‘The cemetery worlders are not my concern,’ Casiope told her. ‘We are the Sisters of the August Vigil. Our first duty must be to Umberto II’s sacred remains. The Cholercaust is here. Planetfall is imminent. It’s time to withdraw to the vault.’
Sapphira remained silent for a moment, her eyes searching the darkness. She turned to Sister Klaudia.
‘Begin preparations to garrison the vault,’ the palatine told her. Klaudia nodded in satisfaction. ‘Back to your posts,’ she said to Lemora and Casiope. ‘I will see the Scourge and determine the Adeptus Astartes’ intentions. My armour!’ she called, and the Sisters surrounding her peeled away to recover their palatine’s plate.
Chapter Sixteen
The Apotheon
‘Commander!’
Lieutenant Heiss knocked again briskly on the cabin door. She looked at the matt reflection of herself in the scuffed metal. Even in such a surface she could see her auburn curls and freckled face. ‘Commander,’ she called again. ‘We’ve had a vox from the surface. New orders from the Adeptus Astartes.’
Heiss had been on the bridge of the Adeptus Ministorum defence monitor Apotheon when the message had been received. She had never spoken to an Emperor’s Angel before and would have been more anxious but for the vision of approaching destruction that dominated the lancet viewscreen.
Below the thick-set monitor, the cemetery world of Certus-Minor turned slowly. With cloud-cover the colour of soured milk and a surface mostly made up of graven stone, the small planet looked vulnerable and alone in the depths of the cosmos. Apotheon held station above a glassy lake near the north pole, watching over the Ecclesiarchy world like a pugnacious watchdog. The monitor had been the only vessel to remain, with the necrofreighters and transports long gone and even the system ships fled. But dread and the crushing weight of responsibility only really settled on the lieutenant when the Adeptus Astartes strike cruiser Angelica Mortis departed on a course for the Adeptus Mechanicus forge-world of Aetna Phall.
The Apotheon had remained on station, a silent observer as the Keeler Comet had approached. Heiss had then witnessed the second strangest thing she had ever seen in her relatively sheltered life. Above Certus-Minor the comet changed course. It was as though the blood-red ball of ice, rock and metal had simply changed its mind and turned, heading away from the planet on a different trajectory. When Commander Vanderberg asked her to calculate a new destination, the cogitator had offered the Vulcanis system as the most likely heading, with Ultrageddon and Voss Prime possibilities. One thing the cogitator was certain about, however, was that the Keeler Comet’s present course would take it into Segmentum Solar and on towards Holy Terra.
The strangest thing Heiss had ever seen had been the tail following the comet, a sanguine stream of dust and gas, the middle of which was a glimmering fracture. It appeared to Heiss like the comet nucleus was a zipper, opening a breach in the unstable fabric of reality behind it. She had watched as swarms of otherworldly beings bled through the haemorrhage, before being pulled towards the nearby cemetery world by the planet’s gravitational field. She had taken some solace in the way the distant beasts seem to streak towards the planet, burning up like meteorites on a fiery entry, but vox-casts from Obsequa City reported heavy fighting, confirming that much of the daemonkin swarm had found its way to the surface to test the defenders.
‘Commander Vanderberg!’ Heiss called. When again she heard nothing behind the cabin door, she pulled the plunger beside it. The bulkhead gave a hydraulic wheeze and the heavy door yawned open. ‘Sir, forgive my trespassing, but we have orders from the Adeptus Astartes… Sir?’
Heiss took a brief look around the cabin. The commander’s bunk was empty, as was his private chartroom. The first the lieutenant knew of Vanderberg was the sound of her boot in the commander’s blood. Vanderberg was sat at his ferruswood writing desk. The Apotheon’s log sat on the desk surface next to a data-slate bearing a message to the commander’s sister on Scintilla. He had got no further than, ‘My Dearest Greta…’
‘Commander…’ Heiss mouthed as she edged around. Vanderberg’s eyes had rolled over but his face was just as baggy and kindly as ever. His arms had fallen down by the side of the ferruswood chair, and both wrists still dribbled with the captain’s life. Stepping forwards into the pool of blood, Heiss kicked the surgical kris Vanderberg had used across the floor. The lieutenant reasoned the commander had probably taken it from the ship’s small infirmary. Placing her fingers against his neck, she failed to find a pulse.
Heiss stood there for a moment, uncertain. Then, slowly she turned and walked out of the cabin, leaving bloody footprints behind her. As her strides took her towards the bridge they became quicker and more determined. There was very little to do about the situation. The commander was dead. She was the only other commissioned officer on board the ship and the Adeptus Astartes had issued orders.
Walking onto the bridge, she found Midshipman Randt where she had left him, looking stricken and uncomfortable in command of the bridge under such dire circumstances. Padre Gnarls stood by the captain’s throne in his preacher’s robes, the gangly priest looking like a gargoyle thanks to his bald head and hooked nose. All Adeptus Ministorum vessels carried a padre as a requirement, and although Gnarls could be uppity and meddlesome, Heiss was glad to see him on the bridge where he was a calming influence. Beyond were a number of the monitor’s bridge staff and ghoulish servitors.
‘Thank the God-Emperor,’ Randt blurted as Heiss entered. ‘The Adeptus Astartes still await the commander’s confirmation.’
‘Confirm the order,’ Heiss called across the bridge with confidence, before sitting down in the commander’s throne.
Gnarls frowned and stood behind the throne before leaning in close.
‘Where’s the commander?’ he asked with his hooked nose over her shoulder. Heiss looked over at Randt, who was busy confirming the Excoriators’ orders with the planet surface.
‘Vanderberg’s dead,’ Heiss told him simply, without looking at the priest. ‘By his own hand.’
Gnarls started to say something, but stopped himself and nodded slowly. He moved around to the other side of the throne, pulling his vestments about him.
‘Obsequa City confirms,’ Randt announced. ‘We are no longer to observe. The Apotheon is ordered to disrupt the enemy approach and landing. We are to favour cruisers and gunships over freighters and cultships.’
‘Acknowledge the order,’ Heiss said to him. ‘And wish them luck. Send our regards to the pontifex. Inform him that the Adeptus Ministorum defence monitor Apotheon will do the God-Emperor’s work in the heavens and that we shall remain on this vox-frequency for as long as we can. Apotheon out.’
Heiss looked up at Gnarls, who gave her another, unhappy nod.
‘It’s down to you now,’ he told her simply, which was probably the nicest thing he’d ever said to her.
‘Helm, set an equatorial intercept course and accelerate to ramming speed.’
‘Aye.’
‘Mister Randt, open channels with the portside and starboard gun-decks, as well as the keel lance section. Have the enginseer informed that the lance is about to fire.’
‘Yes, lieutenant.’
‘Padre Gnarls…’
‘Yes, lieutenant?’
‘Would you be so good as to join the boatswain and help organise the repelling parties. I will keep Apotheon out of the enemy’s grasp, but should they grapple us I would like all airlocks and exterior bulkheads welded shut and barricaded from the inside. If they want in, let’s at least force them to cut their way in.’