‘That may be, but we are not seeing much unity out here,’ Reoch retorted.
‘Explain yourself, brother,’ Zerberyn demanded.
‘I am saying that the Imperium should get the heroes it deserves,’ the Apothecary told them.
‘My lord,’ Lasander protested.
‘Let him speak,’ the First Captain said.
‘You were there,’ Reoch said. ‘You saw the regimental mutinies at Archangelus. Commodore Beauchamp’s refusal to abandon his station and join our number. The silent Mechanicus, too busy fortifying their forge worlds to accompany us in a counter-offensive.’
‘There might be other reasons for that,’ Lasander said, looking between the Apothecary and Zerberyn. ‘We keep ill company.’
‘The Iron Warriors are the only ones fighting alongside us,’ Reoch said simply.
‘They are not to be trusted,’ Lasander insisted.
‘Maybe not,’ Reoch said, ‘but that is not for you or I to decide.’
‘It makes me uneasy to hear you speak of them with such favour,’ Lasander said.
‘Like you, I favour the strong,’ the Apothecary said. ‘The Adeptus Astartes have always known the flaws of humanity. Its weakness, in body, spirit and mind. We know them for greed, politics and the indulgence of their fears. When humanity isn’t falling before its foes, it is selling out its allies.’
‘Betrayal?’ Lasander said. ‘You want to talk about betrayal? Phall? Sebastus? Terra?’
‘And what of the Rancora Deeps, Krastengrad and One-Twenty-Five-Twenty?’ Reoch countered. ‘Loyalties are but matters of time and place — and the High Lords of Terra are only loyal to themselves. Their ships stand off. Their armies flee. Their faithful embrace the worship of this Beast. How can we fight this alien invasion with that? We fought side by side with the Iron Warriors during the Great Crusade, as we do right now. Kalkator’s vessel sits under our guns and we have done nothing. Why? Because the First Captain knows that right now, a living Iron Warrior is worth more to our cause than a dead one. We need his warriors, their weapons and their assets. Let’s not waste them here in the service of protocol.’
A hololithic display crackled to life nearby, its signal hissing and warping with every void-borne rock to strike the Dantalion. The spectral form of Warsmith Kalkator presented itself on the command deck, battleplate a rust-mottled pattern of tarnished silver and stripe.
‘The Palimodes, First Captain,’ Shipmaster Marcarian said, stepping to one side.
‘You have something to report, Iron Warrior?’ Zerberyn said with impatience.
Kalkator let the suggestion that the Fists Exemplar were in charge of their joint venture pass. ‘Only that this was ill-advised,’ the Iron Warrior said.
Lasander looked to Reoch, but the Apothecary shrugged as if to say that he had told them so.
‘My vessel has sustained damage in the debris field. Repairs are necessary and urgent,’ Kalkator continued.
‘How long will this take?’ Zerberyn asked.
‘It will take us no longer than three hours to repair the damage,’ Kalkator said. ‘I would curse the decimation in this system, but I suspect that it is the only thing keeping our ships from being discovered by the orks.’
‘Very well,’ the First Captain said. ‘We shall proceed to the telepathica matrix and relay our warning to Terra.’
‘You will find no redemption there, Son of Dorn,’ the Iron Warrior said. ‘Not for words and not for actions. The galaxy is short on second chances — and you never get a second chance to make a first impression. Take it from one who knows.’
‘I am doing this, Iron Warrior,’ Zerberyn told him. ‘It is no less in your interest than mine that Terra defeats the orks.’
‘Agreed,’ Kalkator said, ‘for I much prefer fighting Imperials than greenskins. Though in truth, you both seem to like fighting yourselves.’
‘Three hours,’ Zerberyn said, moving the uncomfortable exchange on.
‘Do what you must,’ Kalkator said, ‘but once my repairs are made, I and my ship are taking leave of this deathtrap system.’
‘Such fearful assessments are not your reputation,’ Lasander said.
‘I fight the orks on my own terms,’ Kalkator told him. ‘What would you have us do? Defend a pile of void-strewn rubble? Mount a suicidal siege on that attack moon with insufficient men and vessels?’
‘No,’ Zerberyn admitted.
‘Then do not waste my time with your own fearful assessments,’ Kalkator said. ‘Palimodes out.’
The hololithic transmission faded to static and then to nothingness. Lasander grunted his derision.
There was a good reason why the orks, in their devastation of the system, had not discovered the Arx Meridia installation. The telepathica matrix was stationed in orbit close to the Ophidium star. Within the relative chill and darkness of colossal protective shielding, it was safe from the radioactive inferno of the sun. Lost, from without, in the blinding glare and static of the star, it remained safe from the invading attentions of the orks.
As they ploughed on through the blaze, the temperature aboard the Dantalion rose. Void shields crackled and pulsed while the command deck was flooded with blinding light from the bridge lancet screens. As the battle-barge fell in behind the orbiting station and the glowing metal of its protective shield, everything returned to blotched darkness. Upon the Dantalion’s approach, Zerberyn could see that beyond the baroque system ships of Adeptus Astra Telepathica, one other vessel was docked to the station.
‘Master Marcarian?’ the First Captain said.
‘It looks as if she belongs to the League of Black Ships,’ the shipmaster said, leaning in over deck serfs, servitors and consoles. ‘The Athymian Astra, my lord.’
‘A tithe ship?’ Lasander said.
‘For unbound psykers, yes,’ Marcarian confirmed.
‘She must have been levying the system when the oks attacked,’ Reoch said, ‘then sought shelter at Arx Meridia.’
‘Communications?’ Zerberyn asked.
‘From the station?’ the shipmaster said. ‘No, my lord. Nothing.’
‘Our reputation precedes us,’ Reoch mused.
‘Shipmaster,’ the First Captain said, ‘dock with the station.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Lasander,’ Zerberyn went on. ‘Have a squad meet me down in the airlock vestibule.’
‘You shall have my best, First Captain — Sergeant Vasmir.’
‘And continue with your long-range augur sweeps,’ Zerberyn ordered.
‘You are still going over there?’ Reoch asked.
‘We are going over there, Apothecary,’ Zerberyn said, making for the command deck elevator. ‘We need to find an astropath, and the souls on that station and the crew of the Black Ship may need our aid.’
Locking harsh gazes with Lasander, Reoch turned to follow the First Captain.
In the airlock vestibule that rang with the reverberating boom of battle-barge and station coming together, they were met by Titus Vasmir and his squad. The five Space Marines checked each other’s scorch-patterned plate before moving on to their own boltguns. A serf arrived in the vestibule with Zerberyn’s helmet, gladius and pistol, before exiting as steam vented about the Fists Exemplar. The docking had been successful.
‘First Captain,’ Vasmir acknowledged.
‘Flanking positions,’ Zerberyn ordered as the lock opened, making it clear that Vasmir’s squad was to perform the duty of an escort.
With Squad Vasmir marching either side and the sergeant in front, Zerberyn and Apothecary Reoch entered the telepathica matrix station. Within, Arx Meridia seemed like a haunted cathedral. The astropaths and their servants kept a dour and functional installation, largely dominated by dormitory cells, choir halls and techno-arcane equipment designed to relay and augment the astropathic talents of the station’s psykers. Since astropaths were blind, decorative features were restricted to hexagrammatic wardings, relief symbols and textured tapestries.