As I sat on the command throne that had been prepared for me in the war room of the Liberation Palace (which might not be the most imaginative of names to give the ex-gubernatorial palace, I admit, but had the advantage of being all-inclusive and inoffensive to every member of the Council), I did my best to look confident.
The truth was, I was so out of my depth I could probably find where Horus' soul had ended up after his tussle with the Emperor if I dug a little deeper.
My time in the Schola Progenium had naturally included some strategy lessons. A Commissar could hardly advise the officers under his purview if he didn't have a clue what they were talking about, after all. But there was a difference between knowing how to flank an enemy force or hold a defensive position and running an orbital engagement, especially since the latter was supposed the Navy's job.
Unfortunately, Slawkenberg didn't have a proper navy to speak of. The handful of crafts in our little flotilla would've barely even served as a speed bump to the Ork fleet, that much was obvious even to me, so they had moved to the other side of the planet. If it came to the worse, I was confident I could find a way aboard one of them and high-tail it out of the system, but given what the consequences of that would be in the long term, I would only do it in the very direst of circumstances.
At least we had gotten an early warning of the Orks' arrival, even if Emeli hadn't noticed me in advance this time (which I could hardly blame her for even if I'd dared to, considering how famously unpredictable the greenskins could be on occasion). The lunatics around me were already praising my foresight in deploying the warning beacons regardless of their cost in resources. Truth be told, I had given the order to place the beacons at the system's edge for several reasons. The first and most important one had been that knowing that an enemy had arrived as soon as possible gave me better odds of successfully running away, even if that wasn't the most optimal course of action at the moment. But after Tesilon-Kappa had finished explaining to me just what the ansibles were capable of, the strategic implications of such a device had hit me.
For thousands of years, the Imperium had been dependant on astropaths to keep itself together. Given the inconceivably vast distances between star systems, shouting through the Warp (although I was pretty sure the actual process was much more complicated than that) was the only semi-reliable way to keep in touch, but despite all the efforts of the Astra Telepathica, it was far from an exact science. Messages got lost or misinterpreted all the time, or arrived years after (or, in some cases, before) they had been sent, leading to catastrophic results. Even in the best case scenario, it could take weeks or months for an urgent message to reach its destination.
But the ansibles had no such weaknesses. According to the borgs, two paired ansibles (for reasons that made no sense to me whatsoever, one such device could only communicate with a single other one, and it couldn't be changed later) were able to exchange information instantly regardless of the distance between them. We hadn't been able to test them on any distance larger than a single star system, but the specs contained within the STC had been clear on that point. Such technology could revolutionize communication across the Imperium, and provide Mankind with a strategic advantage against its many foes I could scarcely begin to imagine.
By placing the ansibles on the system's edge, it was my hope that when the next Imperial retribution force inevitably arrived, they would capture the devices and, in the process of studying them to learn the rebellion's capabilities, uncover the technology for themselves. It was a long shot, yes, but if it worked, I was pretty confident I would be able to argue to the God-Emperor that the regrettable events of Slawkenberg were nothing compared to such a boon for the Imperium of Man, and as such I should be forgiven for my reluctant participation in the former and not thrown to the Realms of Chaos where Emeli was waiting for me, pretty please.
Such a course of action might seem to run contrary to my orders for the borgs to hide the source of their recent technological innovations by pretending to have come up with them on their own instead of using the equivalent of a Dark Age cheat sheet, but my reasoning was that, if there was an Imperial task force in the system, the Liberation Council was already done for anyway. I knew how the Imperium operated, and now that we had defeated the first military force sent to bring the planet back into the Emperor's arms (although given Karamazov and Chenkov had been in charge, that outcome had always been unlikely), the next one would be much, much larger … when it eventually came.
Which, thank the Throne, was most likely going to take a lot of time. Even with a dead Inquisitor to pin on us, Slawkenberg was unlikely to be a priority on anyone's to-do list. Hell, given that we'd killed Chenkov, I wouldn't be surprised if some Militarum officials secretly felt grateful to us, even if they would never admit it out loud, lest the Commissariat (or the Inquisition, come to that) take umbrage.
The rest of the room was bustling with activity. Jurgen was standing next to me, having refused my offer of a seat, eyes fixed on the large hololith showing the orbital situation. General Mahlone was also there along with an entourage of USA aides, as was Jafar, so that our military and civilian organizations could act smoothly if needed, while Tesilon-Kappa had flown to the Space Hulk to direct the crew of borgs stationed there in person, along with several hundreds USA troopers to help defend it from boarders. Of Krystabel, there was no sign : she had vanished soon after the xenos fleet's arrival, citing pressing matters demanding her attention among the Handmaidens. Usually, that would have worried me, but I had more urgent concerns, such as the thousands of greenskin monstrosities drawing closer to the planet I was on with every second.
I had been taught about the Orks, obviously : it was part of the standard curriculum in any proper Schola. Their kind had plagued Mankind for millennia, even longer than the Imperium itself had existed according to some legends that young pupils definitely shouldn't talk about within the abbot's earshot. The simple fact that they were still around was a testament to their resilience, if nothing else. But I was starting to suspect that, since I had been trained for a career of keeping soldiers from turning tail and running for their lives by any means necessary, a lot of the material had been based more in fanciful tales meant to help me bolster morale than cold, hard facts.
This Gargash Korbul (if I had understood his atrocious approximation of Low Gothic correctly) had been monstrously large, far beyond the preserved corpses I had been shown in my lessons. Tesilon-Kappa had assured me over the vox that the image of the hololithic projection accompanying the broadcast had been to scale, which hadn't been what I wanted to hear at the time, you can believe me. And while, now that their ships were closer, they did seem ramshackle and on the verge of breaking apart, the fact that several of them had clearly been Imperial vessels until recently meant that the many, many guns every Ork ship bristled with had to be functional.
According to Jurgen and the captured Valhallan officers, who as natives of that ice-world were the closest thing to experts on the Orks we had on hand, Korbul was unlikely to want to destroy Emeli's Gift. Orks loved using Space Hulks to travel the void, and given that their ships were on a straight course toward the one orbiting Slawkenberg, their intent must be to board it and take it for themselves. I would've been more than happy to let them have it, but there was the tiny issue that without it, there'd be nothing to keep them from making planetfall, and somehow I didn't think the xenos would be so considerate as to turn back and leave once they'd gotten their prize. The Warboss' message had made his bloodthirst clear : we weren't getting out of this without a fight.
The civilians were in the shelters, while the United Slawkenberg Army was in a state of maximal readiness. We were in the best condition to fight off an invading army that we were going to be. However, this time, we were unlikely to get lucky enough to have the enemy commander be as incompetent as Chenkov and Karamazov had been (which, given we were facing Orks, was quite the depressing thought). If the full complement of xenos these ships carried made it to the ground, we were frakked. The USA would give a good accounting of itself, of that I was grudgingly convinced, but sheer numbers would carry the day in the end.
Which meant that we really needed Emeli's Gift to cut down those numbers by doing as much damage to the Ork fleet as possible before they boarded it and made it useless. To avoid looking defeatist (and because any explosion powerful enough to disable the Space Hulk would rain fiery death upon the planet below, on which I was trapped), I hadn't suggested that some kind of self-destruct mechanism be installed to deny the greenskins their prize, but I was still confident it'd take time for the Orks to wrangle our improvised battle station under their control once they'd killed all the borgs, support personnel and USA troopers on board.
For now, all I could do was hope that the borgs' boasts about the capabilities of Emeli's Gift at least somewhat corresponded to reality. Of course, the fact that my life was in the hands of a gaggle of hereteks who had spent their entire lives prior to the Uprising doing maintenance on deep-sea power generators wasn't exactly reassuring, but after over a standard year and a half of technically running this circus of the damned we called the Liberation Council, I had gotten used to the constant stress and fear for my life.
"Recaf, sir ?" asked Jurgen, proffering a cup of the beverage.
Although most of the agricultural fields dedicated to luxury foodstuffs had been converted to more efficient crops since the Uprising, the plantations which produced the beans used to make recaf had been maintained (with a few changes to the cultivation process to remove some of the less efficient steps, which in my opinion had really only existed to make the visiting aristos feel superior to the plebs whose work produced their drinks). I had to admit that Slawkenberg recaf certainly was vastly superior to the one that had been served at the Schola, and Jurgen had prepared the drink to perfection, as usual. If only he weren't a potential living gateway to the Realms of Chaos, he would truly be the perfect aide.
"Thank you, Jurgen," I said, and took a reinvigorating sip, feeling the heat spread through my body. The tension in my body diminished somewhat, along with that of the room : the sight of their trusted, infallible Liberator casually drinking recaf on the cusp of a battle that would decide the fate of Slawkenberg reassuring everyone that things were under control.
Of course, had I known then just what was going to happen before this whole mess was dealt with, I would have found it far more difficult to maintain my facade of calm. As a matter of fact, I probably would've been running for the nearest spaceport to flee the planet by now. But I didn't know, and so I continued to sip my hot recaf in blissful half-ignorance of the peril I, and all of Slawkenberg, was in.
After a stretch of time that simultaneously seemed to last forever and pass in a flash, the Ork fleet reached the outer envelope of the Space Hulk's range, and the void battle began in earnest. Despite my lack of familiarity with such things, the borgs had made the hololithic display simple enough that even I could understand it, showing the positions of the various crafts relative to one another and Emeli's Gift. The Orks' formation, if you could call it that, had all the elegance and complexity of a punch to the teeth, and was led by the ship from which the transmission had come : a bulky thing with a cruiser's tonnage.
"Enemy fleet has entered maximum range," the artificial voice of Tesilon-Kappa came out of the vox-speakers, far crispier and cleaner than usual thanks to the use of the ansible for instant communication. "We await your command, Lord Liberator."
I suppressed a sigh. Really, they didn't need me at all, but I had to play along for the sake of morale and, more importantly, my reputation.
"You may fire when ready," I said.
And then, the entire arsenal of the Space Hulk opened fire as one, and my fears regarding the borgs' work were gone, replaced by utter astonishment.
As they stood at the metaphorical heart of Emeli's Gift, Tesilon-Kappa experienced what they could only describe as a feeling of theological completeness. Months of hard work, done by hundreds of people with the support of thousands more, all came together in this moment, where the fruits of their labor would shape the future of Slawkenberg. If not for the safety precautions the Bringers of Renewed Greatness followed as religiously as they ever had the precepts of the Cult of Mars, the Machine-God alone knew how many lives would have been lost in the process.
The command center of Emeli's Gift was located deep within the Space Hulk, requiring to walk through several kilometers of twisting corridors to reach from the nearest landing bay. The Bringers had established it inside what Tesilon-Kappa was reasonably sure had once been the cargo bay of a pre-Imperium human vessel, although the damages of time and the Warp made it difficult to be sure. The emblem of the Liberation Council had been engraved on a wall, with the emblem of the Bringers represented in exacting detail within their section of the quartered circle.
Dozens of tech-priests and trained acolytes stood at console stations, each one monitoring a particular aspect of the patchwork architecture of the battle station. The Liberator's ban on the use of servitors had pushed the Bringers to explore alternative solutions, which must surely have been part of his intent all along.
Hundreds of small Cyber-Altered Task units, more commonly referred to as CATs, ran all across the Space Hulk, performing simple tasks and carrying tools and spare parts from one location to another. The small automatas lacked any biological components, but their processing power was too limited for them to be classified as true Abominable Intelligences. There were only a few in the command center, each built by Tesilon-Kappa themself using materials scavenged from the Space Hulk itself. Truth be told (and Tesilon-Kappa tried to always tell the truth these days), they didn't really serve any purpose, but the Magos and their subordinates found their presence reassuring.
Meanwhile, at the center of it all, Tesilon-Kappa served as both the commanding officer and the nerve center of the whole operation. In time, they planned to install more standard interfaces so that the Space Hulk didn't require someone as augmented as them, but that was still in the future.
Everything was ready, and they could sense the approach of the Ork fleet through a hundred eyes and more. With the Liberator having given permission, there was no reason to wait any further.
+Establish target locks,+ Tesilon-Kappa sent over the noosphere. For the benefit of those acolytes who hadn't been fitted with vox-receiver augmetics (as the Bringers' numbers grew to match their responsibilities, not all candidates could or wanted to be blessed with the certainty of steel), their words were broadcast aloud by the vox-speakers at the same time. One by one, the weapons returned an affirmative, until the full arsenal of Emeli's Gift was ready to fire. +In the name of the Machine-God and the Liberator, open fire !+
Ancient generators roared to life, and power coursed through freshly-repaired conduits. Weapons that had been built using long-lost designs, and which had remained silent for thousands of years at the very least, sang their songs of destruction once more. Not all of them activated successfully, but of the forty-two the Bringers had connected to the command center, thirty-one fired, filling the auspex displays with static as the void was saturated with various kinds of energy weapons. Some had been forged by human hands, using technology now lost to Mankind; others were of a more modern design; and others still had been conceived by alien minds, and had required steps to repair and control that would have seen an orthodox tech-priest excommunicated and stripped of all their augmetics at once.
In a single moment, a third of the xenos fleet vanished from the display, their primitive shields overloaded and their hulls vaporised. The remaining Ork ships fired back at once, an uncoordinated volley that hit either the void shields protecting the vulnerable parts of Emeli's Gift or slammed into sections that hadn't been reclaimed yet. The sheer size of the Space Hulk made it so that it would take much, much more to threaten its structural integrity.
Reports flooded into Tesilon-Kappa's consciousness, giving them updates on the status of every weapon, generator, and the circuitry binding the two together. Normally, such a flow of data would have overwhelmed their mind, but linked as they were to several back-up cogitator units, they were able to grasp it all at once. From there, it was a simple matter of computing priorities and calculating the appropriate courses of action, something they had done for years as the lynchpin of the Mechanicus' lower echelons' efforts to keep the submarine power generators of Slawkenberg functioning against the ravages of entropy, bad leadership, and poor funding.
In less than a second, Tesilon-Kappa isolated which systems could be reliably fired again and sent the order to prepare to do so, while also dispatching repair crews to the half-dozen fires and other perils that had broken out in various areas. The second volley blasted another few xenos vessels to pieces, though another four weapons were put offline as a result. The pattern repeated itself several more times, until the last Ork ships were burning husks in the process of falling apart. A muted cheer rose in the command room at the realization of their victory.
And to think, this was far from all that the Space Hulk was capable of. By Tesilon-Kappa's estimations, despite the unceasing work of the Bringers of Renewed Greatness since the agglomerate's arrival in Slawkenberg, barely a tenth of the slumbering firepower had been reactivated and linked to the command center. Of course, they had started with the easiest jobs : unless the Liberator decided to dramatically increase the resources affected to the project, it would take decades to fully conquer all of the many wonders of Emeli's Gift.
"Lord Liberator, General Mahlone," they transmitted. "Victory is ours. However, we are detecting life signals within some of the debris making its way to the surface. Given the recorded resilience of the xenos, I believe it likely some of them will survive the landing. Transmitting the data now."
In fact, there were a lot of life signals. A veritable flock of transports and gunships had managed to escape the demise of the Ork fleet, carrying what had to be thousands of xenos to the planet below. Unfortunately, there was nothing Tesilon-Kappa could do about it : the remaining handful of weapons still functioning on Emeli's Gift were too high-calibre to be aimed at such small targets, especially when a miss would hit Slawkenberg instead.
"I see. Well, nobody can deny that you and your people did an incredible job, Magos," replied Cain, and his praise filled Tesilon-Kappa with pride. Unlike every superior they'd ever had in the Mechanicus, the Liberator never hesitated on congratulating people for task well done, which they had observed appeared to directly correlate with increased efficiency and productivity in the recipient. "The performance of Emeli's Gift far exceeded my expectations. We'll deal with the survivors on the ground, don't worry. They'll be easy pickings for the USA."
"Of course !" General Mahlone said, his own pride at the Liberator's confidence obvious. "Magos, will you continue monitoring the situation from orbit ?
"It seems the most efficient use of my time at this juncture," they confirmed. "While I doubt you will require orbital support, there are maintenance checks and evaluations to be done in the wake of this battle station's first combat operation."
"Then we'll see you at the victory celebration," said the General.
To their own faint surprise, Tesilon-Kappa found that they were looking forward to it. Few tech-priests could be described as social, and Tesilon-Kappa was self-aware enough to know they were not among them, but they did enjoy the company of Mahlone, whose focus on all things military had enough of an overlap with their own expertise to make conversation engaging. The General wasn't on the same level as the Liberator, obviously, but then no one on Slawkenberg (and probably few beyond) were.
"You will," they replied. "May the True Gods be with you," they added before cutting the link and getting back to work.
Given that the Ork leader had almost certainly been reduced to its component particles following the destruction of the enemy flagship, and based on the files Tesilon-Kappa had on what passed for the psychology of that particular xenos breed, the USA's triumph was assured. Without their leader, the greenskins would turn on each other in order to re-establish a hierarchy of dominance, and Slawkenberg's forces would wipe them out long before one had the time to emerge.
It was a shame about the Gork's Klaw, Gargash reflected as his gunship plummeted through the humie planet's atmosphere. He had liked that ship. But oh, well. He would get a new one, bigger, killier, and with more dakka. As long as you were still alive, you had to keep moving, keep searching for the next fight. That was what being an Ork was all about.
Bah. That was enough philosophical musings. He was alive, he had his shoota, his klaw and his armor. He even had a bunch of his Nobz, all cramped together in the back of the gunship they had requisitioned when it had become clear the Gork's Klaw wasn't going to make it.
"Oi, flyboy ! Where'z we going ?!" he bellowed over the shriek of the air running past them.
"Down, boss !" The pilot shouted back.
"I know dat, genius," Gargash snarled. "I'z asking WHERE down !"
"Oh ! Uh, uh, I'z taking us to da biggest humie city, boss ! Dat's where all da other boyz are going too !"
Gargash considered that for a moment, before nodding. The humie bosses must be there, along with all the best loot on the planet. Nothing like the Space Hulk for sure, but enough to get the WAAAGH ! back up and running after their mishap in orbit. The humies must have a way to get to the Space Hulk : once he'd taken that, he could get back up there and finish the job properly this time.
"Good ! Aim a bit outside and tell da other flyboyz to do the same."
"Why, boss ?"
"So dat we can regroup and do a proper WAAAGH ! And stop asking questions, or I'll pluck your head off and pilot this pile of bolts meself !"
You really couldn't get good help, these days.
"The Space Hulk is still operational. Although the Orks are making planetfall, they have failed to inflict any damage upon it whatsoever. Was this part of your plan, oh Arch-"
The words of Sheev's unruly subordinate were suddenly cut off by an agonized scream, as the master of the Kabal of Murderous Death unleashed a stream of lightning from his gauntlet. The device was a Vileheart heirloom, in the sense that Sheev had pulled it off the corpse of his sire after killing him with a dozen poisoned daggers to the back.
The Archon kept the flow of energy going until the screams had stopped. By that point, the uppity moron had been reduced to blackened charcoal within his armor, his melted muscles still twitching from the leftover current.
If he was reading the rest of the room correctly (and he was, such a skill being the absolute bare minimum to survive in Commoragh), half of those present were suppressing the urge to attack him here and now. Which, given that he had a solid circle of Incubi surrounding him, ready to defend him to the last thanks to the price he'd paid for their services until this raid was over, was only sensible. The other half, including the leader of the Wyches of the Tainted Kiss (who was quite the delightful little thing, he had to admit), were still savoring the brief flare of agony of his victim.
"As a matter of fact, it is, my dear," said Sheev, looking down at the smoking corpse with a big smile. "I never expected the greenskins from destroying the Space Hulk : even if they could, we would only have risked falling into the same trap that whore did when she tried her own inferior version of this plan."
"What trap, my lord ?" asked Sarevok. The Hierarch was utterly unfazed by the sudden murder of his liege, which only made sense given he'd seen Sheev do far, far worse.
"Letting the Orks get the prize instead," the Archon replied. "Now, however, the greenskins' numbers have been culled. They'll still cause some damage, but once the mon-keighs have defeated them – that is when we shall strike, and claim everything for myself."
It was all a lie, of course. He'd expected the Orks to take down that Space Hulk, or at least do enough damage by rampaging inside it to disable it temporarily. The Dark Tormentor and the Kabal's other vessels may be far more advanced than the mon-keigh sensors, but one never knew what kind of technology had been fused together in the Warp to create a Space Hulk : perhaps the mon-keighs had figured out a way to pierce their cloaking at short range.
How in the names of the Dark Muses had the mon-keighs managed to reactivate so many of the Space Hulk's weapon systems, he had no idea. The Harlequins had told him they'd only just gotten their grubby hands on it, and so little time had passed since then he'd expected the primitives to still be struggling to map the damn thing.
Of course, he suddenly realized, and had to suppress his own rising murderous impulses (not something he usually needed to do, but those were special circumstances). These accursed jesters had lied to him. The mon-keighs must've had the Space Hulk in the system for years, long enough for even their primitive technomancers to jury-rig something capable of standing up to the Orks. Given that fewer weapon systems had fired with each volley, it was clear that they hadn't done an especially good job of it either, but against the greenskins, that had proven good enough.
Why the servants of the Laughing God had done this, he had no idea, nor did he intend to waste his time and energy trying to figure it out. The motives of Cegorach's stooges were notoriously opaque, even by the intrigue-filled standards of the Dark City.
However, he couldn't admit any of that to his subordinates. Beyond the sheer humiliation such an admission would represent, it would also be more immediately dangerous. To an Archon, reputation was everything : any sign of weakness, and his inferiors would seize their perceived chance and try to overthrow him, so that they could replace him and enjoy the privileges of his position instead.
So he would keep pretending everything was going as planned. Besides, his caution about the Space Hulk being able to detect his ships was probably unwarranted.
"Prepare the Kabalites for a rapid deployment to the planet surface," Sheev commanded his Hierarch, "and monitor the mon-keighs' communications. We'll move on my order."
"As you command, my lord Archon," replied Sarevok with a bow before departing the bridge.
The twilight sky visible through the windows of the chamber was lit up by the descending trails of hundreds of blazing meteors, making it seem as if the whole horizon was aflame. Yet within the halls of Saint Trynia Academy for the Daughters of Gentlefolk, the war against the Orks was the last thing on anyone's mind.
Since the Uprising, the Academy had changed, openly becoming the headquarters of the Handmaidens on Slawkenberg. It still functioned as a school, but now it trained new Handmaidens in the ways of subterfuge and sorcery, that they might serve the cause of the Liberation Council.
Against an enemy like the Orks, the help the Handmaidens could provide was limited. The xenos brutes were notably resistant to the influence of the True Gods, their bestial minds utterly unable to comprehend the majesty of the Dark Prince or appreciate His gifts. This was a matter for Mahlone and his soldiers – with the guidance of the Liberator to make sure the Khornates didn't do anything stupid, of course. No, the Handmaidens had their own task to perform tonight.
The rite the Handmaidens had just performed was a repeat of the ceremonies the Lady had led herself, back when she had been the headmistress of the school, spreading the teachings of the Dark Prince to the young girls under her care. They had dispensed with the human sacrifice that had occasionally accompanied such occasions, though : the Liberator's edict on the matter was quite clear, and none of the factions of the Council would dare go against him on this.
However, the true reason behind such sacrifices had always been the height of sensation that accompanied the sacrifice's last moment before death, which was the real offering to the Dark Prince. Now that the Handmaidens didn't need to act in secrecy (even in the Academy, there had been a need for discretion prior to the Uprising), they could compensate by increasing the number of participants to the ritual from six to sixty-six.
Here, where Lady Emeli had transcended mortality and claimed daemonhood through her beloved's gift, the barrier between the Materium and the Immaterium was thinnest than anywhere else on Slawkenberg, thank to the scar the former headmistress' ascension had left on reality. The only other location where the veil between realms was as thin was the House of Remembrance, thank to all the times Lady Emeli had possessed Krystabel's body in order to commune with her beloved champion there. But, precisely due to that, it couldn't be used for this, since the Liberator was far too busy with the defense of the planet.
The reason for this ritual was the sudden and constant aching of the various and subtle alterations to Krystabel's body – each one a mark leftover from a time her mistress had infused her flesh with her essence. It had started when the Orks had arrived in the system, and compelled her to seek audience with the Lady Emeli.
As the ritual took effect, Krystabel's vision bloomed with colors that didn't exist anywhere in the galaxy, and the sight of her sisters and acolytes faded away. Her body thrummed with sensations she couldn't name, pain and pleasure and grief and joy all at once, swiftly obscured by a growing sense of adoration as her soul drew closer to the domain of her mistress in the Realm of Chaos.
And there she was. Even though this method only allowed Krystabel a mere glimpse of Lady Emeli's true magnificence, what she could perceive was enough to make her want to weep with admiration. She was beautiful, blazing with her unending love for the Liberator, her long black hair flowing like the deepest, purest night sky, her eyes gleaming with emerald fire. Yet Krystabel couldn't help but notice the shadows that marred her perfect form, reflecting the worry she felt.
"Krystabel," said the Daemon Princess of Slaanesh in a voice that was a purr and a caress all at once. "My faithful helper. Heed my words, and heed them well. A shadow looms in the Warp, obscuring my sight. I have tried to discern its source, but it has proven frustratingly elusive."
Judging by the anger Krystabel could feel simmering under her mistress' words, it hadn't been the good kind of frustration.
"It was this shadow that prevented me from seeing the approach of the Orks in time to warn my beloved. Of course, I trust in Ciaphas' martial prowess to see to the brutes. But I worry that something lurks within the shadow that might threaten him. You must warn him, Krystabel, so that he is not so focused upon the enemy in front of him he fails to notice the one hidden from him in time."
"Yes, my lady," Krystabel breathed out. "I will do so, I swear !"
The Daemon Princess' presence withdrew. For a moment, as her senses crashed down, Krystabel felt lost and confused, her surroundings seeming unbearably drab and boring compared to what she'd just experienced. Then, with an effort of will, she reasserted herself.
She should be able to contact the Liberator without too much issue : even with the battle against the Orks having moved to the planet's surface, she was a member of the Liberation Council, and her communications would have priority. Getting to his side, however, would be more of a challenge.
Debris from the orbital battle was still raining down on Slawkenberg, and all the blessings of Slaanesh wouldn't help her if a meteor slammed into her transport, nor did she fancy the chances of her and the other Handmaidens should they run into an Ork warband. They were far from helpless, true, but they had their limits (and, unlike the blockheads from the USA, they knew and accepted them).
With that in mind, Krystabel marched out of the ritual chamber, careful not to step on any of her exhausted sisters. Without wasting time changing her clothes since she wouldn't depart the Academy, she went searching for a communication unit to pass on her lady's warning to the Liberator.
AN : Well, I told you it would be quick, but I didn't think it would be this quick. The Muse was really generous with this chapter, probably because I'm listening to the Vainglorious audiobook at the same time. Which, by the way, is another great addition to the Cain series so far, although I sometimes wish Sandy Mitchell used a bit more variety in Cain's inner monologue (there are only so many times you can hear him describe a tech-priest as having 'more metal than flesh in his face', or something like it, before it starts getting repetitive).
Yes, the ansibles are busted. Like, I can imagine Guilliman going "I will grant the Cainite Dominion full independance and a non-agression pact if you share this technology with us" without it being crack (and that would be a STARTING offer, the Avenging Beancounter would likely go much higher if needed). I mean, just imagine how different the Horus Heresy would have been if a pair of ansibles had existed between Macragge and Terra.
Of course, it's entirely possible than in canon 40K, the STC for these devices is in a shrine on a forge-world somewhere, but nobody is using it because that would be heresy/would remove some of the Astra Telepathica's influence/some other suitably grimdark reason. For now, their impact in this story is fairly limited, but once things start escalating beyond a single star system, oh boy ...
No Orks boarding the Space Hulk, sorry. I had planned for it to happen in the first draft, but Tesilon-Kappa decided to be better at their job than I thought. And yes, the ritual to contact Emeli involved exactly the kind of stuff you are thinking about, except more, because even on Slawkenberg, Slaanesh is the God of Excess, and there were only Handmaidens involved so they didn't need to hold anything back.
The next chapter will have more action, and if things go according to plan, Amberley's next appearance in this story. I hope you are all looking as forward to it as I am.
Oh, and I am sure the shadow blocking Emeli's sight is nothing to worry about. Probably just another of Cegorach's practical jokes, that's all.
Zahariel out.