Herald of the Stars: Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Nine

Happy New Year everyone!

“We do not always see eye to eye.”

I snort, “You don’t say.”

Bedwyr Keane, my bodyguard captain, speaks up for the first time since we landed on Grave’s Bite, “I would love to know what it is. What sort of bolt pistol is it?”

“This is one of those things that you and your Heralds need to keep secret,” I say. “That is a genuine imperial relic. There’s probably less than a hundred of them in the whole galaxy. A Castigator Bolt Pistol. There was a single production run of them hand-crafted by one hundred and seventeen deaf-and-blind artificers within the shrine of the Nameless Saint. Don’t ask me who the Nameless Saint was, or what the title may represent. I have no clue.

“It is said that a round fired from that gun can pierce any ward and armour. That probably isn’t quite true, there is always a counter out there somewhere. I’d bet on it being something dumb, like hiding behind a wall or a rock. Odd rules are a common fault with arcanotech. Still, you could, in theory, shoot a titan Princeps from ten kilometres away with a self-targeting round, and kill them in their life support tank without ever harming the titan. I dare say it would unravel the unclean sorceries and slaves of the Ruinous Powers just as effectively.”

“I can see why Chapter Master Brackin is unwilling to trust the Ecclesiarchy with it,” says Bedwyr. “Still, it seems odd for such a tiny little thing to have so much power.”

Lir glances at Bedwyr, the looks to me. “Magos, would you like to inspect the pistol closer?”

“No. The further away I am from that awesome gun, the happier I will be.”

“Ah, some of the stuff we have can be quite intimidating.”

I hold back a sigh at the byplay and walk on to the second row of this barrow-like hoard giving everything I see a casual scan.

“Oh wow,” I say, staring at a device in the shape of a Cog Mechanicum. “I never thought I’d see one of these! Was this looted from a ruin, or do you just piss a lot of people off, Chapter Master.”

Lir’s eyes crinkle slightly, “What is the device?”

I query the device and it responds with various errors like ++Low Power++ and ++Connection Terminated.++ Nothing unexpected though.

“That is a working example of a Mark of the Omnissiah. This is another relic, one built from scavenged parts from the Dark Age of Technology. It is much rarer than a Castigator Bolt Pistol, though I could not say which is more valuable. A Mark of the Omnissiah is said to be able to repair an Imperial Knight in battle, restoring damaged systems and shattered armour to pristine conditions in minutes. I admit I would dearly love one of these.”

“What would you do with it?” says Lir.

“The same as any competent Tech-Priest. Learn from it and replicate it as best I can. I’d love to see if I could make one that works on an imperial vessel.”

Lir says, “How likely is it that you would succeed?”

“It would be the work of centuries, perhaps millennia if all I had was this one sample. I believe I could replicate one, especially my Quest for Knowledge goes well and I find other examples of similar technologies.

“I am not willing to trade this Mark of the Omnissiah with you at this time.”

“A disappointment,” I say, “but not unexpected, even if you don’t have any knights of your own. Letting us take a look is already generous.”

“I’m glad you agree,” says Lir.

We continue our slow walk. I rather like the little plaques that hold the dates and manner in which each artefact was acquired. The suits of Space Marine artificer armour interest me greatly, their extensive modifications giving me ideas for my own armour. There’s one that lets you run twice as fast that would do me much good as I am actually a bit too strong for my armour and have to limit myself.

I tap the chest of one of three suits of Centurion Armour. It makes a Terminator look small. Its most remarkable feature is not its size, strength, or durability, though that is remarkable, but that it does not require a Black Carapace to operate. It is similar to a Tau Battlesuit or my own Vanguard armour in purpose, but much, much better at its job.

“If you can get me the STC for this, I will make you twenty of them.”

“That might be possible. Twenty suits would not be enough though. We would need to call in a big favour from a Forge World to get hold of the full design.”

I shrug, “It’s not worth much more than that. There’s a lot I could do just scaling up an ordinary power armour. While the finished models are particularly valuable to a chapter, the technology inside is merely impressive, not priceless.”

“Then why do you want it?”

“It saves me decades of time that I could use to work on alterations that are less obvious. Don’t pay them too much for it, Chapter Master, they’d be taking advantage of you.”

I exaggerate; with the scan I took and my Research Matrix I’ll have a prototype within two years. Cheating is awesome. I made the offer because I don’t want accusations of technological theft to probe me with a mechadendrite. If he can get it officially no one can complain about it if I supply his chapter with them, or use it to improve my Vanguard Armour.

“There is no point discussing this any further. I will make inquiries though. Twenty new suits would greatly benefit our chapter.”

I step away from the Centurion Armour and admire a full stack of ten storm shields. They use a power field, like the ones in my hammer or my hands, to disintegrate incoming attacks. Now that I think about it, couldn’t I do the same? I’d have to be careful with my feet, as I couldn’t cover my soles, or people bumping into me when the field is active, but I bet E-SIM has an upgrade that would let me use a power field over my whole body.

++There are multiple ways you could achieve this.++

“Awesome.”

The Barghest Chapter doesn’t have any more relics and while their own wargear is good, at least the stuff in the vault is, it isn’t unique or irreplaceable. There are a few items though that require some discretion.

“Chapter Master Brackin, would you be willing to remain in the vault here alone with me? You have some more troubling items that I would like to discuss. Ten minutes of your time is all I should require.”

“That is acceptable.”

“Magos, are you sure?” voxes Bedwyr

“I’ll be fine and will call for an alert via telepathy if I need it. Probably. Those wards are really strong. He couldn’t kill me in ten minutes anyway.”

“As you say, Magos.”

The other Space Marines, and my Heralds leave the vault and the door closes behind them.

Lir says, “I wasn’t sure if you know the meaning of discrete.”

“We have different value systems,” I say. “Follow me.”

We head to the centre of the hoard where the full gear of a Farseer is present: A Ghost Helm, Force Barrier, Witch Staff, Fusion Pistol, Heavy Rune Armour, and a Spirit Stone of Vigour.

“All of these items are useful to me, should you be open to trading them. However, that spirit stone embedded into the Ghost Helm has the soul of a Farseer in it, one who can no doubt listen in on us and your crew, or even warn her people of your plans.”

Lir immediately draws his plasma pistol and I reach out and hold his arm down. His eyes go wide when he cannot budge.

“Unhand me!”

“I haven’t quite finished. Any harm that stone can do has already been done and there is a far better way to dispose of it than plasma. Consider this your task from the Emperor, if you must.”

Lir puts his pistol away and growls, “I am listening.”

“Good. I am going to put up a muffling and scrying barrier. Do not try to shoot me. I will be most wrath with you if you do.”

“This had better be good.”

I wave my hand, making an obvious, and unnecessary getsure as I draw on the Warp. A small amount of frost forms on our armour and a soap bubble like shimmer surrounds us both. Eldar runes flash across its surface each time it deflects a mental probe.

“You dabble in forbidden lore.”

“Not really. Forget about the counter espionage shield, Chapter Master. That void stone is the most valuable item in your collection. I’ve no idea if the bearer deserves this fate, but it’s going to be grisly. A Spirit Stone of Vigour rapidly refreshes the mind and body so that they can draw more power from the Warp. Energy that they could use for healing themselves or their allies, for example.”

For some reason, Lir kneels as I speak, then clears his throat. Perhaps because I said it was a quest for the Emperor?

I continue, “You need to take this to Terra and hand it to a Custodes directly. I don’t care how you do it, but one of those could aid the Emperor. He could consume the soul within to bolster the Astronomicon or his own strength. Maybe he’ll appreciate having someone around who is psychically strong enough to chat with. Maybe the stone will shatter simply by being close to his mortal frame. None of that really matters. The point is that you still have to try.”

“Magos, please shut up and turn around!” says Lir.

He sounds genuinely distressed so I turn around and behind me are two Custodians in their Auramite Power armour. They’re three metres tall, with a long red plume flowing from the tops of their helmets. Their left pauldrons are purple, as are their robes.

Each Custodian holds a huge halberd with a bolter integrated into it. I honestly think their weapons look incredibly dumb and are a disaster waiting to happen but there are no records of that happening, so they’re probably perfectly serviceable.

They might have been teleported in by the Emperor, much like how Eldar Harlequins are tossed about by their laughing god. There also might be a Custodian ship hiding in the system, that has a teleporter good enough to slip through the extensive wards on the vault. Are my sensors really that bad?

“Ah, the Aquilan Shield,” I say. “You’re about to be robbed, Chapter Master.”

Lir splutters and, almost against his will, looks up at me, disbelief upon his face. The light reflecting off the Custodes armour brushes over his eyes and Lir bows his head again.

The Aquilan Shield is a faction within the Custodes who venture out into the void to guard random people for random lengths of time, usually so that the person they are escorting can die when the Emperor needs them too, rather than pop their clogs ahead of schedule.

I am not happy that they are here.

The left Custodian holds out his hand and I approach the case with the soulstone in it. Rather than try to hack the device, I pull out my trusty crowbar that never sees any use and tap it against the armour glass. There is a soft click and the lock disengages.

The soulstone tries to escape, floating up and out of the box. I grab it and the soul within tries to fry me with lightning, but it is too weak to damage me, even if it could get through my wards.

I place the sparking soulstone in the hands of the Custodian. The Custodian shudders slightly as the lightning flows through him, then disappears between one moment and the next. I have absolutely no idea how it is possible, but I do know that I am getting trolled.

“Magos Aldrich Issengrund,” says the remaining Custodian. “You are to present me with three serums.”

“I used them all and cannot acquire additional units,” I say, then follow it up with telepathy, “at this time. The Emperor already took everything I have when I made the last batch. You will be waiting for a while.”

“Negative, Magos. I am confident that I will not have to wait for long.”

Damn harbingers of doom, come to tweak my paranoia. They should rename themselves the Order of the Reaper or Tarot Knights.

I say, “You could always raid the Eldar for their Phoenix Stone.”

“We have tried.”

“Well that explains a lot. Oh do stand, Chapter Master. The Custodes are not so fragile that you must kneel before them.”

“His irreverence aside, Chapter Master Lir Brackin, the Magos is correct. It is not becoming of a Space Marine to fight on his knees.”

Lir stands, “What now?”

“Complete your trades with haste,” says the Custodes, “so that the Magos may be on his way. I will be going with him.”

Lir salutes, “Yes, Lord!”

This? This is why I can’t have nice things.

I sigh, I really should stop taking out my frustration on the Custodes and reign in my sarcasm. It’s not a healthy coping mechanism when the other guy has a big gun.