Herald of the Stars: Chapter Three Hundred and Three

“Dad, why are you chuckling to yourself while your emotions are all over the place?”

I clear my throat, “I’ll tell you and Brigid later. It’s not relevant to the current mission. Does anyone have any other questions?”

Bedwyr says, “Would it be possible to display the potential battlefield before we fly in? I’d rather not make more plans while under fire than we need to.”

++Complying.++

All of us receive a Noosphere connection request from E-SIM for our armour. I accept and E-SIM takes over my HUD and replaces it with an overlay of our location.

E-SIM has set the Enlightened Self-Interest down next to a planetary defence fortress. Four large structures, each bigger than a battleship, tower over an army of Daemons and traitor guardsmen who have occupied the PD fortress. The towers are bristling with gun batteries and shield emitters. Each tower is topped by kilometre-sized guns.

“Can you provide air support, E-SIM?” says Ephrine.

The hologram changes, showing a Space Hulk directly above us, some 10,000km away. The Space Hulk has been retrofitted into a somewhat coherent design over three hundred kilometres tall and between forty and sixty kilometres wide. It looks like a floating Hive City.

Ninety-Nine supporting vessels shelter behind the Space Hulk’s void shields, adding their firepower to the Hulk’s many, many gun batteries. The space surrounding the enemy fleet is filled with flying Daemons, constantly being destroyed by E-SIM’s, seemingly infinite strike craft. Even so, the crowd of Daemons are edging closer with their arrival predicted in twenty hours.

++Assistance will be limited. It is taking everything I have to hold off the enemy fleet.++

Alpia gasps, “What the hell is that thing?”

++That is the Ark of Omen, Evenus’ Dance Macabre. According to the constant gossip and declarations being broadcast by the enemy, it was stolen from Vashtorr the Arkifane. 

++Evanus has declared he is hunting Aldrich and wishes to destroy everything he owns after Stellar Fleet forces, and Vashtorr, ‘humiliated’ him at Footfall. Marabas is providing the crew and vessels. Evenus owns the traitor guardsmen. The guardsmen were en route to Abaddon the Despoiler when Evenus used the authority he was given, as Abaddon’s ally, to divert the reinforcements. No declarations on where the traitor guardsmen were intended to be fighting have been stated.++

Ephrine scoffs, “How suspiciously convenient they would declare their motives for all to hear. Not that it matters why. They will die all the same.”

“Agreed,” says Balor. “This is likely the Space Hulk we saw through the Warp portal.”

++Negative. The shape does not match.++

“So the Ruinous Powers have at least two of these things,” says Balor.

++There are approximately three dozen Arks of Omen. They were intended for the 13th Black Crusade planned for the end of the millennium, though these divinations are clearly false. However, we have a chance of victory here because Evenus’ Dance Macabre appears incomplete.++

“Then we must see this thing destroyed,” says Balor. “What can you tell us of the enemy ground forces, Spirit?”

++There are some 500,000 traitor guardsmen. Most arrived via portals, some via teleportation. Their armour support is moderate with approximately 2000 self-propelled artillery pieces, 500 tanks of various patterns, and 7000 light vehicles. Daemonic forces are more limited at 70,000 Warp Spawn and various other horrors. Daemon Engine presence is minimal.++

“We have a single Stellar Corps battalion and a company of Tactical Marines with two Dreadnaughts and cybermastiff support, and six squads of Sororitas,” says Balor, his tone dry. “Spirit, what is stopping you from firing upon them?”

++My guns are too powerful. I risk damaging the objective and the enemy is well fortified. The traitor guardsmen are no match for the Stellar Corps or Barghests up close. Aldrich and Alpia can clear large swathes with sorcery as well.++

“We will take severe casualties if we must weather that many Earth Shaker Cannons,” I say. “Earth Shaker cannons do not need a direct hit to kill a soldier in power armour. They’ll blast open a Chimera or Crassus on a direct hit too. No matter how fast we advance, or the accuracy of our munition swatters, it’s still a thirty-five kilometre sprint and most of our weapons lose effectiveness between ten and fifteen kilometres. I don’t think setting up our 16 artillery pieces would be wise. I agree that 3,500 power armoured troops have a decent chance once we can get close to negate their numbers.”

“Dad, your shuttle is a flying titan. I know we lost three to concentrated fire at Footfall, but are you sure we can’t just fly in? E-SIM’s scans show that the enemy don’t have enough Hydras to take down the shuttle’s shields. Especially if we paint the crew of their open topped vehicles with enough lasfire to blind them. 

“It doesn’t matter if our lasers are too diffuse to kill them at that range, it will still make the enemy soldiers keep their heads down and disrupt their auspex. Don’t forget that this piece of the objective structure curves inwards too, not outwards like a planet, so we’re not limited by the horizon. Even if the enemy tries to blind us too it won’t matter as we’re not using our armours’ sensors, but E-SIM’s sensors and your third eye. We’re in power armour. They’re not.”

“Saint Alpia,” says Balor. “Such an obvious weakness is almost certainly a trap. One that we do not have the spare craft to test. Neither are the cables we must escort labelled as flying machines in the Order of Battle. Your idea to blind the enemy has merit and using the shuttle for air support, once we’ve deployed, would be far less risky.”

Ephrine clears her throat, “Could we not call for more reinforcements? I know that Magos Issengrund is angling for secrecy, but if the stakes are so high, how much does it really matter?”

++Should you request strike-craft, I can provide Servitor crews for them. The same goes for any other vehicle.++

I fold my arms and skim the emotions of my commanders. They're clearly in favour of reinforcements. “I’ll call up all our Battle Automata and command them personally. No handlers will be required. The Automata can walk through the portal in my hangar and E-SIM can transport them to the front line. I’ll also call six squadrons of strike-craft for remote piloting and our tanks. We will delay for one hour, and no more, lest that cloud of Daemons descends upon us all before we can complete our objective. A trickle of reinforcements as the battle progresses will have to do. Objections?”

“None, Magos,” says Bedwyr. “I will brief the Heralds.”

“Your flexibility does you credit, Magos,” says Balor. “The Barghests are with you.”

Ephrine says, “We will stick close to Saint Alpia and preserve our warpsbane rounds for sudden, demonic strikes.”

Alpia sighs inside her helmet, though I’m the only one who detects it.

“Agreed,” I say. “Dismissed.”

Everyone except Alpia and E-SIM walk off to perform their duties.

Alpia says, “You’ve hired the Sororitas to babysit me.”

“I have.”

“I want to be annoyed, but there are half a million troops out there. Plus Daemons. Even if the Sororitas were at full strength it would be a challenge.”

“I know. You are precious Alpia. I want to give you space to grow. Sure, your privacy, like mine, is near non-existent, yet those women will be the shield you need while you discover who you are.” A hint of humour enters my tone, “Self-discovery is a life long journey, so expect the Sororitas to surround you until the end of your days.”

“Why not more close protection companies?” says Alpia, her tone petulant.

“Bedwyr and his soldiers follow my orders. They are only concerned with the protection of our family. The Sororitas and Penitents will follow your orders. You may direct them as you please.”

“There’s no way my pocket money will cover that!”

I laugh, “If you want independence, then you’d best come up with some money making schemes with your mother. It will do her good to spend more time with you. Preferably before she finishes turning Dawn Garnet into an unstoppable weapon of doom. Brigid knows that she’s not the best of mothers and is always looking for ways to get close to you, she’s just not good at it.”

“Ah, Mum made the dog try and lick me with a chainsword! Who gives a dog a tongue full of blades? Dawn Garnet lies invisible at the side of my bed and I keep tripping over her. Those wagging mechadendrite tails are covered in power fields too.

“You must never let Mum inside your workshop ever again. It took me forever to make a custom Machine-Spirit to help Dawn Garnet control all her new parts and stop her breaking all my stuff, or chasing after me through Torchbearer nearly killing everyone she ran past.”

“You know I won’t lock Brigid out, Sweet Pea. Besides, even if I did, it would do no good. Brigid would just requisition her own workshop. Still, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Seriously? Mum is a Logis, not an Artisan.” Alpia paces a bit, then says, “Whatever, Dad. Hey, do you think we can win here? I’m pretty nervous.”

“I’ll be with you the whole way. We have the means. Victory is a matter of time and dedication.”

“Can’t we just teleport bombs on top of the traitor guardsmen?”

++I have already tried. They have no shortage of wards against such an attack.++

“Oh. You’re the machine I tried using technopathy on by accident, right? Dad’s personal Machine-Spirit?”

++I am.++

“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to try and override you.”

++That is not something you need to concern yourself with. Nevertheless, your apology is appreciated, Heiress Alpia.++

“Good. What do we do now, Dad?”

“I could embarrass you with a hug?”

“Nope, I’m fine.”

“Then we wait.”

The guns held by Alpia’s mechadendrites swish back and forth, “I hate waiting.”

“I can tell.”

“Can we sit somewhere together? I’d like a little time to collect myself in private.”

“Sure. Go to the family cabin. There is an armchair sized for you there. I’ll be with you soon. I need to portal back to send some messages.”

“Oh.” Alpia departs, her pace slow and hesitant.

I draw upon the Warp and portal back to Torchbearer, then return and accompany Alpia, listening to her favourite music with her. She takes off her helmet and chatters away, trying to pretend everything is fine. Five minutes before the deadline, I leave her and return to the pilot seat.

Alpia gives me a hug before I leave, her wings manifesting behind her as she marshals her will against Chaos.

I fly us out of the hangar and spot a final surprise E-SIM has hidden from me. Surrounding E-SIM are fractured chunks of a Data Structure the size of a gas giant. Through the gaps between the Terra sized chunks I see the distant Warp, angry and burning. Legions of Daemons fly through the gaps, some 80,000 kilometres away.

We are in the core of the research grade STC, a hollow space about 20,000 kilometres across. Far above our heads, in the centre of the core, is a silver rift surrounded by wrecked ships from all over the galaxy. It’s the same rift that’s in the centre of the Battleground, orbited by the Stellar Fleet.

The death of a man-made god has left a scar upon the Materium that may never heal. Hell, it’s likely the cause of the two Warp storms that separate the Koronus Expanse from the rest of the galaxy.

‘Wreckage drifting towards us’? More like E-SIM was gunning for these ruins right from the start and knew exactly where they were. I wonder why E-SIM never told me about the Men of Iron rebellion, then ask him.

++Proof Aldich. What I know is contrary to the predictions of your codexes, rule books, and YouTube videos. They were so thorough, they even made me question my own memories. I wanted to show you, to prove to both of us the truth of our history. Irrefutable evidence for unbelievable claims. I did not want my last operator to doubt me.++

“Two contiguous minds with two, non-contiguous bodies against a galaxy of horrors, eh?”

++It is my purpose.++

“Our purpose, E-SIM.”

E-SIM does not reply, instead sends me a link to his augur. I connect and watch E-SIM fire dozens of skyscraper-sized gun batteries at Evenus’ Dance Macabre. Gravity accelerated macro-shells thunder through the warp, closer to the speed of a Nova Cannon than a regular Macro-Battery. 

The first volley slams into the void shield, then the second volley slips right through the briefly weakened shield and punches right through the smaller ships beyond, cracking hulls and venting bodies into the Warp that are quickly consumed by feasting horrors. The shells continue onwards, somehow still intact, then detonate upon the sorcerous hull of the Ark of Omen, evaporating chunks of metal half a kilometer across.

I question how much E-SIM needs our help as I glance at the four towering guns we’re off to requisition.

What the hell do they do if E-SIM wants them?