Mechanicus. Millennia old, the Titan had seen rivers of the slain flow around its iron feet, had offered up countless souls to the Omnissiah with its weapons.
Silas shuddered to think of the weight of all that death. His own Warlord Titan, Mors Mortis, had a fearsome kill tally, and he forced himself to go over it each time he entered. Every machine he had destroyed, every soul he had ended was inscribed around the command throne, in a line of tiny letters that had become feet tall. It was his way of remaining humble even within the mind of a God-Machine.
The other Princeps' arrived, walking up the wide, engraved brass of the steps up to the conference area. Hieronymous Forlan, Princeps of the Sanctus Vires, another of the three Warlord Titans attached to the fleet, stood to Silas' right. He had changed, and wore formal dress in pitch black, with deep crimson embellishments. A brass-coloured cloak hung from one shoulder, an ostentatious display that Silas found impossible to appreciate.
Next to take a place was Kiera Lochast, the Princeps of the last Warlord Titan Vulgus Ruina. The tall woman's hair hung in straight waves down to the small of her back, and was stark white, seeming to ripple in the harsh lighting of the room. She stood on Silas' left, back straight, arms down by her sides. She wore a high-collared red robe so dark it was almost black, and her pale skin stood out in stark contrast to it.
Last to enter were the Princeps of the four Warhound Titans. Laenor Voshe and Adrax Torael moving to stand beside Forlan, while Selorna Barakash and Adamus Krieg stood next to Kiera. The four were the most lively of the group, lacking the decades of experience that gave the older Princeps their sombre attitudes.
Varnn cleared his throat, and then spoke. "I see we're all here. I will begin, then." He looked at each of the Princeps in turn. "Thanks to all of our actions on Verdis, the planet is deemed cleansed, and the fleet is preparing for departure as we speak."
"We're headed to the Eye again?" asked Forlan, sighing heavily. None of the Princeps truly wanted to enter the fighting around the Eye, but it was their duty, and none of them would shirk that duty for anything. They didn't have to like it, though.
"No," said Varnn, and the others looked up in surprise. "We have picked up a transmission from the edges of the Southern Rim, broadcast from a sensor probe."
Adamus looked incredulous. "We're leaving the Eye alone to chase after some transmission from a probe no one's heard from in millennia? Those things have been out there since before the Imperium!"
Varnn said, "Yes we are. Archmagos Koranek has deemed it prudent, given the nature of the transmission, to investigate personally, along with the fleet. Assuming favourable conditions in the Empyrean, we should not be longer than two standard months. That leaves us plenty of time to reach the Eye."
"And just what is the nature of the transmission, Daenor?" asked Kiera. Her voice was soft, barely audible, belying her viciousness in battle.
"It was an astropathic hail, though delivered mechanically, using a method that is impossible to recreate now. The sensor probe discovered evidence of an inhabited system, on the very edges of the Southern Rim."
"Inhabited?" said Forlan. "So it's Xenos we'll be fighting instead of Chaos-scum."
"Not necessarily," said Varnn. "Although it is highly likely. The only thing of interest, and the only reason that the Archmagos has decided to follow up on this immediately, is that the energy emissions traced are a rough match to base human technology from before the Dark Age of Technology."
"Before the Dark Age…" said Laenor, puzzled. "But how would it recognise them as that?"
"The probe apparently contains comparison logs of all readings encountered, as well as a simple chronometer. When it detected the readings, it ran them through its database, and discovered the similarity. And it is only a similarity. These reading seem to be more refined."
"How so?" asked Kiera.
"I'm not sure, exactly." Varnn smiled, and shrugged. "I guess we'll find out when we get there."
"Damn right," said Adamus. "My Dominus Cruor needs some enemies to kill."
"What," said Adrax, smirking, "you mean you didn't kill enough on Verdis? I saw you take out what must have been a full company of infantry with those Gatling Blasters of yours."
Adamus shrugged. "There's never enough bolts for those things. Even with all the storage filled with the things, it still only gives me enough for an hour or two."
Varnn cleared his throat, smiling. "Well, I guess that's this meeting over. Be on your transports with your Titans in three hours, in time for departure." He walked from the chamber.
The others followed, breaking up into groups, talking about their new destination. Of course, the ever-present argument over Titan performance, and which weapon configurations were more effective against which targets was still there, but for the moment, it had been displaced.
Silas shook his head, and walked slowly from the room. He had to prepare.