ALL NOVEL Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Four
Quaani and I continue our banter until his Refresh and Revitalise wears off, then he orders the mechadendrites to lift him out of the tank and goes to rest. I direct us out of the trench of fleshy eye tongues after two more days of careful vigil. The other four vessels in our fleet that aren’t docked inside Iron Crane have no trouble hiding within the Cloud in the Warp that I cast.
None of the other navigators risk aiding me as we do not know each other well enough to coordinate our casting, so I have to cover the whole Fleet, and not just Iron Crane. It is tough, but with my secondary brain taking much of the strain off me, I do not become dangerously tired. We do, at least, send the occasional telepathic message to each other, updating our conditions, current plans, and so on. Through these exchanges we get a better understanding of everyone’s personalities, but little else.
It feels a bit like I’m a long haul lorry driver, radioing nearby drivers to keep the boredom at bay, and a shared eye for accidents, bad weather, and other troubles.
Once we’re out of the trench, I finally drop my obfuscation magic and another five days of travel sees us swirling Cobalt’s Mandeville point. I sense many of the crew tense as Iron Crane unleashes a monumental quantity of energy. A black sphere forms in front of the vessel and we slam into it, ripping a hole in the Materium and traversing back to realspace.
The other vessels follow behind me, using Iron Crane’s bulk to hide their presence. Both my light cruisers have an Empyrean Mantle that hides them further. Red Knoll and Torchbearer do not have any installed stealth components and have to make do with sending out no sensor pings and trying to hide their plasma plume behind Iron Crane’s. Iron Crane, on the other hand, flares its plasma drives and unleashes the most high powered sensor pings it can manage.
Seven planets orbit a red dwarf. All vessels immediately head for Cobalt VI, one of two gas giants in the system. The other gas giant is Cobalt II. Cobalt IV is an ice world and the primary habitable world. The remaining planets are rocky and barren. There are two asteroid belts, one between Cobalt I and II, and another between V and VI. An unusually wide Kuiper Belt floats between VI and VII.
Cobalt VII is the final planet in the system and is a mineral rich rocky world with no atmosphere. Fortunately it’s currently the other side of the system so no one on it should detect us too easily.
Over the next twelve hours, we get a detailed picture of the system. The first thing we pick up on are two observation satellites near our entrance point and a single void station, all of which we blast with interference so that they cannot message our numbers or composition to anyone else in the system. This won’t win us any friends, but getting away with it is one of the benefits of travelling with the Barghest Chapter, once we actually reveal that we are doing so.
As for why we’re being cautious, it’s the standard procedure for the Barghest Chapter, and I see no reason to override them on it.
Orbiting Cobalt IV are two Sword-Class frigates and one Enforcer-Class System Control light cruiser. Embossed on each of their hulls is a large, winged Ⅰ with a ship’s wheel imposed upon the top third.
The Imperial Navy is here. No idea if they’re here because they suspect foul play, or if it’s just a regular patrol to remind the local governor who is in charge.
Also in the system are two Carrack-Class transports. Both have been modified with launch bays, though with them so far away I can’t tell if it’s for troops or strike-craft. Two escort vessels, a Tempest-Class Frigate and a Claymore-Class Corvette, shadow the transports.
There’s nothing special about the Corvette, it’s a smaller, faster, and lighter version of the Sword-Frigate, specifically designed to be produced as fast as possible. The Tempest-Class Frigate, however, gives a hint to what sort of fleet this is, as they are designed to get as close as possible as quickly as they can to their target vessel and usually outfitted with many Shark Assault Boats.
Last, and most impressive is the Ambition-Class Cruiser, Ardent Bane, registered to Rogue Trader Modren. It’s likely this whole fleet is his. As for why he is here, I don’t know but I suspect he’s here to try and wheedle some of the one thousand Vanguard Armours that Cobalt IV has ordered, and a lot of other significant military gear.
Cobalt IV has three defence platforms and four escort sized monitor vessels that look like they’re based off the Meritech Shrike-Class raider. The extra armour and additional guns on the monitor vessels, however, breaks up their silhouette somewhat, making them more difficult to identify.
It’s possible there are also other vessels hiding in the system, but Iron Crane is unable to detect anything else of note.
Four days later, Iron Crane slips behind Cobalt VI and disgorges all eight Adder-Class frigates and ten Moth-Class refinery frigates. Then we hide the Lunar-Class Cruiser inside the Iron Crane, if only just. The act even gets a few laughs out of the dour Space Marines. Red Knoll remains behind the moon with the Moth-Class frigates, but Distant Sun and Yonder Moon take on fifty Space Marines and two hundred marine auxiliaries each.
Distant Sun, Iron Crane, and four escorts exit cover from behind Cobalt VI while Yonder Moon and four escorts trail behind us at a slower pace, hiding beneath their Empyrean Mantles. Our stealth is nowhere near as good as an Eldar vessel, but it should disguise exactly how many vessels we have, and what they actually are, as well as making the hidden vessels more difficult to target.
The journey takes eleven days, during which we exchange greetings with Cobalt IV and both sides confirm they have the agreed upon goods to trade. The Imperial Navy confirm their identity, but nothing else. Rogue Trader Modren, however, invites us all to dinner.
Once we are in orbit around Cobalt IV, Brigid and I fly over to Ascendant Bane in a Class three D-POT. The vessel is four point nine kilometres long and two kilometres wide with a single lance hung beneath its stubby prow. The port and starboard sides have two macro-batteries each. The armour is thinner than my Lunar-Class Carrier as fifteen percent of it has been swapped out of a dizzying number of statues and relief carvings that cover the whole vessel.
While each Imperial vessel is viewed as a temple to the Machine-God, no other vessel emphasises that more than the Ambition-Class and the Ascendant Bane takes it to even greater levels.
Never, in my life, have I witnessed such excessive gothic bling. Not in Distant Sun’s records, outrageous designs in HiveSim, or religious art. It’s covered in gold-veined marble, for Emperor’s sake. Through the external sensors I can pick out fist sized jewels and other precious materials covering absolutely everything, from guns, to sensors, to shield arrays.
Brigid and I stand by a false window, holding hands, watching the cruiser get closer and closer. Our pilot takes us for a full circle of the vessel, so we can get a good view.
“I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing,” I say.
“Hmm, this guy is more crooked than a mechadendrite. How else would he afford all this?”
“Rogue Traders are wealthy, he might be just a successful trader. We could do that if we wanted. Maybe.”
Brigid snorts, “It’s a statement at least. So tacky!” she shivers dramatically and rubs her arms.
I smile at her antics, “That’s only a Starbreaker Lance on the prow, but those macrocannons look a bit better. He clearly hasn’t wasted all his money. Lathe Pattern Grav-Culverins, perhaps? It’s hard to tell beneath all the marble, so in a way, the decoration does serve a practical purpose.”
“Well, it wouldn’t do to use ferro-crete for hiding now would it?”
I laugh, “Emperor forbid!”
Brigid sniggers. “Alright, let’s stop there. It wouldn’t do for us to make an inappropriate mark when we’re guests.”
“Good idea. For all we know it’s only skin deep and all part of a greater deception,” I cross my arms. “That would be a pretty good play actually. How about you draw up a feasibility study?”
“Oh, fuck off Aldrich.”
I grin, draw Brigid into my arms and kiss her. She’s wearing a Mars-red ball gown, with long cuffed sleeves, and Cog Mechanicum brass cufflinks. From beneath her dress peek two navy blue loafers. Her ears have two gold studs and around her neck is a Rosarius, a type of conversion shield disguised as jewellery. This one matches the Stellar Fleet heraldry, a crowsbeak hammer inside a cog. Four brass and steel blue mechadendrites are attached to her lower back, poking through her dress, and wave in the air above her head like tails.
These are the same mechadendrites that are usually given to Herald Acolytes as for their Machine Blessing, though more ornate. It was decided that mechanical limb replacements or full body replacements were impractical and wasteful, but we still wanted to go ahead with the side promotion proposal.
The main difference between these mechadendrites and those that are usually installed, or found on a servo harness, is that they are stronger and more armoured than usual. Each has its own power supply too, as well as a different function: one multi-tool, one medical attachment, one auspex, and one gripper. The gripper is intended to hold MOA shields so that Acolytes can keep both hands free, but it’s also handy for precise, long distance grenade throws, or using a weapon while in cover.
I wrap my hands around her, and say, “You look fantastic.”
“Thank you. You’re not too shabby yourself. Not a single blessed oil stain upon you.”
I’m wearing a Mars-red, double-breasted, thigh length jacket that flares slightly at the hips. This leaves space for my own mechadendrites, identical to Brigid’s, that wrap around my waist. I’d probably call it an eighteenth century frock coat, but I’ve no idea what this particular design is designated as in the forty-first millennium.
I particularly like the dark blue lining, platinum hems, and white-gold buttons. It makes me feel very snazzy. The tweed trousers and waistcoat aren’t that special and are similar to the uniform I often wear.
I was tempted to accessorise a little and wear a hat, but couldn’t find one I liked. I couldn’t see myself in anything other than a woolly beanie and that wouldn’t be appropriate. The other hats felt too posh and I couldn’t shake the feeling like I was a fraud. Silly, I know, but I can’t afford to look uncomfortable in the clothes I’m wearing in a high stakes social engagement.
“You mean I’m not the most handsome and amazing man you’ve ever laid eyes on? Shocker.”
Brigid hugs me back and presses her cheek against my chest, “No. Those are our boys, and my other two sons.”
I give her a squeeze, “Fair enough.”
The D-POT touches down inside one of Ascendant Bane’s many hangars. We end our embrace. We leave our private room, and walk through the shuttle to the cargo bay.
Brigid takes my arm and we stand between the two rows of our thirty five bodyguards, five of whom are Odhran and his squad disguised in MOA void armour. The whole bodyguard company is hiding on the D-POT, and most won’t be coming with us. I expect even Odhran and his squad will be pushing it, so the ones lined up on either side of us are really there to show off a little, even if they aren’t in power armour like they usually would be. I didn’t want my bodyguards to look too threatening, just competent.
The rear ramp descends and the Heralds march out in two lines, and present arms. Brigid and I then walk between them. At the end of the procession is Konrad von Benagune, Captain of Ascendant Bane, or so my implants tell me, with a small retinue of six people.
He’s fairly short, at one hundred and seventy centimetres and is wearing a white and gold naval dress uniform, though my auspex immediately tells me it’s actually flak weave, backed up with armourplas plates.
A rebreather hangs around his neck and a wrist mounted cogitator is clamped to his right arm. He has extensive augmetics: armoured cables run out of his head like hair and into his upper spine. I notice the thick voidskin and red, artificial eyes, immediately. When he moves to shake my hand I also spot his subdermal armour and muscle enhancements.
“Welcome to Ascendant Bane, Magos Issengrund. I am Captain Konrad von Benagune of the Modren Dynasty.
“Thank you, Captain Benagune, for your warm welcome. Your ship is an impressive monument to the Imperium’s wealth and power. Rare too.”
Konrad gives me a thin, tight smile, “I spotted some unusual designs among your own fleet, Magos Issengrund.”
This isn’t a line of questioning I want him to pursue and ignoring Brigid is rude, so I gesture towards her, “This is my wife, Chief Purser Brigid Issengrund.”
Brigid holds out her hand and the Captain shakes it.
“Welcome, Purser Issengrund, and what do you think of my ship?”
“Unless you want me to audit it, you will never know.”
Konrad lets out a low chuckle, “Best avoided, I think. Come,” he gestures towards the exit, “I will show you to our other guests. You can bring two guards.”
I vox silently, “Odran and Eogan, you're on close protection detail. Bedwyr, you're in charge of the rest of my security, as always, and will remain on the D-POT.”
Two large armoured figures step up behind Brigid and I. Konrad raises an eyebrow at the size of my bodyguards.
“Acknowledged, Magos,” voxes Bedwyr, “We’ll see what we can pick up from their systems and keep you updated.”
“You can do whatever you think is necessary, so long as you aren’t caught.”
“We will be vigilant, Magos. Never fear.”
“Follow me,” Konrad leads us to the exit.
The hangar is big, though it’s not as ridiculous as the one on the battle barge. I count almost three hundred craft, two thirds of which are strike craft, mostly Shark Attack Boats. The rest are Arvus Lighters and other orbital shuttles. Hundreds of wiry men and women shuffle between the craft in worn, grey robes. Tools and rags hang from their belts and a rebreather and goggles cover their mouths and eyes. As we pass them, they all scurry away, their backs hunched, and hands trembling.
A single Tech-Priest in hooded red robes wanders around the hangar, directing the men and women, who periodically run up to him for instructions. From his EM emissions, I pick out the seventy-eight crude servitors he is also directing, hauling parts and swabbing the deck.
Waiting for us beyond the hangar is an air car, a civilian hover vehicle, that looks like a gothic Bentley. We all get in and the air car takes off, whisking us though gold and silver halls to our destination.