Chapter Two Hundred and Seventy-Seven
The bridge of Emil’s cruiser is grey. Spread across four sub decks, and over eight different groupings, hundreds of officers and Tech-Priests labour over banks of cogitators, monitoring and directing their little kingdoms from afar. Sixteen squads of voidsmen, backed by hulking Servitors, heavy turrets, and a squad of Ogryn guard the area against intrusion and disobedience.
Emil sits above it all upon his golden throne, every corridor, stair, and station arranged with such precision that he can see every person on the bridge, but they cannot see him unless he allows it. Unlike my vessels, his Throne Mechanicum is protected by an additional layer of armourglass with variable opacity.
There are no gold or brass highlights to bring a touch of grandeur to the space, only looming ferrocrete statues of Imperial Saints. All the decking is straight plasteel, without scrollwork, not even a single cog mechanicum, gargoyle, or skull. The only touch of artistry in the space lies in the lighting embedded into the deck. It illuminates the grey statues and walkways in such a manner that it guides the eye and foot from one space to another, separating work spaces through fine shadows and hot white light.
Cherubim fly overhead, spreading incense, oils, and quiet music.
It is not obvious to an organic eye, but I quickly pick out that the bridge of this cruiser has been struck by lance fire and rebuilt three times in the last century alone. Slight changes in the plasteel’s tempered shade of grey at several points implies it was gutted by fire less than a decade ago.
Tiny brown specks stain this mountain of grey metal in awkward to reach spots; my auspex detects at least nine different incidents of mass blood spilling spread over four centuries where the bridge was likely breached during boarding actions or mutiny.
Emil’s additional protection around the Throne Mechanicum no longer seems quite so silly.
A voice booms around me, “Declare yourself, intruder.”
I stare at Emil behind his protections, having no trouble seeing him behind the opaque glass. My mind infiltrates the local noosphere using my Magos Explorator permissions and I return the favour, speaking at great volume through the vox caster.
“Greetings, Commodore Emil Astoris. I am Magos Explorator, Novator, and Rogue Trader, Aldrich Issengrund of the Stellar Fleet. I have come to discuss your willful negligence and wasteful expenditure of Imperial resources that has enabled the escape of the traitor, Karrad Vall, the capture of three Imperial void ships, and the loss of Imperial Tithes.”
I detect several sharp hisses and a lot of growls from the officers on the bridge. Others grind their teeth or tap their feet. None, however, are so ill-disciplined that they shout their discontent.
I continue, “Battlefleet Koronus and Tithe Fleet Calixis are hereby ordered to turn around and dock with Footfall. You will submit yourself, your ships, and your crew to Inquisitor Lyre Hamiz and Inquisitor Raphael Horthstein for questioning. A report of this incident will be submitted to the Imperial Navy fleet base at Port Wander. You may use the resources of Footfall or your own Astropaths to log your own accounting of the Battle of Footfall should you wish to do so. Will you comply?”
I relax my telekinesis on the disciplined voidsmen surrounding me. They hide it well, but I can tell that they are shaking in their armour as they grip their weapons with all their strength. Their minds are clouded with fear and anger and it is only a well honed sense of self-preservation and a remarkable amount of political savvy that stops them from fleeing or attacking. I can feel them weighing up their chances as they pray to the Emperor they are not ordered to intervene in a political, and public, pissing match between the Mechanicus, Navy, and Inquisition.
Emil radiates disbelief, shock, and anger. I skim his thoughts from his poorly guarded mind. I don’t want to make it obvious I’m taking a peek, so I don’t get much.
He is... surprised that I am a Navigator and cursing his bad luck? How odd. He’s also rather unsure of his next move as I was able to teleport accurately onto his bridge without a beacon, ignore his security forces, and hijack the vox caster without the Machine-Spirits raising an alarm.
After a whole minute of silence, Emil finally speaks again.
“Lord Captain Issengrund. I do not recognise your authority over Battlefleet Koronus or Tithe Fleet Calixis. You have no right to detain myself or my crew, nor do we have time to entertain your flight of fancy. It is my duty to escort what remains of the Imperial Tithe to Port Wander with expediency. I demand that you leave my bridge immediately and do not return.”
I move and the voidsmen tense, raising their guns again, but halfway through my step I cast A Course Untravelled and vanish, reappearing next to Emil. I lock his body down with telekinesis and detach the neural plugs in his neck, spine, and skull preventing him from issuing any further orders.
Taking advantage of my extreme height, I lean over him and say, “Are you sure?”
“You will not intimidate me, Pretender.”
I hum, “Your courage is commendable, Commodore. Why do you call me Pretender?”
Emil’s frustration explodes out of him, “No man can hold the three titles you do! If you wanted to try and scam me you could at least come up with something believable!”
“How on Holy Terra did you arrive at that conclusion?” I say.
Barely registering my words, Emil rants, “Space Marines, Inquisition, and an Emperor loving Saint? Are you out of your mind? No new crusade has passed Port Wander. No word of a new Imperial Saint. No Explorator Fleets! There is no record of your name, your cause, or your ships.
“Your weapons and armour follow no known patterns. Your void craft are not Imperial in origin. The so called Barghests have their symbols and vessel, but not their power armour and there are far too many of them to be a Space Marine chapter.
“My people counted no less than 2000 so-called Astartes, let alone all the other Mechanicus troops in an unknown pattern of power armour made from non-standard materials. With such numbers and armour I can only conclude that the Astartes are fake, and if they are not, the renegade chapter is finally in open rebellion!
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“As for the Inquisition, their codes and void ships matched, but with everything else out of alignment, they could only be false. Their hulls also show signs of xenotech. Your claims are utterly ridiculous and your authority a paper grox.
“That. That is why I call you Pretender!”
I deflect his froth and spittle to the side and raise an eyebrow, “That is not the entirely unreasonable response I expected.”
Internally, I am cursing. Emil believes every word that he has said and I can follow his logic, which does not bode well. There is more to this though, I am sure.
“Commodore Astoris, why did you jump to this conclusion and not wait for confirmation? There has been plenty of time for a message to reach Chapter Master Lir. I could have given you my credentials had you asked for them. Trader Winterscale could have sent you a private message had you asked for it. Surely you have met him before and could have asked for proof of an exchange that only the two of you know about?”
Emil freezes for a moment, “No. I have not met Trader Calligos.”
“That was a lie. You have met Calligos. Not only could you have contacted him, there are other holes in your story. Who else but a Magos Explorator would have new technologies? Who, other than a powerful Navigator, could teleport aboard your ship? Who, other than a Rogue Trader or Inquisitor, would dare place xenotech on their vessels?”
Emil scowls, “How was I supposed to check all that without raising your suspicions? I was right too. Just look at yourself. What sort of freak invades a void ship in a pink bathrobe?”
I sigh and straighten my dressing gown, “A hasty one. Your excuse, however, Commodore, is weak. A request for confirmation would not have been unreasonable. One might even call it expected. Trader Calligos wasn’t even the only option. The Sororitas were also available for contact.
“That you took our initial correspondence without extensive scrutiny is why we rushed so fast to your aid.” I fold my arms and my voice takes on a sharp edge, “We believed you were in dire peril and took extensive casualties during transit to get to you in time. The loss of two frigates only confirmed our concerns. Are you saying my soldiers died because you were lax in your duties?”
“Who cares about the dregs from your lower decks?”
I don’t hit him, but Emperor do I want to give this blowhard fool a good smack.
“Then you must have been blind when you met my representatives, or watched the pict recordings of your void ships being cleared room by room of both cultists and Warp entities.”
“I didn’t meet your messenger, Lord Captain. They handed over your ‘suggestion’ to one of my junior officers posing as me. Why on earth would I ever expose myself to suspicious fools after repeated assasination attempts?”
“Commodore Astoris. Your caution was entirely unnecessary and deprived you of a vital personal observation. Not only that, if I wanted your austere vessels, my troops could have taken them. With ease. Or do you think yourself capable of repelling 2000 Astartes as you called them, let alone tens of thousands of Voidsmen equivalents? Even the Penitents, the rabble that follow Saint Alpia about, are better equipped than your ratings, let alone your menials. If you couldn’t fight those lousy cultists, what chance did you even have?”
“We were attacked by over a million men!”
“You were infiltrated by rabid buffoons, barely a fifth of the enemy forces, while languishing in a secure port! You had a defensive advantage so great that, if you cared to use it, the enemy would never have breached your hull. Or perhaps you think they could have cut their way in with breaching charges and hand tools? Where were your hull patrols, your checkpoints, your security procedures? What were those millions of men and women of your own doing? Smoking, drinking, and fucking?”
Emil stares at me, his face scrunching in anger, but he does not reply.
“Besides,” I continue, “You are missing the point. You still have your ships. I was even willing to let you share the achievement of bringing Karrad Vall to heel and wash away the shame of losing your ships while in port. Emperor curse your nutty pride! Why would you throw away such a chance?”
“Bah! What sort of fool gives away achievements? It just added to my suspicions!”
I say, “A fool who was willing to compromise and be humble so that he could bring destruction to the Ruinous Powers, as all true sons and daughters of Terra should strive to do.”
“I am a loyal officer of the Imperium and I will not sit here and listen to your slander!”
I ignore his bluster and continue, “I can see it now. I am willing to entertain the idea that the Stellar Fleet does appear unusual at first glance. However, you jumped the macro-cannon, didn’t you Commodore? Then, rather than admit you were wrong you doubled down, no doubt inciting your officers, claiming that I was encroaching on the authority of the Imperial Navy to ensure their compliance with your deficient logic.”
“Absolute poppycock! Now get out!”
“Then, to make things worse, you decided to do exactly the opposite of what I suggested to complete your little narrative. To prevent any scheme of the ‘Great Pretender’ from succeeding. A vague, shadowy entity in your mind that you’d heard to watch out for in repeated rumors. For some reason, it got stuck in your head that I’m that guy. Completely the wrong fellow, by the way. He has a lot more feathers and two heads. I’m right. I know I am. You can’t lie to a Navigator, Commodore, at least, not when your mind has as many holes as yours does.”
Emil struggles against my grip, trembling in his chair, and gets nowhere. Despite the fool comparing me to Tzeentch or one of his Daemons, he doesn’t even have a whiff of Chaos corruption about him, nor any arcanotech or enchantment that might hide corruption from my sight.
“I am going to ask you one last time, Commodore. Will you turn your fleet around?”
“Never!”
“How unfortunate.”
With Emil sitting on the Throne Mechanicum, I am able to bypass the security and use my Mechanicus overrides to bring the Primary Machine-Spirit under control. I don’t even have to raid his mind for the command codes as he’s already entered them earlier in the day.
Using my Magos Explorator override, I lock every officer from their station and prevent anyone from alerting the rest of the Imperial vessels. Then, I issue the command to return to port.
Dozens of officers cry out in confusion and fear, unable to comprehend why their permissions have all been revoked. Tech-Priests scramble to unravel the mystery, spraying oils, chanting prayers, and requesting communion with the Machine-Spirits. They are met with single message:
Access revoked. Insufficient permissions. Contact your sysadmin for confession and reconsecration.
My undersuit opens up underneath a shimmer of nanites, then I put my hand on my belly and pull out my null box. Emil stares at me in horror and disgust.
“Do you know what this is?”
Emil does not reply.
“It’s a null box. So long as it is shut, they’re almost indestructible as both the box and its contents are locked in stasis. Handy for important documents, like a Warrant of Trade."
“No...” Emil says, his voice a near whisper.
“I’ve called your Enginseer Prime and Navigator over for a little chat. Rejoice and praise the Machine-God and Omnissiah! Today, Commodore, you get to experience enlightenment and despair simultaneously.”