Chapter 1: Star of Northam
Northam Prime was not a planet settled for its natural beauty.
From orbit, it was a simple, grey dusty bowl of a planet, just over half the size of Holy Terra, marked with thorny ranges of razor-sharp mountain crags – most of these regions far too treacherous to be settled by even the most determined or suicidal – and often swathed in immense dust storms when the chill gale winds kicked up the detritus of the plains. There was little cloud cover too, so the residents had to endure a harsh sun outside of the cities and settlements. The only other feature of note on the world was its continental ocean that sat upon the planet's eastern hemisphere, though the people universally referred to it as the Northam Sea: the only part of that world which held life.
No, Northam Prime was settled owing to the suggestion of Jeremiah Northam, three centuries before. His fellow captains saw little of worth in this world, on the fringes of the galaxy, sharing its sparse system with three other tiny worlds, and wanted to move on. But Old Man Northam – relying upon that particular instinct that only considerable experience offered you – had insisted they remain and settle. And in the end, Northam's faith paid off, after vast reserves of ores and minerals were discovered within Northam Prime's crust. Initially, seven cities were founded, which grew and developed over time, fingers of towering rockcrete walls and sprawling hab blocks that crossed the dust.
Now twenty such cities marked the dusty plains, twenty constructs which appeared as dark blots from orbit, marked with thousands of twinkling lights, some of them encircling the base of mountain peaks, others sprawling along the shores of the Northam Sea, great platforms and fishing refineries reaching out into the endless blue to receive the great fishing vessels that plumbed those deeps. Others still were almost proto-Hive structures, as they started to raise towering scaffolds supporting great rockcrete, steel and adamantium peaks. And further dotting the plains and burrowing deep under the mountain rock were thousands of mining facilities, plumbing Northam Prime's crust and mantle.
Matthias could see all of this now as he peered out of the viewing port of the transport. He had little choice really: they were all pressed in as tightly as blue bait that his only view that he had when he found a comfortable position was the viewing glass in front of him while there was a general murmur of low conversation around him. There was also the odd elbow into his ribs, and the sour, dank aroma of so many human bodies pushed into the same space. He coughed and shuffled his feet a little closer together, shielding his freshly-issued pack from those around him.
"Quite the view, isn't it?" said a voice to his right, from someone pressed so close to him that the voice sounded almost thunderous, and Matthias flinched involuntarily from the sudden noise. The man was pressed in like Matthias was, so he couldn't see anything save for the sleeve of an old, moth-worn, PDF jacket in the classic 'Northam' blue, as it was called.
"Sorry?"
"Space," the voice replied, and the word prompted Matthias to look once more. This time, he could see the endless void out there, decorated with thousands of individual winking lights of the distant stars, beyond the natural curve of Northam Prime herself. "I've lived on Northam Prime my entire life, and yet we're just an infinitesimal part of this overall galaxy. It sure makes you reevaluate our place among the stars, doesn't it?"
"Yes," said Matthias, only because he felt like he needed to say something. The transport ship was starting to shudder violently as it pulled a sudden change of course, and he swallowed down his rising unease at having no control over his immediate fate, and he turned back to looking out into the endless void again.
There was something else out now, something immense. So immense, that it created a thick black void that even blotted out the stars themselves. As they drew closer and pulled in alongside the immense shape, it began to resolve into more detail. Matthias could see the cannons that bristled along its flank, saw the crenulations in its steel hide, saw the countless lights that illuminated it, and he saw the massive, towering vox masts that crested its top side.
"Emperor's breath…" he whispered, as he took in the splendour of the Star of Northam, one of the many jewels of the Northam fleet.
As a Gothic-class cruiser, the Star of Northam had served the Imperium faithfully for three millennia. Nearly a millennia ago it had served with the Segmentum fleet during the destructive Gothic War, back when it was known as Last Rites. And though it had been left on the verge of total destruction after one particularly apocalyptic engagement, she had been recovered and towed back to forge world Lucius to await a full repair and refit. Then the ancient ship had been given to the small but expanding fleet of the newly settled Northam system, in which it had served faithfully through the tumultuous times of the Uphill Struggle and several more major campaigns since. Now the vessel had just finished its latest period of refit and waited at low anchor to ferry Northam Prime's latest batch of faithful sons to wage the Emperor's wars across the galaxy.
The Star of Northam hung suspended within Northam Prime's low orbit, nestled among the huge docking stations and orbital defence starforts that bristled with immense weapons that could cripple an enemy starship with a single well-aimed barrage. The likes of the Star of Northam jostled for space alongside many fellow vessels from the Northam fleet, including the colossal battleships Diem Rationis, that was more like a ribbed mountain of adamantium and colossal weapons hurled into orbit than a void ship.
On the bridge of the Star of Northam, a semi-circular bank of consoles, cogitators and other equipment was manned by a crew of two dozen undertaking the final checks before they weighed anchor and set forth into the stars. Several of them had extensive bionics, directly plugged into their personal cogitator banks. In the centre of the massive steel chamber, a hololithic chart showed the immediate space around Northam Prime, with dozens of blinking runes marking each of the vessel's fellow ships, starforts, and other features. One could see that a trio of cruisers had already left orbit, and then suddenly vanished from the display as they engaged their warp drives and entered the Immaterium, en route to distant sectors.
"Main engines standing by," intoned one of the officers on deck. "Power idling."
"Warp drives standing by," another announced.
"Excellent," responded a clear voice from the bridge's steel and brass command throne. Sat there was a tall man in a bright red captain's uniform threaded with silver and gold, the shoulders bearing fine brass epaulettes. He drummed the fingers of his right hand against the thick arm rest of his throne, and his left was propping up his angular chin. Above that, his left cheek was sunken, the skin stretched and wasted, the product of an unfortunate accident that had nearly taken his eye when a damaged console nearly exploded in his face.
Captain Alexander Hemwick had served as Captain of the Star of Northam for five decades now, though his career with the Imperial Navy had begun exactly one hundred and twenty years ago, as a comms officer on one of the many escort craft that shielded the great cruisers and battelships of the modest system fleet. Though he had lived for a hundred and fifty standard years, he retained the use of his sharp mind via expensive juvenant treatments that gave him the look of a man a third his current age – only the crow's feet around his green eyes gave some indication as to his proper age, as did the life-sustaining bionics that lined the left side of his neck, small cables trailing up to plug into his left temple.
"Weapons, readied," called out his Master at Arms. "At standby."
"Void shield generators at full capacity, Captain," intoned another officer.
"Gellar Field generators at maximum capacity, Captain," added another.
"All systems at full capacity, Captain," announced Alexander's immediate junior, Commander Hugo Javins, a perceptive and eager young officer with a lot of potential, but he still had a way to go before he gained command of his own vessel. "We are ready to weigh anchor on your word."
"Very good," sighed Alexander, "but we still have to welcome our guests aboard."
"Of course, Captain," nodded Javins, as Alexander turned his head to watch the visitors who had come onto his bridge just before. There were three of them, in the grey fatigues of Northam Guard officers: a lean Captain with short black hair and sharp eyes with a morose air about him, a stockier Major with a bionic arm and leg, and a taller man with a Colonel's pips, his left sleeve pinned up where his flesh and blood had been taken years before. They had said little so far, content to watch the crew at work as they stood at the rear of the bridge, well away from the floor where the Navy crew rushed to and fro.
"Captain, registering several craft on an approach vector," one of the signals officers announced, as several bleeping red dots appeared on the main hololithic display. "They're transmitting Northam flight codes, sir."
"Those would be the recruits," the Northam Colonel announced, his voice low but clear.
"Clear them for embarkation," Alexander ordered curtly, and the comms officer nodded as he cleared the shuttles for embarkation. By then the Northam officers were already moving to leave the bridge, the colonel giving Alexander a curt nod before he was gone. The shipmaster just nodded once to himself in reply, and turned back to the hololith display.
The embarking ramps of the carrier dropped, and Matthias sucked in a lungful of air as the crush finally subsided, and they all filed out into an immense hold space on the cruiser. Carrying his freshly-issued pack and fatigues, Matthias glanced around, marvelling at just how immense the space was.
The ceiling was a good eighty feet above them, while the side walls were a good two hundred feet apart at least: it made the Grand Plaza look like the courtyard in a noble's manse. As hundreds, even thousands of new recruits poured out of their transports and onto the cold steel flooring, they could see Navy ratings and armsmen on their patrols or passing by, along with squads of fully-fledged Northam Guardsmen, immaculate in their blue and grey livery. They watched the recruits come tromping through the hold, ignorant of the true horrors the galaxy held.
"First time on a star ship?" asked the man beside Matthias, and he recognised the voice of the man who had spoken to him on the carrier. He looked around to see an earnest-looking man in his thirties walking beside Matthias, his pack slung over one shoulder. The jacket he wore was indeed a PDF-issue one, but one that was badly frayed and faded, indicative of a long service. Although PDF units never really got a particularly generous budget, the galaxy over.
"Yes," nodded Matthias. "Yours?"
"Yup," the man nodded. "Born and raised in Endeavour, boy. Never set foot off of the planet until now. Guess I was lucky they relaxed the numbers of PDF troopers they could allow in."
"How long were you PDF?"
"Thirteen years," the man shrugged with a little smile. "In that time, the most action I saw was tracking down some bandits in the wastes. They'd been raiding the small mining outposts, hoarding the ore and minerals so they could sell it on. Even killed a few miners in the process. Until our unit corned them in a defile and cut a few of them down, the rest of them folded like a bad hand in Hearts and Titans."
"So you fancied a change?" Matthias quizzed.
"Oh yes," the man nodded with another smile. He seemed to be the type to smile a lot. "Bandits and raiders is one thing, but there's far more worthy foes out there for any respecting soldier worth their salt. Greenskins, xenos, heretics and more. But what about you anyway, boy? What made you enlist?"
Matthias started to open his mouth to speak, when a keening siren suddenly blared out from unseen speaker horns, and the horde of recruits came to a sudden halt. They looked around for the source of the sound, just as a voice boomed out at them.
"All recruits, stand to! Officers on deck!"
"Maybe next time," the smiling man said to Matthias, and the voices of the crowd dropped out completely. They looked about, trying to find someone approaching, but in the end, it came from above. They heard the clang of many pairs of boots upon a catwalk, and looked up to see a small crowd marching along a catwalk just above their heads. They came to a slow halt just before the crowd, spreading out to fan out across the catwalk to show a significant show of force.
The point of the spear was formed from four officers in their fatigues, themselves flanked by at least a dozen Navy armsmen, armour on, visors down, weapons readied. They stood still as statues, watching over the numerous guests they had suddenly picked up. And then further out still were figures in the unmistakable black trench coats, jackboots and peaked caps of the Commisariat: the unflinchingly ruthless discipline officers of the Imperial Guard. Their outline was unmistakable to anyone who had so much as glanced at a recruitment poster of pict broadcast, and the taste of their boot leather was all-too familiar to all manner of malcontents and miscreants within the Guard.
"Sons of Northam!" called out the leading officer in the group, a grizzled-looking man with traces of silver in his blonde hair, and his left sleeve pinned up just above where his elbow joint once laid. Matthias also saw that his right leg from the knee down was a bionic as well, though a handsomely-crafted one by the look of it. He leaned heavily on the railing with his one remaining hand, looking out across the sea of milling, impatient, young faces beneath him. Tiny, buzzing vox drones circled him, projecting his voice out across the hold.
"You have answered Northam's call, and you have answered the Emperor's call! For that, you will all have unending gratitude. But until the time you become baptised in the fires of war, you have a long voyage ahead of you. For the next six months we will be en route to our newly designated warzone, and in that time your drillers and your future commanders will mould you into the next generation of Northam's fighting men, to hold the borders of the Imperium against the alien, the traitor, and the heretic!
"Your baptism will begin at the next day cycle: so those of you lucky to own a wrist-chron, be sure to set them to the ship's own chron cycle," the officer continued, "and then, you will all be shown to your assigned quarters and your drillers will fill you in on each day's procedures. And then you are at their mercy. Listen to what they say, and follow their orders as if they were the Emperor Himself. Any disobedience will not be tolerated under their watch, or mine for that matter. And remember above all: we are guests of the Imperial Navy on their vessel, so do what they ask of you without hesitation or complaint, and we will all have a pleasant voyage."
That seemed to be the natural end of his spiel, but there was no bombastic proclamation or reassurance. Instead the officer just hammered a fist against his chest in imitation of an Old Terran salute, and then turned back to his fellows and muttered something, and then there was a sequence of quick nods, and they promptly turned and marched away, closely followed by their armsmen escort, though the Commisars remained, watching over the assembled recruits like carrion birds considering their prey.
The milling bodies looked amongst one another, and their murmuring voices began to rise up again, as they drifted back into the casual conversations they had been holding before their interruption. The man in the PDF jacket turned back towards Matthias, one eyebrow raised.
"I was expecting more than that, I must admit," he shrugged.
"More than that?" asked Matthias. "You knew who that was?"
"Of course I did," chuckled the man. "That was Gaius Nova, commander of the 19th Northam Guard."
"Gaius Nova?" asked Matthias, genuinely lost.
"You seriously haven't heard of him?" the man asked in disbelief. "The youngest man to be given company command in the Northam Guard? Who's lead them to countless victories since he became the commanding officer of the 19th regiment? He's a literal hero of legend, Matthias! And if we're lucky, we might end up serving under him."
"Really," said Matthias with a small amount of awe, as he glanced up at the catwalk as Gaius Nova and his fellow officers took their leave. Just then, there was the sharp, shrilling note of a whistle being blown, and the recruit's attention was directed elsewhere. They looked up to see a thin, blue line of Northam Guardsmen in their fatigues – sans armour and helmets – approaching. Their grizzled features and the cold and collected look in their eyes suggested each of them was a veteran trooper who had seen and experienced things none of them could ever imagine.
"Listen very carefully, as I'm only going to say this once!" bellowed a particularly scarred and worn-down man in a freshly-pressed and starched uniform, the high collar buttoned up right to below his chin. He didn't need a vox drone to be heard by the milling horde. "You're all going to be divided down into groups of forty, and each group will be assigned to their own billet room, which will act as your home for the next six months! Do not attempt to fraternise with the recruits from other billets, and try not to deface anything! We are flying on the Navy's vessel, after all. And if you do so, then you can look forward to a nice, long talk with one of the Commisars! Now shut up and wait for the drillers to make their decisions!"
With that said, he stepped away, and the other Guardsmen stepped forwards, each of them carrying some kind of swagger stick or other object to hand, which they used to promptly divide the milling crowds into smaller groups of around forty or fifty each. It was as simple as them just raising their arms and the crowds parted roughly, drawing in closer together or pulling apart to form smaller blobs of bodies. Friends made the effort to stick together, but even then there were instances were they were separated, and the lingering 'drillers' made sure that none of them could step out of line, even in the slightest. Some of them seemed a bit too 'eager' to enforce the rules too. There were a few shouted curses and threats, and maybe a few bruises left over, but nothing too visible.
Matthias ending up sticking with the man in the PDF jacket, at least. He wouldn't be stuck on his own with an entire room of strangers. His new friend gave him an encouraging nod, before the group was promptly ushered out of the hold, suddenly flanked by armsmen, a yelling driller at their back. As the Colonel had said, they were guests here, and the Navy wouldn't accommodate any form of misbehaviour, no matter how slight.
The mood had been muted within the command echelons of the 19th Northam Guard since the previous two weeks when the word first came down that they would be on the Star of Northam as it made its way out into space once more, to far away theatres of war. Sure, they had spent the past three years on garrison duty of their home planet – going stir crazy and holding endless training exercises out in the dusty wastes – but the news they would finally be reinforced and then sent back into the countless wars was tempered by another, important piece of news. High Command had deigned to transfer a newly-minted officer into their ranks, a man who weeks ago had been another PDF officer. Until now that was, because of two simple reasons: his command talents for one which had recently come to the attention of Northam High Command, and because of his name.
"Fresh meat," grumbled Captain Lucan Farron, working a couple of fingers into the base of his spine and massaging the intricate circuitry and cold, hard steel beneath that replaced his original biology. "They sent us fresh meat, alright. Most of them barely looked old enough to shave."
"We were barely old enough to shave when we started, Lucan," countered Manfred Dolan, Major and second in command of the overall regiment. He was a squat, bullish-looking man who had half of his limbs replaced with bionics over the course of his career, indicative of his bold and reckless style of always being on the attack. Lucan made a small sound of derision with a click of his tongue and looked away. Once upon a time, he would have met that jest head on and turned it to his favour, but Lucan had changed a lot over the last few years.
"Enough," said Gaius Nova lightly, rubbing at his freshly-shaved chin, and giving his bionic leg a quick stretch. Like Manfred, Gaius Nova was half bionic, though his bionics were handsomely crafted, with both featuring a few small plates of adamantium, shorn down and filed into a shape more suitable for the human anatomy. His blonde hair was thinning and greying, but it was still his own, and he still maintained a peak physical state, even through the past three years of ennui and stagnation. He was still as good with a blade as he had been three years prior.
"Three years of doing very little and now we finally have the chance to get back out there and do some good for the galaxy and for Northam," the Colonel continued, "and your initial reaction is to complain. They might be fresh meat but we do have six months to whip them all into shape."
"You mean the drillers," corrected Captain Lexanus of E Company, his face as stony as ever as they reached the transport monorail and stepped inside through the automatic doors. "I seriously doubt any of us will get the chance to go down there and do deck thrusts with the recruits, do you Colonel?"
"I do actually," Nova retorted as if the answer were obvious, and he looked between the others. "The reason why this regiment has survived so far is because of the command structure, because we make ourselves visible. We might be their commanders, but we all started in the same place."
"Well don't let Commisar Dorn hear you saying that," Farron retorted, "lest he insist it's bad practice. He's got the authority to execute any of us if he finds us wanting, after all."
"When did Lucan Farron became such a cynical bastard?" asked Lexanus without mirth.
"Around the time I was nearly paralysed," Farron responded instantly, then he looked away and that was the end of that particular discussion, if the thunderous silence was any indication. He began to absent-mindedly rub at the base of his spine again, despite the presence of his fellow officers. "Oh, and the fact I'm essentially demoted from my old position didn't help either. Turfed out of command of C Company with the scratch of a stylus."
Nova let out a small, tired sigh. "Lucan"- he began to say, before he was cut off by the transport coming to a sudden halt with a screech of hydraulics and braking mechanisms, making them lose their balance for a brief moment. The doors whooshed open, and a pair of Navy armsmen entered, picking their own spare corner to occupy.
"Is there anything else Colonel?" asked Farron with a note of bitterness in his voice as he stepped out onto the tramway platform, talking over his shoulder. "Otherwise, I'd like to go and look at Northam Prime once more before we translate into the Warp." And that was it: without any further prompting, he just walked away out of sight, vanishing through an exit portal, heading for the nearest observation deck.
"He'll come around Gaius," commented Dolan, even as the doors to the tram slid shut. "He needs time."
"He needs to get over himself," added Lexanus, blunt as ever. "Does it really matter which company he leads? He's still here, plenty of more aren't."
"It really matters to him which company he heads," Dolan responded, giving the E Company commander a pointed look. They bickered on for a short while, but Nova offered no further comment as he ruminated on the sudden changes of the man he considered one of the two brothers he had never had. The rest of the trip continued in silence, until at their final stop – somewhere at the midpoint of the ship – they were met on the platform by the 19th regiment's newest addition.
"Colonel Nova," announced a tall man with a face like a blade: thin and sharp, with grey eyes just as sharp, in full dress uniform, despite the casual appearance of his contemporaries. A sheathed rapier hung at his hip, and the pips of a captain were pinned to his high collar. The man gave a practiced curtsy, as the others fell in step beside the new arrival. Lexanus couldn't keep himself from smirking and shaking his head. "I trust the new recruits arrived in good order?"
"They did, Captain Parker," Nova responded. "And now we have six months of warp travel to look forwards to, while they get moulded into faithful Sons of Northam."
"Ah, well that won't take long at all," insisted Parker, still staring straight ahead as they marched down the wide passage. "There's plenty from Fylnn's Respite, as usual. They will make a strong core for the new companies alongside the veterans."
"Yes," Dolan nodded, "but they are still untested. The first battle will be the most important time for them. They'll either swim, or they'll sink fast."
"Well let's hope we have more swimmers than sinkers."
Adonis Parker: descendant of one of the Founders, celebrated PDF commander, cold and entirely logical…and new commander of the 19th's C Company. He'd just been shunted in below Dolan and Nova, without any fanfare or much prior warning from High Command. And now Lucan Farron had found himself suddenly cut adrift from his comrades. For the first time in his life, it seemed like Nova's personality wouldn't smooth over the cracks here. The 19th had come close to annihilation on Elpis and Bolias, and now this. They looked almost ready to fall apart at the seams. Just then, an automated announcement caught him off guard.
"Warp translation about to commence. All personnel please pray for safe travel."
Out in the gulf of space, a small, purple sliver was suddenly torn in the very fabric of existence, as the ship's Navigator began to chart their treacherous path away from Northam Prime. This sliver grew and swelled in size, until it became a visible wound against the sheer blackness of space. Soon it was large enough to swallow a light cruiser, and it continued to grow. Baleful energies glowed within, enough to drive any sane man mad if they dared to look too closely.
The Star of Northam suddenly engaged its warp drives, and began to sluggishly pull itself out of Northam Prime's high anchor. Then there was the barely visible shimmer as the Gellar fields activated, lest everyone on board be torn apart by madness incarnate. The great nose of the vessel began to enter the maelstrom, and then the rest of the immense structure began to follow: ribbed adamantium and steel, countless weapon batteries and shielded entry and viewing ports. Soon it had plunged into the chaos of the Immaterium, and then the wound closed behind it in its wake.