[Rogue Trader 02] - Star of Damocles Read online

“Negative, my lord,” the officer replied, doubt obvious in his voice.

  “Negative?” Lucian asked. “Report.”

  “Something’s blocking the targeting mechanisms, overloading their machine spirits, my lord. I can’t…”

  “The interference?” asked Lucian, theorising that the incessant interference flooding from the rings of Sy’l’Kell was somehow confounding the Oceanid’s targeting arrays.

  “No sir, there’s something else.”

  Damn these xenos to the Gideon Confluence, thought Lucian, at once irritated and impressed by the tau’s ingenuity. He crossed to the wide viewing port and looked out across the narrow span of smoky void between the two vessels. The ships were rapidly passing one another in opposite directions, the tau vessel veering to its port in a course that would take it away from the Oceanid and towards the station. Odd, thought Lucian. He had expected the enemy to close even further in order to make full use of the extra-vehicular armoured suits, as they had done against Korvane’s vessel in the last battle.

  Even as Lucian watched, the wound punched in the tau ship by his lance strike slid past, almost filling the entire viewing port. He judged the hole to be at least twenty metres in diameter, and as it passed across the dead centre of the port, he was afforded a view right through the enemy vessel, to open space beyond. The Nomad passed across that space, the tau ship turning towards her.

  Lucian realised why the enemy ship was seeking to disengage from his own: it was seeking to hold him off while it swung around on the smaller frigate. He drew breath to order a change in course, when another sight greeted his eyes. A shoal of miniscule white objects, each propelled by a small, blue jet, was swarming across the gap between the two ships. So these were the cause of the fire control failure, Lucian realised. They were some kind of decoy, each, judging by their movements, possessed of some manner of machine intelligence, their density and erratic course confounding any effort to get a target lock on their mother ship.

  “I can’t get a solution at this range, my lord,” the ordnance officer reported. “Whatever those things are, each one has an etheric signature far in excess of its size. All together like that, at such close range…”

  “Saint Katherine’s pasty arse,” Lucian cursed, causing the ordnance officer to blush and the helmsman to smirk. They’re after the Nomad, and if they get her this whole operation will have been a waste of time. Mister Raldi, bring us in hard on the orbital, I want every ounce of power through the mains, but be ready on the retros.”

  As the helmsman nodded his understanding, Lucian ordered a comms channel to the Nomad to be opened.

  “Sarik, do you read?”

  Lucian glared out of the viewing port as he awaited the frigate’s reply. The tau vessel had passed from view, to reveal the tau orbital beyond, and in its shadow, the floundering Space Marine vessel. Fires raged across the Nomad’s port flank. Misty contrails snaking from her aft section betrayed a massive hull breach through which oxygen was bleeding uncontrollably.

  An angry burst of static was followed by the distorted, barely audible voice of the Space Marine. “Aye Lucian, I read. We’re preparing for our run.”

  “You won’t make it at this rate, Sarik,” Lucian replied, knowing full well that he was pushing the Space Marine’s bounds in speaking to him in such a manner, but continuing regardless. “That vessel has you in its sights, and in your state you can’t hold it off for long enough. Will you accept my aid?”

  For a long moment, only hissing, popping static was audible over the communications channel. Lucian prayed that the Space Marine would put pride aside, just this once, and accept the aid of another. Then Sarik’s voice came back.

  “You and I shall have words, Lucian Gerrit, when this is over. In the meantime, speak your plan.”

  Lucian felt relief flood his system, but saw that he did not have the luxury of time. “We’ll be with you shortly, Sarik. In the meantime, I suggest you continue on your course on momentum only, and shunt all available power to your aft shields. Understood?”

  “Understood,” came the reply, this time without delay. “Nomad out.”

  “Well enough,” said Lucian, as he sat in his command throne and turned his attention to the holograph. He took in the relative positions of the remainder of the fleet. He was gratified to see that his children’s vessels had maintained formation with his own, keeping a distance as ordered, yet close enough to respond to any order he might issue. He was even more pleased when he saw that the other vessels, even further out, had yet to close in on the action. He smirked as he imagined the scenes on the decks of those ships, picturing the various captains raging in jealously as they watched Lucian save the Space Marines’ bacon and take all the glory.

  Steady, he thought to himself. The glory was not his yet, and he still had a Space Marine frigate to rescue, a tau cruiser to take care of, and a space station to capture. This would match the exploits of old Abad, if he could pull it off, Lucian mused. Abad had taken on a Reek voidswarm at the Battle of Ghallenburg, and single-handedly stemmed the tide of filthy xenos interface vessels as they made planetfall. Lucian would do likewise, he determined, and to hell with the others.

  “Approaching orbital, my lord,” the helmsman reported, interrupting Lucian’s rumination. He looked to the holograph and saw that the alien space station lay three and a half thousand metres off the starboard bow. The tau vessel was completing a stately turn that would bring it directly behind the Nomad. It had yet to open fire, but Lucian judged that it would not be long.

  “Trim mains, Mister Raldi. Hard to starboard, full burn all port retro banks.”

  Lucian stared at the holograph as the helmsman carried out his orders, feeling the enormous gravitational forces exerting themselves on his ship as it changed course sharply. The banks of mighty retro thrasters mounted along the length of the port side coughed into life as power was cut from the main drives, the Oceanid entering a manoeuvre that would see her slingshot right around the alien space station.

  Then, the ordnance officer called aloud, “Brace for enemy fire!” Klaxons echoed up and down the Oceanid’s companionways, warning the crew of incoming fire, but Lucian knew that his ship was unlikely to be the target, for the tau had a more choice prey in their sights.

  Lucian closed his eyes against the bright discharge of the tau’s ultra-high velocity projectile weapon, his vision turning red for an instant, despite the fact that his eyes were closed tight. An instant later the viewing port dimmed automatically, once again, its simple spirit too slow to respond to the flash.

  “Nomad struck, my lord,” called out the ordnance officer. “The enemy fired her port weapon, sir. Nomad’s shields took the worst of it, but I think her projectors took some feedback. Second shot any moment…”

  The tau vessel fired a second time, and Lucian was thankful that the viewing port was still dimmed. Despite this, he saw the tau space station etched in stark silhouette, for the Oceanid was now on its far side with the tau ship on the other. He looked to the ordnance officer, who read off his report.

  “Nomad struck again, sir. Port weapon again. Her shields are almost gone. I don’t think she’ll survive a third shot.”

  “Hm,” replied Lucian. He’d seen the damage Space Marine warships could take, and was prepared to gamble that the Nomad would hold together. He had no choice, for his vessel would not complete its manoeuvre for several more, long, potentially painful minutes. Why hadn’t the tau ship fired its prow-mounted weapon, he wondered?

  As the Oceanid ploughed on, edging around the tau space station, Lucian’s eyes were glued to the holograph. He saw that the tau vessel was trying to overtake the Nomad. The enemy ship was seeking to line herself up with the limping Space Marine frigate, which was careening towards the space station by way of momentum alone, every last portion of energy devoted to maintaining its rapidly failing rear shields.

  Lucian saw hope in the tau’s actions. If he could intercept their ship before they were lined up, h
e knew he would have them. If he could not, then all was lost, for the tau would have the perfect firing solution and the frigate would be doomed. Then the thought resurfaced: why hadn’t they used their prow-mounted projectile?

  “They’re launching something,” reported the ordnance officer. “More of the decoys.”

  Why were the tau launching decoys? Lucian’s mind filtered the possibilities, but he was interrupted before completing his chain of thought.

  “In position, my lord,” reported the helmsman.

  “Open fire, sir?” asked the ordnance officer.

  “Hold, Mister Batista,” Lucian replied. “There’s something else going on.”

  The Oceanid having completed its long arc around the tau space station, Lucian’s vessel was heading straight towards the prow of the enemy ship. Crossing to the viewing port and squinting to make out the enemy ship as the distance closed, Lucian yelped in elation.

  “I congratulate you, Mister Batista!”

  “Sir?” The ordnance officer replied, confusion writ large upon his features.

  Lucian laughed out loud for the sheer joy of it. “Your untargeted broadside, Mister Batista. Evidently, something struck.”

  As the Oceanid closed on the tau vessel, a great gash upon its blunt, armoured prow became clearly visible. The position, Lucian knew from prior experience against tau cruisers, of its forward weapon turret.

  The question remained, Lucian mused, as to why the tau had launched the swarm of decoys, which was closing in on the Nomad’s drive section even as he watched. Then it came to him, and he bellowed for the communications channel to the Space Marine frigate to be opened one more.

  “Sarik?” Only interference answered him, louder and more intense than ever. Lucian realised that the decoys, combined with the static coming from the rings of Sy’l’Kell, must be blocking the ship-to-ship channels entirely.

  “Comms. Bleed all power from all available systems to near-space vox.”

  Lucian watched as the swarm of tau decoys arrowed towards the vulnerable aft section of the Nomad. They can’t fire on me, he told himself, not with their prow turret out of action, but running with no shields in the middle of a space battle was considered bad practice, even by his standards.

  A flashing tell-tale informed Lucian that the near-space vox was receiving all the power it ever would. This had better work.

  “Sank!” Lucian shouted, praying that his voice was being transmitted at full signal strength on all available frequencies. “Sarik, power up your main drives right now!”

  An instant later Lucian saw that his transmission had got through. The Nomad’s drives flared into life, crimson fire belching from them. The swarm of tau decoys was almost upon the Nomad when her drives spat into life, and they were incinerated in an instant, seared to ash and scattered into the void in a matter of seconds.

  There, where the decoys had been clustered most densely, Lucian saw what he had guessed would be revealed: more of the tau armoured suits. Each was equipped with fusion weapons capable of ripping a crippled vessel to glowing pieces, and they had sought to approach the wounded frigate under the cover of the decoys. Now, the suits battled against the steadily increasing wash of the Nomad’s drives. Armoured plating, the likes of which Lucian had rarely seen, kept them going, even though the unprotected decoys had lasted mere seconds. The fire of the frigate’s drives was so bright that Lucian was barely able to see. Nevertheless he watched the bulking forms as they blackened, their metal skins melting and running off in great billowing streams of vaporised armour. He watched as each suit took on the aspect of a comet rapidly shedding its mass.

  At last, the armoured suits were blasted to their constituent atoms as the Nomad’s drives reached full output, the Space Marine frigate powering inexorably towards the space station, its ultimate target.

  Lucian crossed his arms at the viewing port. “Shields up, forward weapons target enemy ship’s bridge. Fire!”

  The scene that greeted Lucian as he stepped out of the airlock onto the tau orbital was one of unrestrained slaughter. He saw that the station had been, before the coming of the Space Marines, a well-ordered place, well lit and spacious. Now, it was a bloody mess, the formerly white, gracefully curved bulkheads bloody and scorched. Having made their boarding action, Sarik’s Space Marines had rampaged through the hasty and ultimately fruitless resistance mounted against them. The tau had put up a fight, retreating in the face of the Space Marines’ righteous fury, falling back down the corridors of their station, firing their alien weapons from concealed ambush points for as long as they were able.

  Lucian was shocked, not by the savagery of the fighting, but by the fact that the tau defenders had continued to fight in the face of such impossible odds. He was shocked that they had not surrendered, or attempted to flee in the lifeboats that the station must surely have been equipped with. The tau cruiser had surrendered once beaten, why hadn’t they?

  The corridor into which Lucian stepped bore grisly witness to the brief fight. Huge, smoking chunks were blown from the off-white walls of the curved companionway, and tau bodies were strewn across the deck. He stepped over the body of a tau warrior, sprawled face down before him, and then stopped to look upon the body of another. The second was propped against the corridor’s wall, and though clearly dead, had not died instantly from its wounds. The loops of its guts had spilled over its legs, falling over the cradling arms that had attempted in vain to hold them in. A bolter shell fired at close range will have that effect, Lucian mused grimly, knowing full well that the explosive bolts fired by the Space Marines’ weapons were lethal to any target of flesh and bone.

  Lucian went down on one knee to look upon the dead warrior’s face. The thought struck him that in his brief, ship-to-ship encounters with this new, previously unheard of race, he must have killed several thousand of their number, but until now he had not looked one in the eye. He had not known just who, or what he was dealing with. Now he looked upon the face of his foe, bloodied and broken as it was.

  The face was narrow and noseless, with a small, lipless mouth, and was dominated by large, black, almond-shaped eyes. The skin was a blue-grey, and there was a slit in the centre of the forehead, an organ for which Lucian could see no obvious function. The alien was not tall, its stocky body certainly no taller than that of a man of average height. Its body was arranged in the same manner as a man’s though, apart from its feet, which appeared cloven, though his son Korvane, who had met the aliens in the living flesh, had informed him they were not hooves, but more like wide-splayed toes.

  Looking around him at the other bodies, Lucian marvelled that the aliens could have even thought to fight against the superhuman Space Marines of Sarik’s small force. Blood was spattered across every surface, severed limbs scattered all around. The remains of a tau that had been cut in two by a single upward stroke of a chainsword lay nearby, split from groin to crown, the two halves of the body lying several metres apart. Lucian had never failed to be impressed by the Space Marines’ skills, and was always reminded how fortunate he was that they were on the same side as him.

  Lucian looked up from the bloody rain as he heard footsteps approaching along the corridor. It was his son, Korvane, stepping gingerly across the headless corpse of a tau warrior. Lucian stood, a wide grin on his face, the scenes of death around him forgotten.

  “Father,” Korvane said formally. Lucian noted that he appeared cold and aloof, but put it down to a reaction to the unpleasant surroundings.

  “Korvane, what news?”

  “The council, father. Gurney has called a session, right here, on the station, immediately.”

  “Has he indeed?” replied Lucian, knowing that this news could only bode ill for him and his kin. “He’s riled that we got here ahead of him I’ll wager. Ha! This should be fun. Come on, we can’t keep the good cardinal waiting now can we, son.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sarik gritted his teeth as the drop-pod disengaged from its cradle, hi
s gene enhanced physiology coping with the punishing forces set into motion as the world of Sy’l’Kell leapt violently upwards to meet him. Course correcting retro jets fired seconds later, slamming the Space Marine’s armoured shoulder into the padded, upright acceleration/deceleration couch into which he was strapped. The tiny vessel, with its cargo of ten of humanity’s finest warriors was underway.

  Sarik knew that the drop would be over as soon as it began. He had completed thirty-eight full combat drops before attaining the rank of Brethren, and he had completed, and commanded, many times more since. The pod shook violently, and a mechanical chime sounded in Sarik’s ear. He glanced across at the tactical data-slate. The drop-pod was entering the upper atmosphere, its armour absorbing unimaginable energies as it began the main portion of its descent.

  “Phase beta. The Khan and His Father protect us.” Sarik spoke the words of the Rite of Planetfall by rote, the other nine Space Marines echoing his words over the comm-net.

  The White Scars were coming to Sy’l’Kell to bring death to the foes of the Emperor, and no alien that Sarik had ever fought could hope to stand against them.

  “Your name, sir?” A very junior naval sub-officer demanded of Lucian, in the manner of a man revelling in unfamiliar authority. The officer stood at the end of the typically stark, white corridor, blocking a large round doorway stencilled with a square icon, the meaning of which was totally lost to Lucian.

  Lucian halted as he approached, the officer barring his passage through the circular portal. “What?”

  “Your name, sir,” the officer faltered.

  Lucian was in no mood to be challenged by officious flunkies. He drew himself up to his full height, savouring the opportunity to vent some spleen, when he was interrupted.

  “This,” he heard Korvane snap from over his shoulder, “is the Lord Arcadius Lucian Gerrit, Heritor of the Clan Arcadius, as well you know.”

  The officer stammered, his mouth opening and closing in a manner quite unbefitting his rank. Would he really be so stupid as to bar the rogue trader’s passage? Lucian prepared to unleash a tirade of invective, but saw that it would not be necessary. The man stood aside, evidently cowed by Lucian’s stern manner, or by Korvane’s recitation of his credentials.