Victories of the Space Marines

THE REWARDS

OF TOLERANCE

Gav Thorpe





Encased in a flickering Geller field, the Vengeful slid through the psychic tides of the warp. The field flared intermittently as it crossed the path of itinerant warp denizens, becoming a shell of writhing, fanged faces and swirling colours. In the turmoil of its wake, dark shapes gathered in a flitting shoal; occasionally a creature would speed forwards and hurl itself at the strike cruiser, seeking the life force of those within. Each time the unreal predators were hurled back by a flash of psychic force.

Sitting in the Navigator’s cockpit Zacherys, former Librarian of the Avenging Sons, gazed out into the warp through eyes ablaze with blue energy. Sparks crackled from the pinpricks of his pupils and thick beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks. With a trembling hand, he reached out to the comm-unit and switched to the command frequency.

“I can hear them whispering,” he growled.

There was a hiss of static before the reply came through the speakers.

“Hold them as long as you can,” said Gessart, the ship’s captain. Once master of an Avenging Sons company, he now led a small renegade band only two dozen strong. “We’ll reach safe exit distance in less than an hour.”

The comm buzzed for a few seconds more and fell silent. Left alone in the quiet, Zacherys could not help but listen to the voices pawing at the edge of his hearing. Most were gibberish, some snarled threats, others begged Zacherys to let down his guard. A mellifluous voice cut through, silencing them with its authority.

I can take you to safety, it said. Listen to me, Zacherys. I can protect you. All I ask is a small favour. Just let me help you. Open your thoughts to me. Let me see your mind and I will grant your desires.

The sensation of claws prising at the sides of Zacherys’ thoughts suddenly disappeared, like a great pressure released by an opening airlock. The chittering stopped and the Geller field stabilised, becoming a placid oily-sheened bubble once more.

Zacherys relaxed his fingers, loosening his fist on the arm of the Navigator’s chair, indentations left in the metal from his fierce grip. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they had returned to normal, the burst of psychic energy drawn back into his mind.

Thank you, he thought.

You are welcome, replied the voice.

What do I call you? Zacherys asked.

Call me Messenger, it said.

What are you? A daemon?

I am Messenger. I am the one that will open your mind to your true power. I will show you the full scope of your abilities. Together we will grow stronger. We will both be pupil and teacher.

We need to break out of warp space, thought Zacherys. I cannot resist another attack.

Allow me, said Messenger. Call to me when you return. I will be waiting.

The streaming rivers of psychic energy surrounding the Vengeful bucked and spiralled, turning upon themselves until they split into an immaterial whirlpool. Through the widening hole, Zacherys could see the blue glow of a star.

Fingers moving gently across the steering panel, he guided the Vengeful towards the opening. The strike cruiser burst out of the immaterium with a flash of multi-coloured light. The rift behind fluttered for a moment and disappeared. Silence followed; the emptiness of space. Zacherys looked around and saw a dense swathe of stars: the northern arm of the galactic spiral spread out before him. He smiled with relief and prodded the automatic telemetry systems into action. It was time to find out where they were.



The renegade Space Marines gathered in the briefing hall. The twenty-four warriors barely filled a quarter of the large chamber, which was designed to house a whole Space Marine company. Gessart looked down from the briefing podium and marvelled at how quickly his followers had asserted their individuality. After decades of loyal service to their Chapter—centuries in the case of some—the Space Marines were rediscovering their true selves, throwing off millennia of tradition and dogma.

All of them wore armour blackened with thick paint, their old livery and symbols obliterated. Some had gone further, taking their gear down to the armoury to chisel off Imperial insignia and weld plates over aquilas and other icons of the Imperium. A few had painted new mottos across the black to replace the devotional texts that had been removed. In a neat script, Willusch had written “The Peace of Death” along the rim of his left shoulder pad. Lehenhart, with his customary humour, had daubed a white skull across the face of his helm, a ragged bullet hole painted in the centre of its forehead. Nicz, Gessart’s self-appointed second-in-command, sat with a chainsword across his lap, a thin brush in his left hand, putting the finishing touches to his own design: “The Truth Hurts”, written in red paint to resemble smeared blood.

Zacherys was the last to attend. The psyker nodded to Gessart as he sat down, confirming the location estimate he had passed on earlier. Gessart smiled.

“It seems that though the Emperor looks over us no more, we have not yet been abandoned by the galaxy,” he announced. “Helmabad is more than a dozen light years behind us. That’s the only good news. We are dangerously low on supplies, despite what we salvaged from Helmabad. We are six thousand light years away from safety; a considerable distance. If we are to complete our journey to sanctuary in the Eye of Terror, we will need more weapons and equipment, as well as food.”

Gessart rasped a hand across the thick stubble on his chin. The Space Marines all looked at him attentively, faces impassive as they received this news. Some habits were harder to break than others and they waited in silence for their leader to continue.

“Whether by luck, fate or some other power, our half-blind flight through the warp has brought us within a hundred light years of the Geddan system. The system is virtually lifeless, but it’s a chartist captains’ convoy meeting point; merchant ships from across the sector converge there to make the run down past the ork territories towards Rhodus. We’ll take what we need from the merchantmen.”

“Those convoys have Imperial Navy escorts,” said Heynke.

“Usually nothing more than a few frigates and destroyers,” said Nicz before Gessart could answer. “Not too much for a strike cruiser to overcome.”

“If this were a fully-manned ship, I’d agree,” said Gessart. “But it isn’t. If there’s a light escort we’ll try to cut out a cargo ship or two and avoid confrontation. If there’s a more sizeable Imperial Navy presence we cannot risk an open battle. The task is to gather more supplies, not expend what little we have.”

Nicz conceded the point with a shrug.

“You’re in charge,” the Space Marine muttered.

Gessart ignored the slight and turned his attention to Zacherys.

“Can you guide us to Geddan in a single jump?”

The psyker looked away for a moment, obviously unsure.

“I think I can manage that,” he said eventually.

“Can you, or can’t you?” snapped Gessart. “I don’t want to drop into the middle of something we aren’t expecting.”

Zacherys nodded, uncertainly at first and then with greater conviction.

“Yes, I have a way to do it,” the psyker said. “I can take us to Geddan.”

“Good. There is another issue that needs to be resolved before we leave,” said Gessart. He looked directly at Nicz, who glanced to either side, surprised by his commander’s attention.

“Something I’ve done?” said Nicz.

“Not yet,” replied Gessart. “The menial crew are still loyal to us, but they do not know the full facts of what happened on Helmabad. If we have to fight at Geddan, there can be no hesitation. I want you to ensure that they will open fire on command, even against an Imperial vessel. I want every weapon system overseen by one of us, and dispose of any crew that may prove problematic.”

“Dispose?” said Nicz. “You mean kill?”

“Don’t get carried away, we cannot run the ship without them. But leave them with no doubt that we are still their masters and they will follow our instructions without question.”

“I’ll see that it is done,” said Nicz, patting his chainsword.

“Are there any questions?” Gessart asked the rest of the Space Marines. They exchanged glances and shook their heads until Lehenhart stood up.

“What happens when we reach the Eye of Terror?” he asked.

Gessart considered his reply carefully.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to go there and find out. At the moment, nobody knows what we have done. I’d rather keep it that way.”

“What if Rykhel somehow survived on Helmabad?” asked Heynke. “What if he contacts the rest of the Avenging Sons?”

“Between the rebels and the daemons, Rykhel is dead,” said Nicz.

“But what if he isn’t?” insisted Heynke.

“Then our former battle-brothers will attempt to live up to their name,” said Gessart. “That’s why we’re going to the Eye of Terror. Nobody would dare follow us into that nightmare. Once we attack the convoy word will spread about what we have done. We have one chance to do this right. If we fail, the Emperor’s servants will be looking for us, and getting to the Cadian Gate will be all the harder for it.”

“So let’s not mess it up,” said Lehenhart.



Zacherys’ hand hesitated over the warp engine activation rune on the console beside his Navigator’s chair. He glanced at the panel above it, looking at the fluctuating lines of green fading into orange and then surging with power into green again. Although the warp engine was not fully active, the psyker could feel the boundaries of reality thinning around the Vengeful. Through the canopy around him, he saw the stars wavering, the darkness between them glowing occasionally with rainbows of psychic energy.

He had promised Gessart that he would get the ship to Geddan, thinking he would use the daemon Messenger to do so. He was having second thoughts, but could not back down. Not only would Zacherys face the scorn of the others, the ship was stranded in wilderness space. At some point they would have to re-enter the warp or simply stay here and eventually die from starvation—a prospect even more harrowing for a Space Marine than a normal man. Doubtless they would kill each other before that fate overtook them.

Taking a deep breath, Zacherys touched the rune. From the Vengeful’s innards a deep rumbling reverberated through the ship, increasing to a rapid vibration that whined in Zacherys’ ears.

The starfield around the Vengeful wavered and spun, engulfing the starship with a whirl of colours: the eye of a kaleidoscopic storm of the material and immaterial. Zacherys engaged the drive and the strike cruiser lurched into the warp; not a physical strain of inertia but a stretching of the mind, filled with momentary flashes of memory and dizziness. For the psyker, the transition welled up at the base of his skull, suffusing his thoughts with pressure as synapses flared randomly for a heartbeat.

It was over in a moment. The Vengeful was sliding along the psychic current, Geller field sparkling around it. Zacherys opened his mind up to the power of the warp and felt the shifting energies around him. He could sense the ebb and flow of the immaterium, but he was no Navigator; he lacked true warp-sight. Though he could feel the titanic psychic power surging around the ship, he could see only a little along their route, enough to avoid the swirls and plunging currents that would hurl them off-course, but little more.

Messenger? he thought. There was no reply and Zacherys became fearful that the creature had tricked him back into warp space, to drift on the tides until the Geller field finally failed and they were set upon by the daemons and other denizens that hungered after their souls.

“Foolish,” Zacherys muttered to himself.

The ship was buffeted by a wave of energy and Zacherys’ focus turned to the steering controls as he attempted to ride the surge. As with the warp jump itself, he felt this not in the pit of his stomach like a man upon an ordinary sea, but as crests and troughs of sensation behind his eyes, along every nerve.

He regained some control, moving the Vengeful into a calmer stream of power. He was making a huge mistake.

Zacherys’ hand hovered over the emergency disengage rune, which would rip open the fabric of real/warp space and dump the Vengeful back into the material galaxy. There was no telling what damage would be done to the warp engines, or those on board, and Zacherys would have to confess all to Gessart.

It seemed such an ignominious end. So soon after taking the first steps on the road to freedom. It made a mockery of Zacherys’ aspirations; his hopes to understand the nature of his abilities and his place between the real and unreal. The bright path leading from Helmabad he had seen in his visions was guttering and dying, swallowed by the formless energy of the void.

I am here.

Zacherys let out an explosive breath of relief.

I need your help, he thought.

Of course you do, replied Messenger. Look how perilous your situation has become, flinging yourselves into our domain without heed to the dangers.

I need a guide, thought Zacherys. Can you show me the way ahead?

As I told you before, you must lower your defences and allow me to enter your mind. I must see with your eyes to guide you. Do not worry; I will protect you from the others.

Zacherys’ hand was shaking as he leaned over towards the Geller field controls. It would be a rash act, dooming not just the psyker but every soul on board the Vengeful. What option did he have?

Indeed, said Messenger. You have cast yourselves upon the whims of cruel fate. Yet, there is no need to succumb to despair. You can still control your destiny, with me beside you.

What do you get as you part of the bargain? asked Zacherys. Why should I trust you?

I get your mind, my friend. And your loyalty. We need each other, you and I. In this world you are at my mercy; but I have no reach into your world other than with your hands. We shall help each other, and both shall benefit.

You could destroy the ship, thought Zacherys.

What would I gain? A momentary gratification, a brief peak of power and nothing more. Do not mistake me for the mindless soul-eaters that flock after your ship. I too have my ambitions and desires, and a mind and body such as yours can take me closer to them.

You will possess me, drive me from my own flesh!

You know that I cannot. Your armour against me is your will, strengthened over your whole life. We would wage war against each other constantly, neither victorious. You are no normal mortal; you are a Space Marine still, with all the power that entails.

Klaxons screeched across the Vengeful as Zacherys punched in the first cipher to unlock the Geller field controls. Within moments, Gessart was on the comm.

“What is it? Warp breach?” the warband leader demanded.

“There is nothing to fear,” said Zacherys, convincing himself as much as the commander. The blaring was joined by a host of flashing red lights on the display board as Zacherys keyed in the next sequence. “Everything is under control.”

He tapped out the last digits and pressed the deactivation rune. With a screech that could only be heard inside his head, Zacherys cut the Geller field. The bubble of psychic energy around the starship imploded, the full pressure of the warp rushing into and through the Vengeful.

Zacherys felt cold, a freezing chill of the void that encrusted every cell of his being. With gritted teeth, he put his head back against the chair.

“The moment of truth,” he whispered. “I am at your mercy, Messenger. Prove me right or wrong.”

The bitter cold vanished, replaced by warmth that glowed through Zacherys’ limbs. He felt the heat expanding outwards, engulfing the rest of the ship. The energy of the warp remained, not pushed back like it was with the Geller field, but the Vengeful settled in an oasis of calm, resting gently upon the stilled psychic tide.

Zacherys opened his eyes. Other than the tingling in his nerves, the psyker felt no different. He flexed his fingers and looked around until he was confident that he was in full control of his faculties. He laughed, buoyed up by a sudden feeling of ecstasy that suffused his body.

And then he felt it.

It was indistinct, like the tendrils of a light fog, spreading through his mind, dribbling along the course of his thoughts. It was a dark web, an alien cancer latching on to all of his emotions, every hope and fear, dream and disappointment, suckling upon his centuries of experience. Zacherys sensed satisfaction seeping through him, leeched from his new companion.

Such delights we have to offer one another. But for another time. Tell me, my friend: where do you wish to go?



Gessart paced the command bridge as he waited for the results of the initial sensor sweep. Zacherys had done an admirable job, dropping the ship out of warp space just outside the orbit of Geddan’s fourth world. Gessart wondered how the psyker had overcome the graviometric problems that normally prevented ships from emerging so close to a celestial body, but decided against asking for details; the former Librarian’s strangely contented expression and the incident with the collapsing Geller field warned Gessart that there was something odd happening, but he could not afford the distraction for the moment.

“Seven signatures on response, captain,” announced Kholich Beyne, the head of the Vengeful’s non-Space Marine crew. The young man checked something on the data-slab in his hands. “No military channels in use.”

“Confirm that,” said Gessart. “Are there any Imperial Navy vessels?”

Kholich headed over to the sensor technicians and conferred briefly with each. He turned back to Gessart with a solemn expression.

“Confirm that there are no Imperial Navy vessels in the system, captain. The convoy is assembling around the fifth planet. From their comms chatter, they are expecting to receive their escort in the next day or two.”

“Defences in that grid?” Gessart stopped his pacing and knotted his hands behind his back, trying to stay calm.

“We’re not picking up any orbital defences, captain. It seems unlikely that the convoy would gather without some form of protection.”

“Surface-to-orbit weapons, most likely,” said Gessart. “Nothing that can attack us if we get amongst the convoy before they start opening fire.”

He rounded on the comms team.

“Transmit our identifier to the convoy ships. Tell them we will be approaching.”

“If they require an explanation, captain?” asked Kholich. “What do we tell them?”

“Nothing,” replied Gessart, heading towards the bridge doors. “Find out who the civilian convoy captain is and inform him that I’ll be boarding his vessel and speaking to him in person.”

“Very well, captain,” said Kholich as the armoured doors slid open with a rumble. “I’ll inform you of any developments.”



Though not considered a large vessel by Imperial standards, the Vengeful dwarfed the merchantman carrying Sebanius Loil; the man who had identified himself as the merchant commander of the convoy. Following a terse conversation, during which Gessart had done most of the talking, the trader had acquiesced to the Space Marine’s demand to be allowed on board. Now Gessart and his warriors were fully armoured and crossing the few hundred kilometres between the strike cruiser and the Lady Bountiful aboard their last surviving Thunderhawk gunship.

Gessart looked at the merchantman through the cockpit canopy, noticing the three defence turrets clustered around her midsection: short-ranged weapons that might fend off a lone pirate but which would be hard-pressed to overload even one of the Vengeful’s void shields. Beyond the Lady Bountiful was the rest of the convoy, visible only as returns on the Thunderhawk’s scanners, separated from each other by several thousand kilometres of vacuum. Four were of similar size, but two of the ships were immense transports, three times the size of the Vengeful. Fortunately they were empty, destined to pick up their cargo of an Imperial Guard regiment en route to the warzone in Rhodus.

Bright light streamed from an opening that stretched a quarter of the length of the Lady Bountiful as the ship slid back its loading bay doors to allow the Thunderhawk to land. Nicz eased the gunship into a course and speed parallel with the merchantship and then fired the landing thrusters to guide them into the bay.

A lone man waited for Gessart as the Thunderhawk’s ramp lowered to the deck, smoke and steam billowing across the bare rockcrete floor. He was stocky, clad in a heavy fur-lined coat with puffed shoulders slashed with red. Sebanius Loil warily watched the Space Marines with one good eye and an augmetic device riveted into his face in place of the other. Lenses clacked as the merchant focussed on Gessart. A servo whined as Loil lifted his right hand in welcome, the sleeve of the coat falling back to reveal a three-clawed metal hand.

“Welcome aboard the Lady Bountiful, captain,” said Loil. His voice was a hoarse whisper and through the ruff of the coat Gessart could see more bionics; an artificial larynx bobbed up and down at Loil’s throat.

Gessart did not return the greeting. He looked at his warriors over his shoulder and signalled them to spread out around the docking bay.

“I’m taking your cargo,” he said.

Loil did not seem surprised by this pronouncement. He lowered his cybernetic arm with a whirr and held out his good hand towards Gessart.

“You know that I cannot allow that, captain,” said the merchant. “My cargo is destined for Imperial forces fighting at Rhodus. I have an agreement with the Departmento Munitorum.”

The bionic hand delved into a deep pocket and produced a data-crystal. Loil offered it towards Gessart as proof of his contract.

“You have no choice in the matter,” said Gessart as he thrust Loil aside. “Your compliance will be for your own good.”

“You cannot seriously threaten us with force,” said Loil, following Gessart as the Space Marine stalked across the bay towards the main doors. Gessart darted the man a look that confirmed he could very well make such a threat. Loil paled and his artificial eye buzzed erratically. “This is intolerable! I will…”

The trader’s words petered away as Zacherys thudded down the ramp. The psyker’s eyes were orbs of golden energy. Zacherys turned that infernal gaze upon Loil, who recoiled in horror, holding up his hands in front of his ravaged face. The merchant whimpered and fell to his knees, tears coursing down his scarred cheeks. Zacherys stood over the man for a moment, looking down, lips pursed in contemplation.

“Where is the main cargo hold?” asked Gessart.

Zacherys looked up, broken from his thoughts by Gessart’s questions.

“Aft,” said the former Librarian. “Four bays, all filled with crates. Too much for the Thunderhawk, we will have to bring the Vengeful alongside and dock directly.”

Zacherys held out a hand above Loil’s head. He twitched his armoured fingers and the merchant looked up, meeting the psyker’s gaze. The gold of Zacherys’ eyes spread down his right arm and engulfed the head of the merchant before disappearing. Zacherys smiled and lifted his hand further. The ship’s captain rose jerkily to his feet, swaying slightly.

“Lead me to the bridge,” said Zacherys.

Loil’s first steps were faltering as he resisted the control of the psyker, scraping his feet across the floor. Zacherys twisted his wrist a fraction and Loil mewled like a wounded animal, knees buckling. The merchant righted himself and stumbled on, Zacherys following with long, slow strides.

The double doors hissed open, revealing a cluster of crew members holding an assortment of weapons: shotguns, autoguns, lasrifles. They stared in disbelief as their captain shuffled through the open doors, Zacherys and Gessart close behind. On their heels, the rest of the Space Marines hefted their bolters meaningfully.

“What do we do, Captain Loil?” asked one of the men, lasgun trembling in his grip.

“Wh-whatever they say,” hissed the merchant. “Do whatever they say.”

The men looked uncertain. Gessart towered over them, fists clenched.

“Make ready to unload your cargo to our vessel,” he said slowly. “Comply and no harm will come to you. Disobey and you will be killed. Put down your weapons.”

All but one of them did as they were told, their guns clattering on the deck. One, face twisted with indignation, raised his shotgun. He didn’t have time to pull the trigger. Gessart’s fist slammed into his face, snapping the crewman’s neck and hurling him across the corridor.

“Pass the word to your crewmates,” said Gessart. “Unloading will begin in ten minutes.”



Zacherys made Loil cut the comm-link and then released his psychic grip on the merchant. The man swooned to the floor, head banging loudly against the deck. Blood oozed from a gash in the captain’s scalp. It didn’t matter; he had served his purpose. The rest of the convoy would be gathering on the Lady Bountiful to await boarding and “inspection” by the Space Marines.

I think I pushed him too far, thought Zacherys as he noticed blood leaking from Loil’s ears and nose.

It does not matter, replied Messenger. There are more of his kind, weak and pathetic, than there are stars in your galaxy. Did you feel how easy it was to control his feeble mind?

I did, replied Zacherys. The thrill of using the man as a puppet ebbed away, leaving Zacherys strangely empty. What else can I do?

Whatever you desire. You power will no longer be chained by the dogma of weaklings. The full force of y—Wait! Did you feel that?

I felt nothing, thought Zacherys. What is it?

Let me show you.

Zacherys felt the daemon shifting inside him, pulling back it tendrils from his limbs, coalescing its power in his brain. His witchsight flared into life—the psychic sense that allowed Zacherys to feel the thoughts of others, sense their emotions and locate the spark of their minds in the warp. Zacherys’ golden eyes did not see the cramped bridge of the merchantman or the bloodied bodies of the three officers lying crumpled by the door. His thoughts expanded through the ship and beyond, touching on the moon below, sensing the minds of the crew aboard the Vengeful alongside. Out and out his mind stretched, reaching through the veil that separated reality from the warp.

And then he felt them.

They were indistinct, faint reflections of presence like shadows in darkness. They were not in the warp; even before his pact with Messenger, Zacherys could tell the approach of a ship by its wake in the immaterium. They were somewhere else.

What are they, he asked? Where are they?

Between here and there, in their little tunnels burrowed through dimensions. The children of the Dark Prince; you call them eldar.

Zacherys strained to focus on their location, but could not fix upon them. They were close, within the system. He broke off the search and forced himself back to his mortal senses.

“Gessart, we might have a problem,” he barked over the comm.



* * *



Out of glimmering stars of silver, the eldar ships emerged into real space, a little over twenty thousand kilometres away on the starboard bow. Gessart cursed the rudimentary scanner arrays of the Lady Bountiful, which were painfully short-ranged and slow. He opened up a channel to the Vengeful.

“Kholich, I’m transmitting coordinates. Give me a full augur sweep of that area. Three eldar ships detected. I want to know course, speed and type in two minutes.”

Gessart’s fingers danced over the transmitter controls as he sent the information to the strike cruiser.

“We have to assume they are hostile,” he said as he stabbed the transmit rune. Zacherys, Nicz, Lehenhart and Ustrekh were with him in the bridge while the others oversaw the transfer of the cargo containers from the hold to the bays of the Vengeful. “How much longer until we have what we need?”

“Not long enough,” replied Nicz. “Assuming they come for us as quick as they can.”

“They will,” said Zacherys. “They are predators and they are hunting. I feel their desire for the kill.”

Gessart flexed his gauntleted fingers with agitation.

“If we cut and run now, we might get away,” he muttered, more to himself than his companions. “But then we will have to find more supplies before we reach the Eye. Yet, we have no idea of their strength or intent. A stiff warning may force them to break off. They cannot know our numbers either.”

“I say we fight,” said Ustrekh. “They’ve come here looking for easy pickings. They’ll have little stomach for a real battle.”

Gessart turned to Lehenhart, knowing the veteran would have his own thoughts on the matter.

“It won’t take them long to get here,” said Lehenhart. “Whatever we’re going to do, we have to decide quickly. If we leave it too late to run, their ships can easily overhaul a strike cruiser. If we’re going to fight, we had best start preparing our defences.”

Gessart sighed. That observation didn’t make the choice any easier. The comm chimed in his ear before he could say anything else.

“This is Vengeful,” came Kholich’s tinny voice. “Confirm three vessels on a closing course. Warships, cruiser-class. We’re beating to orders, arming weapon batteries and setting plasma reactors to battle readiness. Do you wish us to break from docking?”

Gessart glared at the main screen, searching for a sign of the attackers but they were still too far away to be seen against the darkness of space. On the scanner, he could see the merchant ships closest to the eldar turning away, scattering in all directions like sheep before wolves.

“Remain docked,” said Gessart.

“Captain, we will not have battle manoeuvrability whilst attached to the Lady Bountiful.”

“Do not question my orders! Continue loading until the enemy are ten thousand kilometres away and then break docking. Take up escort position on the Lady Bountiful. We will remain aboard the trader. Signal the civilian fleet to maintain formation and make best speed to our location.”

“Understood, captain.”

The link crackled and fell silent. With a sub-vocal order, he switched the comm to his command channel, addressing the Space Marines of his force.

“Arm the crew,” he said. “Let them fight for their vessel alongside us. If nothing else, they will be a distraction to the enemy. Remember that we do not fight for the Emperor, nor to protect these people and their ships. This is a battle we must win because our survival depends upon it. Fail here and we are doomed. Better to die in battle now than to eke out a worthless existence drifting the stars. Our destiny is in our hands and though we are no longer slaves to the Imperium, we are still Space Marines!”



The eldar were not dissuaded from their attack by the presence of the Vengeful. The three warships swooped in for the kill, sleek, fast and deadly. On the Lady Bountiful’s flickering scanner, Gessart watched the pirates circling around one of the other merchantmen.

“Detect laser weaponry fire,” Kholich reported from the strike cruiser. “They are targeting the engines of the Valdiatius Five. Shall we move to intercept, captain?”

Gessart quickly assessed the situation on the scanner. As well as the Lady Bountiful, three other ships were already within range of the Vengeful’s batteries. The rest of the convoy were making slow progress and the eldar would fall upon each in turn without having to risk a confrontation with the strike cruiser if it maintained its current position.

“Put yourself between the raiders and the rest of the convoy,” he told Kholich. “Force them towards our position.”

“Affirmative, captain, moving to intercept,” replied Kholich.

“Engage at long range only,” Gessart added. It was unlikely the eldar would risk boarding a Space Marine vessel, but he didn’t want to risk losing the strike cruiser. He turned to Nicz, who was at the helm and engine controls. “Can you manoeuvre this piece of scrap?”

“Engines and control systems responding well,” replied Nicz without looking up. “The ship’s a mess on the outside, but Loil kept the important functions well maintained.”

“Can you simulate thruster difficulties?”

Nicz glanced at Gessart, guessing his intent.

“I can set them up with intermittent firing,” he said. “We’ll fall behind the rest of the ships and make ourselves an easy target.”

“Do it,” said Gessart, returning his attention to the scanner screen.

As he had hoped, the eldar were unwilling to tackle the strike cruiser directly, despite having more ships. As the Vengeful cut through the scattered ships of the convoy, the pirates broke away from their attack and retreated, putting several thousand kilometres between themselves and the escort.

The Lady Bountiful trembled violently as Nicz misfired the engines. His armour was bathed with an orange glow as warning lights flickered across the panel in front of him.

“Venting plasma,” he announced.

The ship shook again and rocked to starboard as a plume of superheated gas exploded from emergency exhausts along the portside stern. Nicz was deliberately clumsy in his attempts to correct their course, causing the ship to list sideways for several minutes while the main engines stuttered with flaring blasts of fire. Another glance at the scanner confirmed to Gessart that the three other merchant ships close to the Lady Bountiful were pulling away, heading directly from the eldar attack.

“Come on, take the bait,” Gessart muttered. “Look at us, we’re crippled. Come and get us!”

His attention was fixed on the scanner display, but the vague blobs of green that represented the eldar ships were too inaccurate to track any heading changes. He growled with frustration and fought the urge to slam his fist through the useless piece of equipment.

“Kholich, report!” he snapped. “What are the enemy doing?”

“They’ve altered course towards you, captain,” Kholich reported. “Not at full speed. They seem cautious.”

“They’re waiting to see what you are going to do,” Nicz cut in across the comm. “Move further away from our position.”

“Captain?” Kholich was uncertain, surprised by the break in protocol.

“Move out of weapons range of the Lady Bountiful,” Gessart said. “But stand ready to come about and make full speed to our position if needed. Keep me informed of the eldar’s movement, these scanners are worthless.”

“Affirmative, captain.”

Gessart broke the link and rounded on Nicz, stalking across the bridge to slam an open hand into the Space Marine’s armoured chest.

“Stay off the command channel!” Gessart growled. “I am still in charge.”

Nicz knocked away his leader’s hand and stepped forwards, the grille of his helm a few centimetres from Gessart’s.

“You’re just guessing,” Nicz replied calmly. “You haven’t any more idea what to do than the rest of us. We should be aboard the Vengeful, chasing down these scum.”

“They would run rings around us, and you know it,” snapped Gessart. “If they split up, we’ll have no chance of catching any of them. We need to draw them in, convince them to board. That’s when we’ll have the advantage.”

Nicz stepped back and his shock was clear in his voice.

“You intend to counter-board one of their ships?”

“If possible. We will have to see how badly they want to fight.”

Nicz said nothing but a shake of the head made it clear what he thought of Gessart’s plan. Gessart turned away and returned to his place at the command controls. His fingers drummed the side of the scanner display as he waited to find out what the eldar would do next.



“They’re using cutters on the starboard bow!” Lehenhart reported. “Decks six and seven.”

“Meet me at Lehenhart’s position,” Gessart told his warriors. One of the eldar warships had snared the Lady Bountiful in a gravity net and had pulled her alongside to board. The other two raiders had taken up a position a few thousand kilometres away to block the path of the Vengeful if it tried to intervene.

Gessart swung around to face Nicz. “Can I trust you to keep an eye on the other two ships?”

“I’ll tell you if either of them tries to board,” the Space Marine replied.

Gessart nodded and ran out of the bridge. He pounded along the uppermost deck until he came to a stairwell. Ducking sideways to fit his bulk through the low door, he hurled himself down the metal steps three at a time, the mesh buckling slightly under the impact of his boots. Three decks down, he squeezed into a narrow passageway flanked by rows of small cabins. Turning to his left he headed towards the bow of the ship. After a few hundred metres the corridor split to the left and right. Bolter fire ran along the bare metal walls from starboard.

Unslinging his storm bolter, Gessart slowed to a jog, eyes scanning the open doorways ahead. He saw nothing until Lehenhart advanced into view along the gallery at the end of the passage, his bionic right hand holding his bolter in a firing position, serrated combat knife in the left. Bright blue lances of laser light erupted from ahead of the Space Marine, zipping past him as he shifted to his left and returned fire, his bolter blazing three times, the roar of each round echoing along the corridor around Gessart.

Glancing over his shoulder at the thump of booted feet, Gessart saw Willusch, Gerhart and Johun a few dozen strides behind him. Over the comm, he heard the reports of others closing in from aft.

Lehenhart had moved out of sight; as Gessart turned into the starboard gallery he saw the Space Marine holding a landing ahead, firing down the stairwell. Five eldar bodies lay sprawled on the decking. Gessart paused for a moment to examine the dead aliens.

Each was as tall as a Space Marine, though far slighter of build. They had thin, angular faces, their almond-shaped eyes wide with the gaze of the dead, ears slightly pointed, brows high and arched. They appeared to have no uniform, though all five wore close-fitting tunics of iridescent scales. One was swathed in the ragged remains of a long red cloak, half his chest missing from a bolt detonation; another was sprawled across the corridor face-down, two holes in the back of his high-collared, dark blue coat. Two of the others were female, their hair wound in elaborate blonde braids spattered with bright red blood, skin-tight suits of black and white beneath their mesh armour; the last half-sat against the wall, narrow chin on chest, head shaven but for a blue scalplock, wearing a broad-shouldered black jacket studded with glistening gems, his legs naked but for knee-high boots.

Long-barrelled lasrifles lay on the floor next to each body, of similar design but each decorated with different coloured gemstones and swirling golden filigrees. Gessart picked up one of the weapons and examined it. It was elegant, powered by some form of crystal cell in the thin stock of the weapon. It crumpled easily as he tightened his grip, no sturdier than the creature that had wielded it.

Reaching Lehenhart, Gessart leaned over the balustrade and saw lithe figures darting from cover to cover on the landing below. He snatched two fragmentation grenades from his belt, thumbed the activation studs and dropped them over the edge. The stairwell rang with twin detonations; shrapnel and smoke filled the enclosed space, a lingering scream signalling that he had found at least one target.

“Do we wait, or go to them?” asked Lehenhart.

Gessart dragged up his memory of the ship’s layout; he had to assume the eldar had scanned the vessel and knew something of its configuration as well. The upper four decks only extended for a third of the ship and did not connect to the hold directly. If the eldar were after the cargo—which was no longer aboard—they would have to go down to the lower six decks. With only twenty-five Space Marines to cover the hold, loading bays, docking areas and crew quarters, it would be hard to concentrate any resistance.

“Counter-attack!” Gessart told his warriors. “Make them pay in blood for ever setting foot on this ship!”

A fusillade of bright blasts and blurring discs filled the stairwell. Gessart recognised shuriken catapult fire amongst the laser shots. He leaned over the railing and unleashed a hail of fire from his storm bolter, the explosive ammunition ripping a trail of splintering metal across the landing below. Slender shapes darted from the shadows and he was engulfed by a hail of razor-sharp projectiles. Pushing himself back, he glanced down at his armour and saw a row of barbed discs embedded across his chest plastron.

“With me,” he growled, pounding down the steps. He heard Lehenhart and the others close behind.

The railing buckled as Gessart grabbed a hold to swing around a turn in the steps. Enemy fire stormed up to meet him; las-bolts seared the paint from his armour while more shurikens sliced through his left arm and leg.

With a leap, he crashed to the landing. There were more than a dozen eldar taking cover in the two doorways; they were dressed in the same strange mix of coats, cloaks and armour he had seen on the bodies above. Quicker than a heartbeat, some of the alien warriors leapt to attack, wielding chainswords with glittering teeth and long blades that gleamed with energy.

Gessart let loose with another burst of fire, shredding an eldar directly in front of him. Before he could adjust his aim, two more were upon him, the teeth of their chainswords shrieking as they skittered across his right shoulder pad and backpack. He swung the storm bolter like a club, aiming for the head of one of his attackers. The eldar dropped catlike to all fours and then leapt past, dragging her chainsword across the side of Gessart’s helm. He took a step back, trying to keep both assailants in view.

Lehenhart arrived at a run, smashing his fist into the back of one of the eldar. The alien bent awkwardly and flopped to the ground, limbs twitching.

Gessart had no time to spare a further glance for his warriors coming in behind him as more eldar appeared at the doorway ahead, pistols and swords gripped by slender fingers.

Gessart turned his right shoulder towards them and charged with a roar. Most of the eldar scattered quickly from his path but one was caught with nowhere to go; he was smashed bloodily into the wall by the headlong rush. A warning siren sounded in Gessart’s ears as blades bit deep into his backpack and legs, the eldar like a swarm of wasps, darting in to strike before swiftly retreating out of reach.

The Space Marine swung a booted foot at the closest, looking to sweep away the pirate’s legs. The eldar nimbly somersaulted over Gessart’s attack and landed with sure-footed grace to fire his pistol directly into Gessart’s face.

Gessart’s finger tightened instinctively on the trigger as he reeled back. Through the cracked lenses of his helm he saw the alien bisected by bolts, sheared through by detonations across his scale-armoured stomach.

Detecting the patter of feet behind him, Gessart swung around to confront a new attacker, but found only empty air. The eldar were falling back, disappearing quickly along both passageways. Willusch and Lehenhart set off after them but Gessart called them back.

“They’ll pick each of us off if we split up,” he said. “Let’s not run into an ambush.”

He quickly took stock of the scene. Two of his warriors lay still on the steps, their armour and flesh cut through to the bone in dozens of places. Another three were bleeding heavily from wounds to their arms and legs.

“Report in!” he barked over the comm.

The replies painted a complicated picture. Some of his Space Marines had fended off an eldar advance along the portside, causing significant casualties for no losses. Another group had been caught out on their way to support Gessart and two of their number had fallen in moments before the eldar had swiftly withdrawn. Those who had been stationed by the aft holds were still making their way towards the bow and had yet to encounter any foes.

Unfortunately the Lady Bountiful had no internal scanners to keep track of the pirates. Gessart looked for Heynke, who had the force’s only functional auspex. The Space Marine was at the top of the flight of steps, bolter in his hands, guarding the approach from above. His armour appeared undamaged, in stark contrast to the others, who all showed signs of the brief but fierce fight.

“Heynke, use the auspex,” Gessart said, checking the ammunition counter on his storm bolter. Seventeen rounds left. He had two more magazines at his belt. More than enough for the moment.

Heynke hooked his bolter to his belt and unslung the scanning device. His armoured fingers coaxed the machine into life, his helm reflecting the pale yellow of the display. Heynke moved the auspex around, trying to get a fix on the lifesigns of the eldar.

“Most have reached the upper decks,” he reported. “Too much interference from the superstructure for an accura… Hold on, something strange.”

“What is it?” demanded Gessart leaping up the steps to stand beside Heynke.

“Look for yourself,” the Space Marine said, holding the auspex towards Gessart.

The semi-circular screen was filled with bright lines—the power conduits running through the walls of the ship. The eldar showed as fainter traces, little more than pale yellow smudges. The largest concentration was two decks above in the crew mess hall. They were not moving.

“What do you think they are up to?” asked Heynke.

Gessart did not know and any speculation he might offer was abruptly stopped by a buzzing over the comm. The static lasted for a few moments, scaling higher in pitch, and then stopped. There was a pause before he heard a voice, the words slightly stilted with a mechanical edge to them.

“Commander of the Space Marines,” it said. “I have found the air upon which you speak. Heed the wisdom of my words. This loss of life is senseless and is not of benefit to myself or to you. I have become aware that we should not be adversaries. I detect the eyes that see far and know that you are aware of where I am. I have knowledge that you would wish I share with you. Meet me where we can hold conference and we will discuss this matter like civilised creatures.”

The link crackled again and fell silent.

“Was that…?” said Lehenhart. “Did that bastard override our comm-frequency?”

“How?” said Heynke.

“Forget how, did you hear what he said?” This was from Freichz. “He wants a truce!”

Gessart’s comm chimed again, signalling a switch to the private channel. He bit back a snarl of frustration at this fresh interruption.

“Yes?” he snapped.

“Gessart, we have a serious problem,” replied Zacherys. “Ships have broken through the warp boundary. I believe it is the Imperial Navy escort for the convoy.”

“Did you hear the pirate commander?”

“I did. I believe this is the information he wished to pass to us. Somehow he knows that we are protecting the fleet for ourselves. I would recommend that you hear what he has to say.”

“Agreed. Meet me at the aft entrance to the mess hall.” Gessart switched to general transmission. “Take up guard positions around the mess hall but do not enter. This may be some kind of trick, so stay alert.”

He snapped off more precise orders and instructed Tylo, the Apothecary, to set up an aid station in one of the holds so that the wounded could be tended. With these preparations made, Gessart headed up the stairwell, uncertain what to expect.



Zacherys met Gessart outside the mess hall. There was bright eldar blood splashed across the psyker’s armour, some of it still steaming and bubbling. Gessart decided it would be better not to ask. The main doors of the mess hall slid open in front of them and they stepped inside, weapons in hand.

The mess hall was a wide open space, divided by long tables and benches riveted to the floor. At the centre several dozen eldar waited, some of them with weapons ready, most of them lounging across the tables and seats. Gessart’s eye was immediately drawn to the one at the centre of the group, who leaned against the end of a table with his legs casually crossed, arms folded. He was dressed in a long coat of green and red diamond patches, which reached to his booted ankles. A ruff of white and blue feathers jutted from the high collar, acting as a wispy halo for his narrow, sharp-cheeked face. His skin was almost white, his hair black and pulled back in a single braid plaited with shining thread. Dark eyes fixed on Gessart as the Space Marine stomped across the metal floor and stopped about ten metres away.

The eldar straightened and his lips moved faintly. The words that echoed across the hall came not from his mouth, but from a brooch upon his lapel, shaped like a thin, stylised skull.

“What is the name of he who has the honour of addressing Aradryan, Admiral of the Winter Gulf?”

“Gessart. Is that a translator?”

“I understand your crude language, but will not sully my lips with its barbaric grunts,” came the metallic reply.

Zacherys moved up next to Gessart and Aradryan’s eyes widened with shock and fear. He looked at Gessart with a furrowed brow.

“That you consort with this sort of creature is ample evidence that you are no longer in service to the Emperor of Mankind. We have encountered other renegades like yourselves in the past. My assumptions are proven correct.”

“Zacherys is one of us,” said Gessart with a glance towards the psyker. “What do you mean?”

“Can you not see that which dwells within him?” The machine spoke in a flat tone but Aradryan’s incredulity was clear.

“What do you want?” demanded Gessart.

“To save needless loss for both of us,” Aradryan replied, opening his hands in a placating gesture. “You will soon be aware that those whose duty it is to protect these vessels are close at hand. If we engage in this pointless fighting they will come upon us both. This does not serve my purpose or yours. I propose that we settle our differences in a peaceful way. I am certain that we can come to an agreement that accommodates the desires of both parties.”

“A truce? We divide the spoils of the convoy?”

“It brings happiness to my spirit to find that you understand my intent. I feared greatly that you would respond to my entreaty with the blind ignorance that blights so many of your species.”

“I have become a recent acquaintance of compromise,” said Gessart. “I find it makes better company than the alternatives. What agreement do you propose?”

“There is time enough for us both to take what we wish before these new arrivals can intervene in our affairs. We have no interest in the clumsy weapons and goods these vessels carry. You may take as much as you wish.”

“If you don’t want the cargo, what is your half of the deal?”

“Everything else,” said Aradryan with a sly smile.

“He means the crews,” whispered Zacherys.

“That is correct, tainted one,” said Aradryan. The eldar pirate fixed his large eyes on Gessart, the hint of a smile twisting his thin lips. “Do you accede to these demands, or do you wish that we expend more energy killing one another in a pointless display of pride? You must know that I am aware of how few warriors you have should you choose to fight.”

“How long before the escort arrives?” Gessart asked Zacherys.

“Two days at the most.”

“You have enough time to unload whatever you wish and will not be hampered by my ships or my warriors. You have my assurance that you will be unmolested if you offer me the same.”

Gessart stared at Aradryan for some time, but it was impossible to discern the alien’s thoughts from his expression. He knew that he could no more trust an eldar than he could take his eye off Nicz, but there seemed little choice. He suppressed a sigh, wondering what it was that he had done to deserve a succession of impossible decisions lately: between protecting innocents and killing the enemy on Archimedon, between millions of rebels and a host of daemons at Helmabad, and now he had to make a bargain with an alien or risk being destroyed by those he had once fought alongside.

“The terms are agreed,” said Gessart. “I will order my warriors to suspend fighting. I have no control over the crews of the convoy.”

“We are capable of dealing with such problems in our own way,” said Aradryan. “Be thankful that this day you have found me in a generous mood.”

Gessart hefted his storm bolter and fixed the eldar pirate with a cold stare.

“Don’t give me an excuse to change my mind.”



All available space aboard the Vengeful was packed with pillaged supplies. Crates filled the hangars that had berthed lost Thunderhawks; ammunition boxes were piled high in the chapel and Reclusiam; crew quarters that would never again house battle-brothers were used as storage for medical wares and maintenance parts. Gessart was exceptionally pleased with the haul; they had enough to survive for several years if necessary.

He stood on the bridge of the strike cruiser as it broke dock from the civilian transport. It had taken more than a day to ferry everything across, and two of the convoy’s ships had been left untouched: there simply wasn’t room to take on board anything else. As the Vengeful powered away one of the eldar cruisers slipped past, the swirl of its gravity nets hooking onto the cargo hauler. The alien ship glided serenely on, its yellow hull fluctuating with black tiger stripes, its solar sails shimmering gold.

“Are we ready to jump?” Gessart asked Zacherys.

“At your command,” came the reply.

Gessart caught Nicz staring at him.

“Don’t tell me that you disapprove,” said Gessart.

“Not at all, quite the opposite,” replied Nicz. “I wondered if Helmabad was a unique moment, but I see that I might be wrong.”

“Let me convince you,” said Gessart, striding to the gunnery control panel.

The systems had been at full power since their first arrival so he knew the eldar would not detect a spike in power. The lock-on was another matter. His fingers danced over the controls as gun ports slid open along the starboard side of the strike cruiser. The eldar ship was only a few hundred kilometres away and the targeting metriculators found their range within seconds.

“What are you doing?” said Nicz.

“Leaving the Imperial Navy something to play with,” Gessart replied with a smile.

Gessart tapped in the command for a single salvo and pressed the firing rune. The Vengeful shook as the ship unleashed a full broadside at the eldar cruiser. On the main screen explosions blossomed around the alien ship, snapping the main sail mast and rippling along the hull. Flames billowed from exploding gases, the pressure of their release causing the cruiser to yaw violently.

“Zacherys, take us into the warp.”