Chapter Two Hundred and Seventy-Four
The portal explosion happened over two hours ago yet neither the Librarians or my own psykers have reached out to me to inform me of the emergency, the entire point of setting up a psychic relay.
Annoyed and concerned at the lacking communication, I pull on my bond with one of the two Psy-Errants at Footfall.
“Novator Issengrund, what do you require?”
“What is the status of the Barghests, are they still transmitting?”
“Yes, Novator. Their Librarian was called away. His mind is muted and I cannot locate him. The Barghests continue to communicate through Vox, though our connection is sporadic.”
“Have their Machine-Spirits reported any mass casualties?”
“Unknown, Novator. Many of our systems are down due to a Warp event. Automatic collating of casualties is unreliable. Manual reports from the Barghests lists them as operational. They continue to secure the hostile vessels and the Red Schola.”
“I see. What other issues has the Warp event caused?”
“We are facing a wave of Warp Spawn and Chaos Mutants. They are dressed like the citizens of Footfall. I have detected eight psychic awakenings. Two still live and retrieval teams have been sent. Our defences around the docks servicing the Spire of Intoxicants, Red Schola, Hab-Fanes, and Emperor Macro-Statue are under assault. The Stellar Corps are holding and morale among Heralds remains high.
“Canonness Stern and the Order of the Valorous Heart are defending the surviving citizens, having retreated to the Chapel of the Third Congregants. She has called for reinforcements and Herald Primarus Noake has sent the Light Infantry. All Penitents have been withdrawn to the docks and those that survived the Warp event are assisting the Mechanised Infantry with the defence.”
“Are you informing me that a significant number of Penitents were swept up in the Warp event and had to be put down?”
“Yes, Novator.”
“Let me guess, it was the ones who did their duty and did not succumb to lust and greed that suffered the brunt of mutations.”
“You are correct, Novator.” The Errant’s sending is curt, with an underlying hint of frustration. “The scum remained safe behind the wards on our shuttles. Penitent fatalities have hit 58%. All Penitent survivors in good standing were at the docks beneath the Emperor’s Macro-Statue at the time of the Warp event.
“Ah, the Heralds are fine, apart from the Light Infantry. Not all of House Ortelius’s troops have their wards and implants yet: 21% were lost. Fortunately, the genelocks on the corrupted Light Infantry’s equipment prevented them from using their lasguns in their madness and despair.
“They were given the Emperor’s Mercy after a short scuffle. These backline issues have not unduly affected our defence thanks to the efforts of the Warforged and our Battlesmiths who had no trouble holding down the line all by themselves while we reorganised.”
“Acknowledged,” I send, “The Sororitas have no wards. How have they fared?”
“No mutations have been reported. Their fortune is a statistical impossibility and they continue to fight long after they should be dead.” A hint of awe creeps into the Psy-Errant’s mental voice. “Only the largest Warp Spawn appear capable of putting down a Sister for good. The Machine-Spirits report seven deaths, five of whom are recruits. Most Sorroritas will be more machine than flesh by the time they are out of the medicae decks and their equipment will need complete reforging.”
I send, “As is their right. Two final questions. Why was I not informed immediately of the Warp event and what are the wealthier inhabitants at the Liege’s Court up to?”
“Apologies, Novator. Primarus Noake does not view the situation as critical and did not want me to stir up the Warp further with telepathic communications, nor are our specialists confident that reinforcements could be safely teleported to Footfall, even if we required them.
“In addition, between the mass Warp Drive detonation and the Warp event, my reach is much diminished. Even with our link, I could not have contacted you, regardless of my orders.” The Psy-Errant sends a self-depreciating chuckle, “I sense your disbelief, Novator and can tell that you did not even notice the disruption. Your power is much greater than mine.”
“Understood. My final question?”
“We do not have an official channel to Obsidian Emporial or Kasaballica Mission. Cooperation was growing until the Warp event hit us. All contact has been lost. Tanthus Moross briefly managed to reach out to us. Primarus Noake refused to send him assistance and directed him to the Chapel of the Third Congregants.
“I speculate that Primarus Noake believes Moross’ tenure as Liege of Footfall will not survive the fallout of this invasion, nor is he too concerned if the Stellar Fleet suddenly ends up in charge of the station. We control the docks. At least two thirds of the local population are dead. Only the Stellar Fleet has the means to repair the Shield Shrines and other damage. Footfall is ours, Novator, and none of the local powers can contest our claim without looking ungrateful. I would not dare to speak on Trader Winterscale’s behalf, however.”
“The local powers will not be deterred,” I send my amusement even as I feel another weight settle upon my shoulders, “and Calligos will not hesitate to take his battery of bytes. Your faith and pride in the Stellar Fleet is noted, Errant. I thank you for your service. Issengrund out.”
By the Throne! What an absolute mess. One day, I will be able to dock at a port and it won’t end in a shootout. Maybe. A Magos can dream!
I shake my head, clearing my doubts. Despite the setbacks, this has turned out well so far. I am not pleased at the appearance of another significant Daemon. For now, I am assuming that Vashtorr the Arkifane is Karrad Vall’s sponsor and Evenus, likely the Chaos Sorcerer, was Vashtorr’s liaison with Vall.
Evenus opened a portal to the Forge of Souls where Vashtorr was building the Arks of Omen from Space Hulks. According to my ‘ancient prophetic tomes’, Abaddon is supposed to deploy the Arks of Omen during the Thirteenth Crusade. Evenus’ actions likely disrupted Vashtorr’s work, so he punished the Sorcerer and blew up the portal. Despite the damage the detonation caused, I am delighted we did not have to fight Vashtorr’s armies. We would have lost Footfall and had to flee.
The bad news is that there was only one visible Space Hulk through the portal. It is possible that some, if not most Arks of Omen have been deployed for the six crusades launched by the Ruinous Powers. Abaddon’s most recent attacks were triggered when the Emperor brought back three Primarchs and cooperated with the Machine God to create hundreds of new Imperial and Mechanicus Saints, then launched three crusades of his own.
I sometimes feel like a Bloatfly, stiring grox-shit with every flap of my wings.
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Vashtorr also got a good look at our technology; we discovered that our wards are insufficient against Vashtorr and his creations. This is absolutely horrible and only my implants are preventing me from panicking. I will have to call in my favour with the Harlequins, reach out to the Grey Knights, or raid the Inquisition’s stash of forbidden artefacts if I want to improve our sorcerous protections. I supposed I could also pray to the Emperor or Machine God too.
None of these options are good and likely all will come with hidden costs. I can only hope that E-SIM has something useful once I repair my Warp Tap and wake him up again. That is too passive for me though as the timeline is too uncertain. Perhaps the Lathe Worlds will have a solution? The Mechanicus are usually willing to swap knowledge and I have plenty to share.
I set aside my concerns and re-examine Karrad Vall’s fleet, The Wolfpack: four cruisers and his captured Imperial vessels, two escorts and a Macro-Conveyor. I also investigate Tithe Fleet Calixis and Battlefleet Koronus.
The Imperial fleets have departed Footfall and are making best speed towards the Macro-Conveyor. I have had no further communications from Commodore Emil Astoris and remain skeptical that he will continue to follow my ‘suggestions’.
There are approximately four days before the Stellar Fleet can match speed and heading with The Wolfpack and two days until Emil can destroy Spear of Commerce.
Once again I am left with little to do other than monitor the situation and swim in tiny circles around the Warp Sextant tank.
Much to my surprise, an hour after I start getting restless, Thorfinn turns up with a bunch of Servitors.
The Servitors put down two couches and a recaf table. Fans pick up and the heavy scent of incense and oil fades. A large terrarium, filled with flowering cacti, is plonked on the table, taking up most of the space. A pot of Tanna Tea appears alongside a tower of delicate cakes and fine biscuits.
“Hey Aldrich! Stop moping and get out of the tank!” says Thorfinn.
I give him a thumbs up and climb out. The Warp sensitive liquid flows off me and in less than a minute I am dry. Two Servo-Skulls float over to me carrying a pink fluffy dressing gown. ‘Galaxy’s No.1 Dad’ is embroidered on the back. I laugh when I see it and hold out my arms in a T-pose, letting the Servo-Skulls slip the dressing gown over me. I tie the dressing gown tight and hop off the top of the tank, letting my in-built grav-skates slow my fall.
Thorfinn sits on one of the couches, lying along its whole length, “This place is so dreary. I don’t know how you stand spending so much time here.”
“Because I must,” I copy Thorfinn and lie on the other couch.
“So dramatic.”
I gesture towards the tea, cakes, and table decorations, “Says the man who brought an elaborate teatime set up.”
Thorfinn grins, “It was Alpia’s idea. She wanted one of us to give you a laugh when you inevitably started losing your shit over all the fighting. Fleet Command’s work is more urgent right now, so that left me. I’ve planned a whole man-date where we admire the manliest of flowering flora, the cactus, while skulls serve us tea, just to really sand off that ‘edge’ off the whole affair.”
I laugh a couple of tears forming in my eyes, “Alright, you got me. I am officially amused. This is wonderfully silly.”
“Good.”
“Why is it that whenever I am grumpy, all my friends choose a dumb activity to cheer me up?”
Thorfinn smirks, “You’re simple.”
I clutch my chest in mock outrage, “How rude!”
Thorfinn laughs, “So long as it keeps our glorious leader in good cheer, I’ll call it a win.”
I roll my eyes, though I do pick up on the undertones of fear Thorfinn is trying to hide. He knows we’re all fucked if I lose it and I’ve come far closer than anyone is comfortable with. He’s not just here to cheer me up. He’s here to save lives. I am...being managed and I do not like it. Thorfinn’s slight awkwardness that he’s trying to hide behind silly actions suggests he is unhappy with this role as well, though I do not probe his emotions with my mind to get a better idea of why.
Rather than dive down an uncomfortable rabbit hole, I look closer at the cacti instead. There are over two dozen different species of cacti flowering in the terrarium all at the same time, poking out of a large central rock, or nestled around the base upon a mound of gravel and sandy soil. Some of the flowers are quite large and have stellate, rosette, and cup-type features all in one flower. Others are more trumpet in shape. Purples, oranges and yellows are the most common colours.
“Did you print these like this or grow them from seed?” I say.
“I grew them years ago. Alpia used her psychic powers to make them all bloom at the same time though and keep it that way. I can do something similar myself with the right conditions and hormones, but I’ve never been able to time it quite right so that they all bloom at the same time. My record is half.”
“I did not know you’d taken up cactus growing as a hobby.”
Thorfinn shrugs, “That is no surprise. We don’t talk much anymore Aldrich, especially after most of your kids joined the Heralds. The ‘family and friends’ evenings have fallen off a cliff. We’ve all become lost in our work and our long lives make weeks seem like days.”
“That’s true,” I sigh. A Servo-Skull feeds me another cake. I don’t even have to use my hands. This is great!
Thorfinn continues, “Not only do I run the media, propaganda, and censorship, I’ve also picked up a lot of noosphere entertainment and civilian service industries. Media representative is more like Minister of Culture these days. If it’s not war or heavy industry, Fleet Command keeps throwing it in my direction. If I’m honest, Brigid is the worst culprit as she only has time to deal with budgets. The actual regulation, laws, and minutiae fall to me.”
“Well, no one rioted, so we didn’t notice. You’ve been doing too good a job!”
“Urgh, I know! My staff function as a civilian small council, so it’s not like I don’t have it under control, despite Eire and Brigid syphoning most of my staff for SR-651. We have the appropriate authoritative charters as well. An official name and recognition would be appreciated though.”
I raise my eyebrow, “Aren’t we supposed to be relaxing?”
“Tea and cake diplomacy is your thing, Aldrich. You’ve eaten six cakes already. Are you telling me you’re not having fun? Besides, you absolutely love to know how everything works. I don’t believe you're not aware of what is going on. You just haven’t given it any focus.”
“I won’t deny it! And yes, I am enjoying myself. The lemon cake was my favourite so far. I really like the Echinopsis ‘Daydream’ cactus too. The colour and shape of its blooms are unique. Just call your small council Civilian Command or something. Keep everything consistent. You know the drill: send out a draft to Fleet Command in advance and by the time it gets in front of us at a full meeting, we’ll all be ready to sign it.”
“Will do. I thought you’d like the pink french fancy the most. Alpia said it was your favourite. I am fond of the Epiphyllum oxypetalum ‘Queen of the Night’. They have the most incredible scent and the blooms last for a single night. Getting them to flower feels like a real achievement. A brief moment of beauty within the harsh void.”
I clear my throat, “I haven’t got to the pink ones yet. Are you not going to eat any of these?” I send a snake over to sniff the terrarium for me and it sends me its impressions. “There’s too many scents to pick out your favourite. I’ll print one out later and give it a try. I bet Brigid would like it.”
“I don’t have your implants, Aldrich. I’ll have one or two in a bit. They’re mostly for you.”
“You sure know how to treat a man.”
Thorfinn laughs, “That’s enough flowers, cakes, and work.” Thorfinn rubs his hands together, “I’ve been dying to get my mechadendrites on Fial’s latest hacking game and with you distracted by food, I bet I can sweep the board.”
“Challenge accepted!”
A Servitor immediately brings over Fial’s game, everything already bought in advance by plotting friends and family. Over the next three hours, Thorfinn’s hidden awkwardness melts away as we compete and chug tea like it’s the only thing keeping us conscious. I dare say that, by the end of Thorfinn’s visit I have consumed near lethal amounts of caffeine and sugar.
All too soon, the fun is over; I get a message from Odhran.
Thorfinn leaves quietly, patting my shoulder as he passes. I mumble goodbye, my awareness of time already spreading thin as I spin up to full capacity. The stacks of cogitators groan within the navigation chamber wail and groan as they match my pace. Incense drifts across the deck like dry ice and Servo-Skulls cry their endless hymns and prayers.
I return to the tank and reconnect with many minds, both mechanical and organic alike.
Alpia’s fluffy gift floats off my shoulders, entirely forgotten.