“Can you operate them, Achellus?” he asked, perplexed by the endless arrays of meaningless switches and dials.
“By the grace of the Omnissiah,” the Tech-marine nodded, vaguely tracing the shape of the Holy Engine in the air, “I believe that I can.”
“Squad?” Ardias voxed, watching Achellus’s cyborg fingers dancing across the console. “Assume overwatch positions outside this chamber. In the name of the primarch, hold your ground!”
The bolters rattled and the daemons chattered and the hissing, whispering influence of Chaos filled the air with greasy nausea. Ardias bent over the controls, thinking hard, and ground his teeth against the cloying voices in his mind that made it so hard, almost impossible, to lower his bolter and lift a comm transmitter in its place.
“Shas’o? There’s something happening on the battle-cruiser...”
“Is the dropship returning?”
“No... it’s...”
“It’s what?”
“The drones are picking up energy signatures. Weaponsfire, maybe.”
“See if you can raise anyone.”
“Their communications shields are still operative.”
“We can’t reach any of them?”
O’Udas rubbed his temples wearily, feeling exhausted. The return to the primary bridge of the Or’es Tash’var had been accompanied not only with the unpleasant task of removing the smoking bodies scattered thereon, but with the realisation that, lacking a kor’o and having failed to persuade the Aun to remain aboard, responsibility for the vessel and its crew was resting firmly with him.
The kor’el with the unenviable task of filling O’Tyra’s shoes gave him a despairing look. “None, Shas’o. What action?”
None of them had been prepared for this rotaa’s madness.
“They’re taking too long...” he decided, glancing around at the anxious faces, tense bodies perched in ruined seats. “Power up the weapons. No more chances.”
Drones scurried to comply, exhausted air caste personnel tapping at mangled controls, struggling to maintain their professional calm. Udas shared a glance with El’Lusha, rubbing his hands together uncomfortably. The tension throughout the command deck was palpable.
“Shas’o?” a Kor’ui mumbled, frowning. “We’re getting a signal. Very faint but... it’s definitely directed at us.”
“T’au?”
“No. It’s gue’la.”
He nodded, pursing his lips. “Let’s hear it. Branch it to the rest of the fleet too.”
The kor’ui passed a long finger through a sense beam and abruptly a storm of white noise rippled across the bridge, high frequency squeals shifting in tone until a single voice — a gue’la voice — crackled through and resolved.
“—s the Enduring Blade, hailing the tau flotilla. I request acknowledgment... It’s not working, Achellus. Try a different frequency.”
The kor’ui gave Udas a plaintive look. “Shas’o?”
He scratched his chin, tapping a hoof thoughtfully against the deck. A series of tiny drones with flashing “message” icons circulated around his head — kor’os and shas’os throughout the flotilla hurrying to give their advice. He waved them away.
“Open a channel.”
What little white noise that remained on the communication channel resolved with a tinny pop. The ugly gue’la voice halted in surprise.
“Enduring Blade, this is the Or’es Tash’var. Identify yourself.”
“Captain Ardias of the Ultramarines. You must listen to—”
“Where is Aun’el T’au Ko’vash?”
“Never mind that, we—”
“Where is he? We are poised to strike. Return him now.”
“Stand down! You must listen! We face a mutual threat!”
“Lies. Cut the channel. All vessels prepare to engage.” His blood burned.
“Wait, Emperor damn you! The ethereal has been taken — most likely to the planet surface.”
“By who?”
“Chaos, warp take your eyes! Chaos!”
O’Udas frowned. The gue’la’s voice was full of certainty and conviction, as if he was expected to recognise the name of this alleged enemy. The word was delivered with terrible resonance.
“‘Chaos’?” he repeated, unfamiliar syllables sitting awkwardly on his tongue.
The voice replied with heavy exasperation: “Oh, you don’t... I haven’t time to explain. The dark powers! The warp taint! Evil!”
“This is ridiculous. I won’t listen to another w—”
“They’ve taken him and the admiral. We can’t determine how they’re travelling but... listen to me, they are beyond our reach, for now. Attack this vessel and you will waste time and blood that would be better spent purging this threat! We’re under assault.”
O’Udas shook his head, lips curling. “Gue’la lies. Delaying tactics.”
The voice almost roared, a venomous litany of frustration and abuse that pushed O’Udas’s patience over the edge.
“Cut the line,” he growled, directing a pointed look at the kor’ui manning the comms. The channel closed with a sedate peal.
“Shas’o,” El’Lusha muttered from his alcove at the rear of the bridge. “What if he’s telling the truth?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But if there is a third party involved—”
“We’d know about it. An army doesn’t just spring from nowhere.”
“Agreed but... Shas’o, isn’t it worth investigating? ‘Caution in the face of threat’—is that not the teaching of the Yie’rla’rettan meditation?”
O’Udas breathed out, reluctantly conceding. All this talking exhausted him: his nominal grasp of the gue’la language, coupled with his natural impatience for diplomacy, made him re-evaluate his feelings towards the water caste. He began to wish sincerely that El’Yis’ten hadn’t taken all of her por’ui assistants with her to the human ship.
He waved a weary hand at the Kor’ui and the channel reopened.
“Human... Convince me of this threat.”
“Contact your own units. There are still plenty of tau aboard — ask any of them for an appraisal. Space Marines do not lie.”
O’Udas shuffled his feet. To reveal the shortcomings of their technology was unthinkable but... Without the Aun, they had nothing left to lose.
“We can’t contact our units,” he said, neutralising his voice to dampen the significance of the admission. “There’s a signal-retardant field around your vessel.”
“Stand by” Was there a hint of smugness in the voice, he wondered? A triumphant lilt to its tone at having identified a weakness? A muffled conversation filtered dully through the speakers, another gue’la voice joining Ardias’s. He thought he could make out a sonorous chant, like a prayer, then the clicking reports of switches being flipped. After what seemed like an age the clipped tones of the Marine returned to the comm. “External comms have been opened, xenogen,” it said. “Now see for yourself.”
A few lights on the bridge’s wall screens flickered. Green icons began to appear on the display schematic of the Enduring Blade. The Kor’ui at the comms turned in his seat.
“We have contact, Shas’o... At least two cadres of line warriors still active aboard the vessel.”
O’Udas nodded, turning to Lusha. He still lurked with a thoughtful expression at the rear of the bridge.
“Shas’el? A name, please. Someone reliable.”
The grizzled tau responded without hesitation. “La’Kais. Contact La’Kais.”
“Ah yes, the hero...” He nodded at the kor’ui. “Open a channel to La’Kais.”
The bridge systems chimed. The anxious personnel gathered held their collective breath and stared at the innocuous speaker drones.
“Shas’la?” Udas said.
“W-what—?” the return signal was weak, made tinny by the distance and distortion it faced. Udas thought the voice sounded drained. Tired. Traumatised. Hysterical, even. “Who’s that?” it quailed. “Who... oh... I thought the contact was down. Wh—?”