Sedreth moved swiftly through the combat sequence. He was not wearing armour, though he often practised in it. Today was a day for un-armoured practice; as was every second day. He slid into the standard sixth sequence, moving rapidly and confidently. Sitting on her usual bench, holding her worn stuffed bear, Janey watched him.
She had been a constant presence at weapons practice since the episode with the Word Bearers; he had even taken her through the basics he was teaching her mother. Sedreth was unsure why he was teaching them. They were female; would never have the speed, strength or stamina of an astartes marine. But it felt right. Sara Smitsen – Sara Tarken now, since he had arranged a false identity for her via a series of old, old cut-out contacts in the Administratum – and her daughter were important, although he did not know why.
For her part Sara had told him that the training felt less like something new, than like old skills being relearned, taken up again now that there was need. It scared her, she admitted. It scared him too, knowing too well what the chaos powers were capable of. And she learned fast, far faster than he had any right to expect.
Janey, too, now he came to think about it, had an incredible appetite for knowledge, soaking up lessons like a sponge. She was already competent with the scan system, for all that she was still a seven-year-old, with a child's grasp of literacy. Her understanding of the symbolism on tacscan was almost instinctive; like her mother, as if skills once set aside were simply being re-taken. As for that teleport, she could use it better than he.
He finished the sequence, sweat dripping off him, and bowed to the Legion banner – the codex banner, taken from where it had hung untouched in a secondary armoury on the control tower's lower levels. He thought back to the day they'd explored that small portion of the ancient vessel.
"Mr Morgan, where are you going?"
"I thought I should re-visit parts of the ship I have not. Would you care to come along?"
"Can I ride the transporter?"
"Yes, if you wish."
They had ridden the lift down together; he had been armed and armoured, just in case, but had not truly expected trouble. And there had been none. Just the endless corridors, still and quiet under a thick coating of dust, untouched in eons. The lights, coming up automatically in reaction to his presence, had shown the missing spaces where the two-headed aquila had once hung embossed opposite the Legion's still gleaming winged talon. The original winged talon, he had noted, still bright after all this time; the aquilas must have been removed after the Rebellion, but before the Legion has evolved its insignia to be more feral. They'd moved from room to room, finding empty shelves where once there had been libraries, bare chambers silent and still, and then the secondary armoury and repair shop.
It was there that they'd found them. Marks IV, V and VI armour, twenty-six untouched and dust-covered suits in codex purple and gold. He'd traced the names on the shoulder-plates, remembering faces, the dead of the Legion, casualties of Murder. Beyond the massive, dusty, and otherwise empty, room, there had been dozens more, scarred and broken, set on stands to await a repair that had never come. He remembered then how the Century had been brought up to strength with survivors from other units, marines who had already had their own armour and weapons. The techmarines, all but Skeller, had died on Isstvan III. Skeller himself had died in a nameless battle against the World Eaters of Khorne, and since then this room had been left, with no-one caring to repair the armour of the fallen. Or perhaps no-one even realising, as he had not, that this was here, reminder of all they had once been.
He had almost wept at the futility, the stupidity of his brothers, pawns to be played by an uncaring power in some game they couldn't even conceive of. And he had, impulsive, re-powered the automatic maintenance systems. That corridor, all the control tower corridors and rooms, shone now, the ages of dust swept away is if they had never been. It gave him little ease, was still too deep a wound to be comfortable. He had not dared the ancient chapel, not wishing to see it desecrated, and almost less keen to find it untouched. That section of the control tower remained unexplored, the body of the ship, likewise. He had a horrible idea what he'd find, and had no wish to face again the ghosts of memories past. Not, at least, until he had done something worthy of the Legion, of Tarvitz and Demeter and all the rest.
He watched as Janey stepped up and copied his bow and salute precisely. She rarely spoke during these times, just watching, a silent reminder of what he should be. Strangely, it was almost comforting to know he had something yet to aspire to beyond a violent death. What that something was he had no idea, yet, but he could feel it, like an onrushing wave. He walked into the shower, leaving her to her own devices for the small time it would take to cleanse his body of sweat and grime.
They walked together to the lift, took it the three floors up to the bridge where Sara was on watch. They were in warp transit, the Geller fields online, and his adult student was not merely monitoring, but also working through the exercises he had set her at the pilot's station. She had fought half a dozen minor skirmishes beside him now, and her left cheek bore a faint scar courtesy of an ork blade snapping off when parried, but her natural talents really lay elsewhere, on a starship bridge. She had used scan, nav, gunnery, as well as flight, but it was as a pilot that she showed true aptitude and he was not so arrogant of his own skills in that area as to deny hers. Who would have thought that a settler's wife could be so talented?
"How are you doing?"
"I'm reworking my errors," came the distracted reply.
"Errors? How many did you make?"
"Two. The calibration of the insystem drives, and the timing of the third course change."
"Mmm. How far were you out?"
"Point six three percent on the drives and three point two seconds, mostly because of the drive calibration. But I think my solution is more optimal than the one in the exercise; that's what I'm checking."
He hid a smile. She was a natural, and a perfectionist. He wasn't going to tell her that getting within five percent would be a pass for a veteran Navy pilot in advanced training.
He took his normal station: weapons tactical and aux scan/comms. It was definitely a lot easier with more than one person on the bridge, he mused. A light blinked. He looked round.
"Janey, did you do anything?"
"No, Mr Morgan. It just came on. Incoming comms signal. Imperial frequencies – sorry, space marine frequencies."
"Put it through the speaker, Janey," he said.
The signal was distorted by distance and the warp, hissing and static almost breaking it up. "..urance. Code 917. Any astartes vessel, respond. Repeat this is Black Templars strike cruiser Righteous Endurance. We request assistance under emergency protocol 917."
He took the mike, grateful for the long-hacked Imperial protocols available, and answered. "This is Eyes of the Phoenix, responding to your emergency call, Righteous Endurance. Are you receiving?"
Nothing.
"Janey, boost our signal to max and tighten it to audio only."
Small fingers switched buttons confidently. "Ready, Mr Morgan."
"This is brother-sergeant Morgan aboard rogue trader vessel Eyes of the Phoenix, responding to your emergency call, Righteous Endurance. We are sending audio only to ensure reception. Are you receiving?"
"Eyes of the Phoenix, we are receiving you in the Emperor's name. This is captain Matisse, 4th company Black Templars. Request confirmation of your identity, code 547."
"Transmitting now, brother-captain." He hit the keys in question. "How can we assist?"
"Code received and affirmed, brother-sergeant. We are engaged with a spur of tyranid hive fleet Behemoth in the Caltenis system. Transmitting tactical schematic. Three ships lost, two crippled. We cannot hold the accursed xenos much longer; we require additional transports to assist in system evacuation. How quickly can you get here?"
"Calculating now, brother-captain." He looked at Sara, already busy at the navcomp.
She looked at him, stricken. "Sixteen hours at max, Sedreth. Assuming we don't get lost in the warp with the change of direction."
He nodded. "Brother-captain, our eta is sixteen hours and seven minutes. Altering course to your location, by the Emperor's Grace."
The deep voice came back. "Acknowledged, Eyes of the Phoenix. Be advised system is extremely hostile. We shall remain engaged as long as possible, in the Emperor's name."
"In His glorious name, brother-captain, Eyes of the Phoenix out."
Sara was already bringing the drives up to full power. "You realise that every warp entity for a hundred parsecs will be drawn to us like a moth to a flame?"
He shrugged. "The old lady will keep us safe. We have no options, Sara."
She nodded. "Course laid in."
Even through the compensators he felt the acceleration as the ship moved through the immaterium like a sharp knife. He grinned tightly. "Janey, we will need to be well-rested and fed. Can you go to the kitchen and start on the evening meal? Once we have eaten, you and your mother can get a few hours of sleep."
"Yes, Mr Morgan. Are we going to rescue them?"
"Black Templars don't usually need rescuing. I hope we are in time," he said grimly. "Sara, I want you to send an update on automatic every hour until we're two hours out. By that time you'll be awake again and we can fine tune the precise eta."
She nodded as Janey disappeared into the corridor.
Brother-Captain Matisse looked at the comm officer. "Monitor that channel. I want to know about any change in eta."
"Yes, sir," said the woman. Matisse turned and headed for the astartes decks. Three ships lost out of seven. The Chapter could not afford much more. He tongued his comlink.
"Brother-sergeant Thesiel, have we any record of a trader-vessel named Eyes of the Phoenix and if so, under what astartes chapter is it currently operating?"
The answer was not long in coming. "Negative, brother-captain. The only record of a ship by that name was an astartes strike destroyer, lost towards the end of the Great Crusade, or perhaps during the accursed Heresy. That ship was registered to the Third Legio Astartes."
Emperor's Children? Hardly the most likely rescuers; if the ship appeared at all – sixteen hours in the warp at max was risky to put it mildly – he somehow doubted those Emperor-cursed heretics would deliberately get involved in a fight with tyranids. Not to mention that the protocol was up to date. "What in the Emperor's name is a strike destroyer?"
"Obsolete type, brother-captain. Since superseded by strike cruisers. I don't have data on any armament, although there is still one of the same class registered to the Raven Guard, so I would suggest it retains some viability."
Matisse nodded absently as he went up in the lift. Thesiel was waiting for him when he got out.
"Anything else?"
"No, brother-captain. No other ships have responded as yet; the accursed xenos put out a psychic dampening which makes it difficult for transmissions to get through."
He clicked off and looked enquiringly at the grey-haired sergeant in his black armour.
"Squads one through seven are prepared for the planned boarding action, sir."
"Very well. Have we full tactical assimilation?"
"Yes, brother-captain."
"Then launch when we are within range. We have to slow those thrice-cursed monsters down somehow."
"By your command, brother-captain."
"What are you doing, Sedreth?"
"I'm powering up the ship's chapel, Sara. I checked; it's untouched. We may need it available if we have Black Templars as guests."
"Why?"
"So that they don't shoot us on sight."
"Oh. Oh, I see." She took her seat at the pilot's station and began plotting course options.
Matisse watched as the tyranid vessel exploded. A glorious victory under other circumstances, but today the cost was too high. Only two squads had managed to 'port out. A second such action was unlikely to be successful. Implacable was running low on ammunition and would have to pull back to provide lance support only. He cursed quietly. They were losing – would, according to the best tactical model he could calculate, be defeated within another twelve hours – but they couldn't pull out while an inhabited planet, even just a small mining colony like this one, was being evacuated. He would not live with the stain on the chapter's honour; better to fight to the last than run and leave helpless civilians to be wiped out by the xenos.
"Captain, how long until evacuation is complete?"
"Sir, a full evacuation will be another thirty hours, at least. The governor is refusing to leave; he demands the right to stay and command the defences."
Matisse nodded. "Tell him the Black Templars are honoured by his courage. Inform him also that he is to evacuate children and young mothers only with immediate effect. All other citizens are to stand and defend. We shall hold this system to the last."
"By your command and the Emperor's Will." The link clicked off. Matisse gave a cold, hard smile as another freighter went to warp with its precious cargo of refugees. Another few thousand or so saved to serve the Emperor. He returned his attention to the tactical display which was starting to look grim indeed.
"This is Eyes of the Phoenix to Righteous Endurance. Our eta now twenty-seven minutes. Request tactical update."
"This is brother-captain Abdiel aboard strike cruiser Implacable. Righteous Endurance detonated her engines eight minutes ago. We are the last Imperial ship in the system. Colony Caltenis Prime is now cut off by tyranids and engaging invading xenos. They indicate that they cannot hold for more than another half hour; there is no possibility of approaching to evacuate remaining personnel. Governor S'katenet has ordered a power systems overload. The blast radius will be approximately twenty thousand kilometres and should eliminate all xenos on-planet. Estimated time to detonation, fourteen minutes. Implacable is crippled and we are engaging xenos forces on decks seven through twenty. Sending final missive from Governor S'katenet for your onward transport. No evacuation from this vessel will be possible. I am transmitting a full battle report for your onward transportation. Eyes of the Phoenix, you are ordered to disengage and report to the fleet main base and Lord Commander Calgar at Macragge."
"This is Eyes of the Phoenix. Acknowledge your transmission. Negative the change of course. We have sufficient shielding and firepower to make one pass, and the course for Macragge already laid into our nav computers. We shall attempt long-range evacuation by teleport. Initiate teleport signal boost on our mark. By the Grace of the Emperor, we shall succeed. Phoenix out."
"Brother-captain, they just cut transmission."
Abdiel, a tall, scar-faced warrior with cold eyes, nodded. "They better be right about their shielding and fire-power; those messages must get through to the Ultramarines. Pull as many of our warriors back as we dare; we shall set up a defensive perimeter on this deck. Brother Andus, can you engage engine detonation sequence?"
The techmarine shook his head. "Negative, brother-captain. The ship's systems are too damaged. However, I may be able to engage them by patching in my own equipment."
Abdiel met his brother's calm gaze. "That will mean you cannot leave the ship, correct?"
"Correct, brother-captain. But I will need to patch in personally in order to clean the teleport signal in any case."
Abdiel nodded slowly. "Very well. Do it. We shall cover you as long we can."
The techmarine gave an immaculate salute and gently moved engineering officer Mar'kel aside, extending his own implanted tech probes to interface directly with the ship's machine spirit.
Captain Est'l'herth gave a cool but controlled look as his crewmen were moved aside. Abdiel met the man's gaze with a fractional nod of approval. He was worthy of a captaincy, this man. "Brother-captain, what are your orders for the bridge crew?"
"Weapons officers to keep all weapons firing as best you can; the rest, barring you," he indicated the comm officer, who nodded, "take up defensive positions for interior combat."
"For the Emperor, brother-captain." The bridge crew drew their side-arms with grim determination.
"Janey, this is the control for the starboard battery. It's just like the game you play of shooting blobs, alright? The trigger is here, and the indicator moves as you move the control, understand?"
"Uhm yes, Mr Morgan. It's a bit stiff though."
"Try now."
"That's better."
"Good. Bringing shields to max. All weapons systems online. Lances charging. Sara, you have the lances; they're old and need replacement parts which we don't have. You have one full-power shot, so make the most of it. You probably won't get another. Janey, when I tell you, lock in the teleport and grab as many signals as you can, alright?"
"Yes, Mr Morgan." She sounded nervous. As well, he considered, she might. This was not a place for a seven-year-old. Even a seven-year-old who'd blown the legs off a Word Bearer. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and took his seat, bringing the other batteries to readiness and loading the tactical report they'd just received.
"Exiting warp in ten seconds," said Sara. She spoke into comm. "This is Eyes of the Phoenix. ETA immediate. The Emperor's Grace on you."
Emperor's teeth but that was a big trader-ship, thought Abdiel as the warp-gate opened. Comm officer Lamoten was already speaking.
"Eyes of the Phoenix, this is Implacable. Our engines are set for detonation in four minutes and counting. We are engaging xenos on the command deck. Your window for teleport in two minutes and forty seconds; thirty-second window."
A woman's voice came back. "Acknowledged, Implacable. The Emperor protects. Main lances will clear a space for teleport in two minutes and fifty seconds. Please bring your signal boost online at that time."
Lamoten looked briefly at him, and he nodded to Andus who gave a sharp nod. "It will be close, brother-captain."
Abdiel shrugged inside his armour, turning back to the main doors in time to see them burst inwards. Brother Lieth jumped into the gap, his assault cannon thundering defiance. Abdiel opened fire, trying to keep the onrushing horde from their last Terminator. Beside him the bridge officers and crew stood in a firing line, sending volleys of las-pistol fire down the corridor, and his last two astartes bellowed battle cries as they added full automatic bolter fire to the fury of combat.
Behind him Lamoten spoke, her voice somehow remaining calm and controlled. "One minute to window. Eyes of the Phoenix is engaging xenos spores."
"For the Emperor!" bellowed Abdiel, switching his own bolter to full auto. A monstrous form lunged at him from the middle of the mass and he drew his powersword one-handed, meeting its charge without hesitation.
Sara pressed the fire control and a beam of focussed energy ripped a wide hole in the surrounding spores. "Teleport now, Janey."
Janey nodded, dropping the fire control and focussing on her more important task. Sedreth switched the battery control to his own station, laying down the heaviest fire he could.
"Implacable, teleporting now."
"Mr Morgan, I think I got them, but I think I got a tyrrienid too."
Sedreth swore under his breath. "I'll deal with that. Sara, get us out of here. Janey, fire everything we have, proximity burst at two thousand metres; you remember how?"
"I 'member, Mr Morgan," came the reply as the girl flicked switches. He ran from the room, trusting his ship to a seven-year-old girl-child without a flicker.
Sara ignored the thunder of bolter fire from below and shoved the mains in full. "Course for Macragge, warp in twenty seconds, Geller fields at max. Janey, fire another barrage."
"Yes, mummy," came the excited reply.
On her screens there was sudden gap in scan as Implacable blew up in a flare of energy, taking thousands of spores and mature creatures with her. The warp drive ripped a purple-lightninged hole in reality and they were gone.
"Sedreth, what's going on down there?"
There was a hideous screeching and more bolter fire, then silence. Sedreth's voice came through the internal speaker. "Our uninvited guest is dead. Bring me down medical packs, as fast as you can. We have two wounded and three dead."
Janey's face fell, but she scrambled down from her chair and ran for their small infirmary and the medical kits.
It was better, later, when they'd laid out the bodies in the chapel. Sara looked at the ancient room and the bodies lying in front of the altar; a simple affair bearing only the aquila and the winged talon device that Sedreth had told her was the Imperial insignia for the Emperor's Children, from before the Heresy. In the dim lighting she could see great banners hanging, so enshrouded with dust as to be grey rather than any other colour, and a series of alcoves extending into darkness. The lights needed replacing in here, she thought. Though it felt somehow right that the five bodies lay in semi-darkness, as if the ship mourned them too.
The two huge space marines in their black armour dwarfed the other bodies, especially the woman, who had still had her headset on when she'd landed on their deck. A massive claw had been driven through her chest from behind, although, covered to the neck as they were with white shrouds you couldn't tell and she seemed to be only sleeping. Janey had been very upset when the two wounded crew had died, of some sort of venom and despite their best attempts to save them. Sedreth had taken her aside and told her that she'd done her very best and that it was a miracle they'd managed to get anyone off the Implacable at all, but Sara knew that she still blamed herself.
She sighed and left the silent shrine to its own devices, heading upwards to find and comfort her daughter.