Coldbreed was not happy with the final leg of its journey, and I can only assume the other vessels of my fleet felt much the same. To say our voidships rattled through the Empyrean until now was an understatement, but nearing the end of our voyage, they began to buckle and all but bend under the tumult of the Warp and the stress of Zha’s unique logistical solution for Translation. Our exit from the Warp into the supposed safety of the void was rocky enough to demand most of the bridge be holding on to something, with five exceptions: Captain Vakian was well situated in his command arrangement; Bliss appeared to be dexterous enough to maintain her composure naturally; Varnus had magnetized himself to my deck; and Lucene and I were too weighed down by our power armor to be tossed about even still. But everyone else, including my full retinue, who I had asked join me on the bridge for our reintroduction to the Dawnshadow, was gripping onto this or that odd protrusion for stability during the tail end of our bumpy ride.
“We enjoy a skirting the bounds of irony, don’t we?” I muttered to Bliss, who was standing to my side opposite Lucene, her arms crossed in uncaring nonchalance.
“I wouldn’t say no, but I don’t know what you’re referring to,” she admitted.
“After Absalom, you noted the irony in our possibly being eliminated after everything we had survived,” I explained, then gestured widely to the state of Coldbreed’s bridge. “Now, after such catastrophes we’ve endured and heretics we’ve slain, what if our undoing is by our own hand, and by something as inglorious as a hull rupture?”
“Then that would be ironic indeed, yes,” Bliss agreed, a creeping grin appreciating the potential irony.
You will not perish here, Cronos assured me via a nagging in the back of my head. How could the daemon have known my fate, anyway? Better to the point, it emphasized the locality or temporal nature of my end, suggesting it knew when or where that would happen. I do. Do you wish to know? I did not, but I will admit to some semblance of comfort from my terrible foe’s surety that we would not succumb to a hull breach. You’re welcome.
“Everything will be OK, Cal, as the Emperor wills it,” Lucene assured me, which put me to ease far better than anything a daemon could have ever said.
“Warp Translation in fifteen seconds,” beamed the voice of Captain Vakian. Though he was on the bridge near to many of us, we—or I, at least—heard him most prominently through the ship’s vox systems, which were substantially louder than either the rumbling of our hull or Vakian’s spoken word.
“Ave Imperator,” I muttered, and stepped forward, nearer to the bridge’s frontal viewport, though it was currently covered by protective shielding for Warp travel. The seconds rolled by, each one accompanied by a rumbling as though some furious beast had gripped onto the hull of our vessel and was shaking it for signs of life. Given the nature of the Empyrean, that may have actually been the case.
Eventually, after what felt like interminably longer than fifteen seconds, the shaking diminished substantially, being reduced to the familiar low rumble of Warp Translation. Shortly thereafter, the shaking vanished entirely, and the shielding of the frontal viewport began to lift, letting a deep blue light crawl into the bridge. A great pressure lifted from my chest, and seemed also to have been lifted from many of my allies, as I heard sighs of relief beyond my own. As the viewport opened up in full, however, that relief turned to confusion for many, even among my veteran compatriots, but not for me. I understood, in horror, what was before me, and acted at once: “Vakian! Scramble all fighters! Divert power from lance batteries unto our port and starboard shields!”
The Dawnshadow, laying before our view amidst smoke and blue warpfire, was under attack once more, more heavily berated on its own without fleet support. Its assailants surrounded us, only in the sense that our Warp Translation had placed us in the middle of the enemy fleet. I knew the fell insignia of our foes at once, as well: The Thousand Sons Traitor Legion, or some Warband thereof, and even if not for their iconography, their choice of armament and disposition for warpflame would have sufficed for a hint toward their identity as well.
While Vakian relayed my orders, Mirena stepped nearer to me, though she was still across the bridge. “Does that include me?” she asked.
“If you want it to,” I answered, and turned back to the scene ahead. Mirena decided to leave the bridge and join our fighter squadrons. Castecael also departed, likely recognizing that our medicae bays would soon fill with wounded. “Can we establish communication with the Dawnshadow?”
“Wideband vox systems are still recovering from Warp Translation, Inquisitor, but it should not take long,” Vakian reported. “I will patch you in as soon as we are able.” I nodded in silent assent. In the meantime, the shaking returned, though this time it was of our making as our starboard and port cannons engaged the enemy nearby. Our positioning was far from ideal; not only were our allies, in the Dawnshadow, currently resting before our Nova Cannons, but our fleet was directly in the middle of the enemy fleet, intertwined with their ships, where we would customarily have served the role of long-range support. But all was not lost; the battle had clearly been going for some time, as not only was the Dawnshadow enflamed and damaged, but our foes had also been comparatively battered. We were arriving for the tail end of a protracted engagement.
“The situation is winnable,” came the voice of Zha Trantos, startling me from behind. It was unlike her to sneak up on me. Perhaps she was taking lessons from Bliss. “Our foes were not anticipating reinforcements, which suggests a cognizance of the logistical darkness that otherwise would have inhibited our arrival,” she deduced.
I nodded in agreement, for once having beaten her to that conclusion. “And I am none too happy about their involvement thereof, though yes, I agree that this scene is salvageable.” Words spoken moments before the shuddering of our shields being battered from enemy fire. Irony.
“Dawnshadow to reinforcing fleet, come in,” a familiar voice called over our bridge’s vox. I glanced to Vakian and nodded a ‘thank you’ to him. He gave me a thumbs’ up, too busy with administering other tasks to reply with much else.
“Coldbreed to Dawnshadow, we receive you. Been a few years, Lord Inquisitor,” I greeted Lycia, who I had not seen or heard from since our war with the Shatter Corps and Valeran Mortoc.
“Likewise, Inquisitor Blackgar. You know how to make a timely entrance,” she answered.
“I’ve had some practice. What’s your status? Who are these bastards, and what are the priority targets?” I pressed.
“First things first, I am sending a list of targets to your cogitator systems. Please disseminate the information as needed,” she said, to which I snapped a finger toward Varnus and pointed him to join Vakian at the command terminals. He obliged. “As to our status, we are surviving, for the time being. I imagine it looks bad from your perspective. But they haven’t sent any damnable boarding torpedoes our way this time, which is a blessing.”
“How very kind of them,” I grunted.
“As to who they are, we’ve identified them as the Thousand Sons Warband known as the Emissaries of the Cataclysm. Name mean anything to you?” Lycia asked.
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“Not in the slightest. Should I know them?”
“It would have been nice if you did, as this is otherwise an unprovoked and unforeseen attack. Came out of nowhere about twenty hours ago. Speaking of which, how are you here, Blackgar? It seems the darkness does not trouble our enemies, but it has stranded us where we are and limited astropathic communication,” she noted.
“A conversation for after the battle, which would be a pleasure to have in person, should we both live to see such a time,” I replied, caging up on the subject. Zha’s strategy, while unquestionably advantageous and beneficial to us as much as to the Dawnshadow, could still be seen as heretical to some, and I was not the most familiar with Lycia’s philosophical outlook on adaptivity. “Until then, please allow me to direct my fleet as needed. If you require any specific assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask for it. And keep us appraised of new priority targets. We are here to assist in any way we can.”
Lycia said her thanks before breaking off communication for the time being. We both had fleets to manage. By this time, finally, my fleet’s fighters and bombers were beginning to launch from our bays to tear apart the enemy more incisively. This, it seemed, was the final straw for the Thousand Sons. With their own fighters and bombers too close to the Dawnshadow to respond to my fleet’s, their mainline vessels were all but defenseless against my forces. It was not long since my arrival that enemy frigates and their singular Battle Barge began to pull away from the scene, recalling what fighters they could retrieve. A retreat had been forced, though I already knew, from having sparred with the Iron Warriors, that a second attack was inevitable. I also knew better than to chase after their retreat, as the late Lord Kanin had in futility.
Where our entrance had appeared as a tunnel into the Warp, the exit of the Thousand Sons pulled them into a vast and terrible flaming blue eye, their vessels falling into its iris. I had never seen such a thing, and may have stared in wonder were it not for Inquisitorial training. I likewise commanded Vakian to raise the shielding used in Warp Translation, as such an eye was not for loyal men and women of the Imperium to gaze upon for long. The darkness of the Event, it seemed, had empowered our foes too greatly; never before could they conjure such an evil on a whim. Our capital vessels took aim upon the eye and the enemy ships that fled within, but if we damaged either, such an impact could not be discerned. The terrible eye burnt itself out from reality as swiftly as it had appeared out of the ether, leaving only us confused and embattled mortals in its wake.
***
I had never been to Lord Inquisitor Lycia’s office before. Imagine my surprise, then, when the route to it was the same as that which lead to Lord van der Skar’s office. Upon gaining entry to speak with the still-surviving Lord Inquisitor, and after we said our greetings, she addressed my confusion: “Before he passed, Halloid appointed me to his post in operating the Dawnshadow. He also gave me a few other assets of his, including you,” she explained.
“He gave me to you? What does that mean? Am I to report to you henceforth?” I asked, moving to stand behind a chair she had intended for me to sit in. She, meanwhile, moved around the desk of my former master and took her own seat at it.
“In theory, yes, but he had more specific instructions for our relationship,” Lycia admitted, shaking her head. “He wants you to employ Special Condition, and for me to stay well out of your way. I do not know what it is you’ve wrapped yourself—and him—up in, but Halloid made it very clear that my involvement would jeopardize the Sector. In that regard, I do not wish to impede upon your operations in the slightest. When you feel you are ready to return from Special Condition, I will be here, on the Dawnshadow, as he always was. Then, and only then, yes, you may report to me.”
“Well that…,” I began, and then reached a pause in my train of thought. “That does make things simpler.”
“Good. I won’t ask about your operations, but I again must ask how you’ve found your way back to me, where no others could,” Lycia insisted. I hesitated once more, and Lycia proved a quick study in reading my discomfort. “It wasn’t the most…puritan strategy, was it?”
“It was not,” I admitted, sighing, and finally took a seat before her.
She cleared her throat, then leaned forward, folding her hands together, dark brown eyes . “Blackgar, as I mentioned, Halloid was adamant that I not interrupt your operation. If you’re worried about your own life, in confessing to me the means through which you arrived here, don’t be. I can’t touch you, by his orders. And you’d be surprised how…persuasive…Halloid van der Skar can be postmortem.”
“I served under the man for two centuries; I knew him well enough to know he would not let death keep him from his duties to the Throne,” I chuckled. “But thank you. Does your insistence come from curiosity, then?”
“In part. But also tactical need. Do you know what has caused this great and crushing darkness, Blackgar?” she asked, sitting back in her chair with a hint of dismay spreading across her brow. For her part, in many ways she still seemed quite young—no doubt thanks to the rejuvenat—but it was slowly becoming clear to me that the stress of managing a starfort like the Dawnshadow, coupled with the responsibilities of a Lord Inquisitor, was beginning to take its toll on her. One wonders how van der Skar had survived at it as long as he had.
“I do not.”
Lycia made a musing sound, then rose from her desk and turned her back to me, looking out of a thin slit of a viewport unto the void beyond. She said nothing for a few moments more, perhaps looking for the right words. Then, with frank simplicity, revealed, “Cadia has fallen.”
“What?” I asked, scoffing. The words were absurd to me.
“Cadia is no more. The Despoiler found victory in his accursed Crusade. The very world itself was destroyed, utterly,” Lycia explained. For some fraction of time, I thought Lycia’s recounting of events was a cruel joke of sorts, but that disbelief passed in the trust of my comrade, and the horror of what she was saying sunk in. “The Eye of Terror, then unopposed by the Throne’s most capable servants, has spread across the galaxy, slicing our beautiful Imperium in half with its twisted maw. I know not of everything, but I know these pieces of the ordeal. Astropathic communication was cut off entirely immediately following Cadia’s loss, but we are slowly regaining such functionality, and other Conclaves are reporting in with what they know. This great and terrible Night is the cruel jest of our archenemy, empowering its treasonous forces and stranding many of us on our own. But not you,” she explained, and turned back to me at last.
“So I ask, Inquisitor Callant Blackgar, how is it that you have found your way here, where no other voidship in all the known Imperium has been able to travel so? If you sit on some hint of usable stratagem, it could turn the tide against the enemy when we need it most. Folly to those who would sit back and succumb to the vanities of purity!” Lycia shouted, slamming a fist on her desk. “I do not think myself a Radical, nor you likewise, rather I believe we both understand the need for adaptation in times of crises, and this is most certainly a time of such needs. Have I convinced you yet?”
I nodded, face tight with frustration and fury. Fury, that the Despoiler had won and wounded us all so. Frustration that I had not been there to kill the bastard myself. I then looked back up to Lycia. “My stratagem utilized the existence of one foe, the Xenos, against the whims of the archenemy,” I began, and outlined the process Zha had constructed to Lycia. I did not implicate Zha in my explanation. Would that the Lord Inquisitor before me deem me a heretic for it, I’d have preferred to insulate my prodigious apprentice from Lycia’s wrath. But no such wrath came, at least not immediately. Instead, Lycia simply sat at her desk again, resting before me, and seemed to understand my reluctance to use this means of travel in the first place, much as I was reluctant to share the information.
“That is…clever. And dangerous, as I’m sure you’re all too aware,” she suggested, and I nodded eagerly. “Forgive my earlier zealotry, Blackgar.”
“Zealotry in service to the Throne need not be forgiven.”
“No, I suppose not,” she agreed, managing a grin. “Alas, I do not imagine your described means of travel can be used widely through the Imperium, even by the Inquisition. Ignoring the damage to our relationship with the Navigators’ Houses—which I will try to smooth over for you, to insulate you from their petulant vindictiveness—it risks revealing our movements to the enemy,” she explained, referring to the Xenos, and I nodded in agreement. “Well, with that out of the way, you’ve done the Dawnshadow a great service in coming to its aid—if not outright saving it—three times now. Is there any aid I can offer you in turn before you embark on Special Condition?”
“Actually, there is, thank you for asking. I do not know how familiar you are with my prior involvements, but I would like to requisition four hundred units of Resource Absalom-7644. And if you happen to have a capable psyker and null aboard the Dawnshadow, I would like to request their temporary services. Shouldn’t need more than a few hours with them,” I explained.
“I have no idea what that resource is, but if I can find it, I can get it to you. As to the psyker and blank, I will do what I can and keep you posted. If there is nothing else,” she said, and rose from her desk once more, offering a hand over it. I took and shook it. “Good luck, Inquisitor, with whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Same to you, Lord Inquisitor,” I agreed, grinning. “Thank you.”