‘Captain,’ Jasen Rallis called. ‘We’re reaching our designated position.’
‘Thank you, helmsman.’ He looked at Kondos. ‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘Last port of call.’
‘Last but one.’
He managed a grin. ‘If we make it that far. And I don’t think the greenskins are going to be eager customers for our wares.’
They fell silent. The humour wasn’t working for either of them. Narkissos had played the vox-casts of Juskina Tull’s speech over the ship’s speakers. He and all his crew had listened more than once. He understood the necessity of what was going to happen. But enthusiasm for the Proletarian Crusade had not yet taken hold of the men and women of the Militant Fire.
‘What do you think?’ he said. ‘Is the plan mad or brilliant?’
‘I don’t know. Both maybe. I can imagine it working. If we throw enough ships at the orks, some of them have to get through.’
‘Including ours?’
‘Did you invest in void shields when I wasn’t looking?’
‘I wish I had.’
‘Then, no.’ Kondos wasn’t joking now. ‘We’ll be among the first to go. We’ll be the chaff for the ork defences.’
‘I feel sorry for the troops we’ll be carrying.’
‘Captain,’ Rallis said again.
‘What is it?’ Narkissos asked. He stepped out of the chamber, and saw the view from the forward oculus. ‘Oh,’ he said.
Behind him, he heard Kondos’ intake of breath.
‘I should address the crew,’ Narkissos said. His throat was dry and his voice cracked. ‘First Officer Kondos, please call all hands to muster on the observation deck.’
Kondos left without a word. Narkissos tore his eyes away from the oculus. He needed a few moments to marshal his thoughts without awe overwhelming his consciousness.
‘You have the bridge, helmsman,’ he said.
‘Yes, captain.’
Narkissos looked at the rest of the bridge crew. ‘I’ll have the assembly piped in,’ he said. ‘You’ll hear what is said.’
The observation deck was one level above the bridge. It too was ornamentation with purpose. It was constructed to dazzle. It was large enough to hold a thousand comfortably under a glass dome that rose from floor level. To stand there was to be surrounded by the void, and the sights could be overwhelming.
Today, they were. Narkissos paused on the staircase that spiralled up to the centre of the deck. He was taking in what might be his last few seconds of mundane reality. Soon there would be nothing but the extraordinary and the terrible.
He gave in to the trembling. He wouldn’t have that luxury soon. His combat experience was limited to his time with the militia on Elysia, though the need for all ships to evade the system’s pirates had taught him the miracles one could summon from a vessel. Kondos had served with the drop troops, so she would be ready for what was coming. Narkissos, though, was no soldier.
Yet he was going to war. He would have to muster the courage and dignity that came with the duty. But here, he was alone. He clutched the steel railing of the staircase to hold himself up. The fear took him. He wanted to weep. His breath came in hitching gasps, and he couldn’t find enough air.
The bottom had dropped out of his stomach back on Mars when he had heard that the orks were on Terra’s doorstep. The lurch had come again when the call to crusade had come. He had thought he understood what was coming. He’d been wrong. He’d been protected by a shield of abstraction. That was gone now. Above him was the reality of his fate.
It frightened him. He didn’t know if he was up to the challenge of this immense day. Some of the shipmasters at Mars had decided they were not. They had tried to run. The Imperial Navy did not have the vessels to run them down, but the Martian orbital defences had executed summary judgements.
He heard the echo of boots against decking. His crew was approaching. He ran a hand over his forehead and through the grey waves of his hair. He steadied his breathing. He had a responsibility. He also felt, deep in his core, a stirring of excitement.
Can I do this after all?
He had no choice.
He cleared his throat. He straightened up. Then he walked up the staircase to take in the full sight of what lay beyond the dome.
He was still awed when the crew arrived. He could function, though. He stood at the bow end of the deck, and struggled to pay attention as the men and women of the Militant Fire gathered and were struck dumb by what they saw.
The Fire was surrounded by a spectacle of grandeur and horror. On all sides were the ships of the Merchants’ Armada. Thousands of ships. Such numbers that they could have been called a swarm, but there were too many massive presences for so weak a word. There were ships of every size and grade. Private luxury lighters that couldn’t carry more than a handful of passengers. Hulking Goliath-class factory ships whose retrofitting for their new purpose must have been a task worthy of song in itself. Mass conveyors a dozen kilometres long. Freight transports in such numbers that they were ranked in squadrons. There was so little space between the vessels that Narkissos could imagine hopping from one to the next. There was no room for error in the manoeuvring of the fleet and Narkissos felt his chest swell with pride at the skill of the pilots. The Imperial Navy could do no better.
He corrected himself. The Merchants had done better. They were here. The Navy was not.
Riding at high anchor, stationed far above the civilians, was the Autocephalax Eternal. It was almost as large as the biggest conveyors, a majestic cathedral of war. But it was isolated, separated from the others of its kind with the exception of a few escorts. The Militant Fire was in the midst of a vast concentration of allies.
So many ships. So much strength. Narkissos drank in the spectacle and thought, we are an armada.
And when he looked to port, he needed the strength of that thought. Terra’s new moon hung in the void, waiting to swallow the Armada. Its maw gaped wide. There were no lights on its surface, no flights of enemy ships sallying forth. It was silent, inert as a skull, but as full of implication. When his eyes fell on the star fortress, the fleet lost substance. The thing should not be, and so it altered all existence with its obscene reality.
To his horror, Narkissos knew that this impression was not an illusion. Everything revolved around the moon, even Terra itself. The orks had become the centre of the Imperium. The magnificence of the Armada existed only because of the monstrousness it had been called to confront. Every act, every thought, every moment of what life remained to Narkissos was utterly determined by that inarticulate, unspeakable thing. Narkissos didn’t have the words to describe what he felt before the sight of the moon. Yet it shaped his language. He, like every other soul in the Imperium, was caught in a gravitational field that reached across the galaxy.
There was no escape from the ork moon’s pull. There was no shield from its presence. There were no walls behind which he could hide. They had all fallen.
The one act left, the one thing that kept alive at least the illusion of agency, was to charge at the horror. In that charge, he was becoming part of the new wall behind which the rest of Terra sheltered.
To attack the moon was to believe it could be destroyed, and without that belief, there was nothing. Narkissos understood the need for the Crusade now. He needed it even if he was superfluous. He was even more frightened than before. He was also more proud than he had ever been in his life.
He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. He gave the crew time to see everything. There was no need to explain. Either they would know the same need, or they would not. When faces began to turn back to him, he said, ‘So, this is what we have come to fight. We will be taking on troops, and we will be part of the great attack. Our goal will be to land our passengers on the surface of… of that.’ He pointed without looking.