Herald of the Stars: Chapter Two Hundred and Sixty-Two

A Tech-Apprentice meets me at the security station. He makes the Sign of the Cog and bows to me, then passes me a dataslate.

“Magos, First Officer Finlay Tolmach asked me to give this to you. It contains a summary of the current system. Trader Winterscale and Force Commander Odhran are waiting on a holocall in the Harold Broadbent conference room. Would you like a guide?”

“Thank you, Apprentice. That will be all.”

“Yes, Magos,” The Tech-Apprentice bows again, then steps aside.

Six Warforged, all as tall as me and loaded down with Power Armour, Power Shields, and a wide mix of weaponry, exit the teleportation chamber and surround me. Even with the angular nature of the Rogue Pattern Power Armour, it would be easy to mistake them for Space Marines. Instead, they’re all full conversion cyborgs like myself.

As the Warforged stride beside me to the conference room, I am reminded of their massive rivalry with the Barghest Chapter. There has been a huge uptick in Tech-Marine cross training, especially with the new recruits, as the Warforged keep hacking or disrupting the Space Marine Wargear during joint training exercises.

Space Marines usually face foes that are too mad, arrogant, or ignorant to go after their Wargear’s Machine-Spirits, who are immensely capable in their own right. Mechanicus don’t usually go after Machine-Spirits either as many view such attacks as heresy. Those that do are rarely talented enough in combat to disrupt machine-spirits while physically fighting at the same time.

It was an unexpected weakness that Odhran has been rather zealous in correcting.

The Warforged thought this was hilarious, until they found out that Space Marine intelligence is not just for show and they learn far faster than the Warforged, who earn their knowledge and implants over decades of service. This has encouraged the Warforged to up their game with designing new skill implants and better hardware or lose to a bunch of teenagers.

Then Killovie Signi got involved, disrupting their joint training. I had to crack down on the nonsense when both Space Marines and Warforged started hunting down the Imperial Vanus Assassin across the Fleet as an ‘impromptu exercise’. Both sides were infuriated that Killovie snuck into their communications and made them run around for virtual days with multiple friendly fire incidents before they figured out there was someone sabotaging their training and it wasn’t part of the exercise.

Killovie is an absolute menace when she has nothing to do and I do not envy Raphael who usually is the one to keep her calm and occupied. For all his stoic mask cracks when she is mentioned, I think he secretly enjoys her company.

Two Warforged enter the Harold Broadbent conference room and I follow ten seconds later.

I’m not sure what the man did to get a conference room on a cruiser named after him. I suspect he was a strategist though as the room is filled with written accounts of hundreds of wars across the Imperium from guardsmen’s diaries to remembrancer data chips.

It never ceases to amaze me that no matter the room in this ship, it always has some epic history or small story to it that few pay much attention to. I am just as guilty as I don’t have time to marvel at these accounts. In the centre table is a projector, throwing up green light.

Furibundus, Footfall’s star, floats within the projection in ‘real time’, or rather 4.436 hours ago. Huge plumes of mass ejection grow and shrink from the star forming an ever expanding cloud of gas that creates a light haze throughout the system.

Footfall is exactly two AU from the star, a mass of rock and plasteel joined by vaulted bridged and thick chains. Overseeing the mess of decaying structures and pugnacious souls is a macro statue of the God Emperor of Mankind the size of a battleship.

Also orbiting the star is the Mechanicus outpost Altar-Templum-Calixis-Ext-17. In typical secretive fashion, all accounts I’ve read of the station fail to mention what they do and the travelers were refused access. I’d love to find out, but unless the occupants give me a reason to, the mystery will have to wait another day.

Overlooking the tiny dots and large floating labels on this map are the partial projections of Calligos and Odhran, whose heads and torsos both have their arms crossed as they glare at each other in green, high resolution polygons. 

“Good day to you, Trader Winterscale, Force Commander Odhran.”

“Ah, Aldrich, you’re finally here,” says Calligos. “Perhaps you can persuade this stubborn fool to mount a rescue operation.”

“I am sure the good Magos will see things my way,” says Odhran. “Have you had a chance to review the data or should I talk you through it anyway, Aldrich?”

“Yes, I’ve read it,” I say while simultaneously actually reading the contents of the dataslate. “I can see why I was called. This will require a unified response.”

Calligos says, “This is the second time that so-called Faceless Lord, Karrad Vall has raided Footfall. He beat me back in the previous raid and I am keen to repay the long string of insults he broadcasted over the vox while my Emperor’s Vow limped back to the burning station for repairs. We must make full speed to relieve the port and chase off these scum before they can make off with their prize!”

Odrhan says, “I’d argue that the well coordinated attack to capture unguarded Spear of Commerce, the Universe-Class Mass Conveyor from Tithe-Fleet Calixis, while the rest of the Tithe-Fleet and Battlefleet Koronus are docked, is a sign of a much larger problem. Twelve Imperial vessels boarded while in port is an absolute disgrace. Not only that, but Karrad Vall has sixteen vessels of his own, four of which are cruisers and they’re pounding the boarded vessels in their berths.”

“How did they even get so close to the station?” I say.

“We don’t know,” says Calligos. “Sorcery, trickery, corruption? Bah! It can wait for the investigation. That’s Tanthos Moross’s headache, spineless twerp that he is.”

So that’s why the opening moves weren't in the report. The other seven Imperial ships in the system are also under some kind of attack. The Barghests Astropaths only mentioned the status of the official fleets though. It is unclear if the other vessels will, or even can, assist in repelling the assault. 

Tanthos Moross, I recall, is the Liege of Footfall. Its administrator and leader, so long as a Rogue Trader isn’t docked at the station. If two Rogue Traders are present, the most ‘senior’ has control. A messy designation that causes no end of trouble.

“What do you advocate we should do, Odhran?” I say.

“I propose that we send the Aeronautica ahead to harass Karrad Vall, either to disrupt his boarding operations, or cripple their engines. Even with sixteen crews trying to board it, Spear of Commerce is twelve kilometres by one point three kilometres. It will take them days, and more likely weeks to capture it. 

“Unless, it is as I fear and they suffer treachery. With this attack so well coordinated, I am confident Karrad Vall had saboteurs aboard the Spear of Commerce before the attack began. Trader Winterscale is correct that we should make haste, but charging ahead with all of our warships is not the way to do it.”

“Aldrich’s strike craft are powerful, yes, but unsupported they will be torn apart!”

“They have Empyrean Mantles. It will be no trouble if they are not spotted. They rarely are in simulations.”

“These aren’t your usual pirates or xenos scum, Force Commander. We don’t know what capabilities Karrad Vall has. If he has powerful sorcerers aboard, corrupted navigators, or some other infernal device, we’d be sending a vital shield out to die for little gain.”

Odrhan says, “Strike craft are valuable, but not as much as a Fleet. We need to tease out whatever we can from the enemy before we arrive. Even with its fancy engine modifications, if we keep pace with your Exorcist-Class grand cruiser, we won’t be there for ten days. That’s just too slow. Sending our escorts in against four cruisers isn’t a good idea either.”

“What makes you think the strike craft will do any better!? They’re not Space Marines, Force Commander. You can’t just insert them exactly where you want and laugh at your enemy’s tears.”

I say, “Rather than argue about it, let's bring in Igraine Yorath, my Aeronautica Marshal. She’s going to be involved either way.”

Igraine Yorath is the woman who piloted an Argus Lighter through an Orc Rok back on Marwolv. She didn’t get a ship of her own like she wanted, but a fleet of strike craft is the next best thing. Aeronautica pilots are all adrenaline junkies, so they only follow the person with the most outrageous list of stunts. Igraine ended up pushed along her career track whether she wanted it or not.

I continue, “We’re going to need to find some way of getting the Tithe-Fleet and Battlefleet back in action as well, so that means Herald Primarus Domhnall Noake. Just because the Imperial Fleets might free themselves before we get there doesn’t mean we shouldn’t help them. Do either of you have a second you believe can contribute without us ending up with too many cooks?”

Calligos laughs, “That’s a good one, Magos. Too many cooks indeed. No, my voice will be enough.”

“Leith Madra, Red Knoll’s captain, is a veteran of fifty-six hostile fleet engagements. I would have him join us,” says Odhran.

“I have no objection,” I say.

“I am willing to take your word on his skills, Force Commander,” says Calligos.

We discuss the finer details of the coming conflict while we wait twenty minutes for our three additions.

Leith Madra is a short man, at least compared to Odhran, and is quick to arrive. His face is severe and gaunt with multiple armoured cables flowing in and out of his skull.

Domhnall is next to arrive, this time in his smaller, humanoid shell, rather than his Praetorian Servitor frame. He’s still three and a half metres tall though, with broad shoulders and near alabaster Voidskin. Domhnall looks more like a statue come to life than a real human.

Igraine is the last to join us. She’s a typical Marwolv citizen, with bright red hair, pale skin, and freckles. She has several discrete cybernetics with fine, elaborate patterns. Like a lot of Marwolv women, she differentiates herself from others with colourful beads around her wrists and in her hair, painted nails, and a scarf that is covered in abstract patterns and symbols unique to her.

People from Marwolv have no trouble differentiating others by their chosen patterns, or the freckles on their face, having seemingly infinite memory and swift recognition for these random editions. I have to use my Rapid Decision Engine for all but my closest colleagues. Most Imperials have no chance and it’s one of the major barriers to integration. It’s not as bad as trying to tell one Kreigsman from another though! 

The huge variety of implants and jewelry across all genders gives my crews a rather colourful look, even when they’re in uniform, one that really makes them stand out compared to the grey rags, or endless gold thread of Imperial crews.

Leith, Domhnall, and Igraine wait quietly until everyone is present, then I brief them of the situation. Leith stares ahead with a blank look, so I assume he already knows and is making a token effort to pay attention.

I say, “What do you think, Igraine? Does Force Commander Odhran’s suggestion seem possible?”

“It’s a gamble,” says Igraine, “and not one I am willing to take. Yes, I am all for blowing up the crazy cultists. However, this isn’t our fight. We don’t need to rush. There’s no reason we can’t capture Spear of Commerce back. It has a maximum sustainable acceleration of zero point five gravities. There’s no way we won’t catch it. The moment we turned up in the system, this raid was doomed. What matters is if the enemy recognises that.”

“I agree,” says Leith. “We should make best speed with everything except the Adder-Class escorts and aim to pin Karrad Vall’s fleet between Footfall and ours. This should encourage them to break off. We must leave a single escape vector where we can send the Adders ahead to wait in ambush with their Empyrean Mantles up and running as silent as possible. Once the Adders’ strike craft cripple Karrad Vall’s fleet with a torpedo strike we can catch up at our leisure and wipe them out.”

Domhnall says, “I am not confident we could recapture Spear of Commerce. A question, Trader Calligos. Is the Mass Conveyor filled with Nephium?”

Calligos frowns and strokes his beard then says, “Tithe Fleet Calixis sent three Mass Conveyors to my worlds and all three visited Lucien’s breath. I do not have the records of which Mass Conveyor took on which cargo as that was not disclosed, only the quantity taken. This included vast quantities of nephium, ammunition, metals, and people. A sensible cargo master would have distributed Nephium evenly between the three vessels. That Spear of Commerce was berthed fifteen million kilometres from Footfall with no other vessels stationed nearby, is rather telling. 

“If the Imperium required an immediate shipment of the galaxy’s premier flamer fuel while the other two Conveyors finished scouring my realm, Spear of Commerce may well be fully loaded with combustibles. Even more damning, Emperor’s Vow is yet to detect a single shot fired at the Mass Conveyor by the raiders. It’s like they know something we don’t.”

“I thought as much,” says Domhnall. “If they see we will recapture Spear of Commerce, chances are the raiders will flee and detonate the voidship. Not only will the Imperium likely demand another Conveyor’s worth of Tithe from Trader Calligos, our ally, letting them take it instead would be giving them enough explosives to wage a full on crusade throughout the Koronus Expanse. Letting Karad Vall capture that vessel is a poor choice. We must also split our relief force between Spear of Commerce, Battlefleet Koronus, and Tithe-Fleet Calixis.”

“Your support is appreciated, Domhnall,” says Calligos. “Your assessment holds many uncomfortable truths. What’s the play, Magos?”

“Damned if we do, Damned if we don’t,” I say. I’m not happy about my options. At least Domhnall’s public support has calmed Calligos down enough to follow my lead, even though it may reel me in closer to the fallout. 

Hundreds of simulations flow through my mind as I crank up my mental implants to maximum. A minute passes as I tap my finger against my arm.

“Alright,” I say, “I have a brutally cunning plan.”