‘That data was never substantiated,’ said the analysis officer. ‘We have been attempting to contact Terra astropathically to see what they may have heard from the expedition fleet while we were in transit.’
‘The answer is precious little, it seems,’ said Kiran. He looked directly at the towering Space Marine. ‘All effective contact with your Chapter Master and the expedition fleet was lost over six weeks ago, two days after we entered the warp.’
‘So they are gone?’ asked Daylight. ‘Dead?’
‘There is no sign of the fleet or of any surface deployment,’ said Maskar. ‘But that isn’t to say they aren’t there.’
‘The planet and its orbital environs are a mess of interference patterns and disruption,’ said the analysis officer. ‘It is quite possible that the fleet is there, as well as surface forces, but our scanners can’t detect them and we can’t hear their vox.’
‘So what are we hearing?’ asked Daylight.
‘Massive amounts of sonic and infrasonic noise bursts,’ said the analysis officer, ‘similar to the kind of noise bursts reported by the surface forces before comms went down, but of greater intensity, duration and regularity. It’s as though the planet is howling in agony.’
Kiran shot the man a scolding look. The analysis officer stepped back, ashamed of his colourful description.
‘What’s making the noise?’ asked Daylight.
‘I think it’s some kind of stellar effect,’ said Kiran. ‘A solar storm, perhaps, or a transmitted by-product of the gravitational mayhem.’
‘Except,’ said Maskar.
‘Except?’ asked Daylight.
‘It reads as organic,’ said Lord Commander Militant Heth’s proxy. He said it hesitantly, as though he didn’t quite believe it himself.
‘How can it be organic?’ asked Daylight.
‘A voice,’ murmured the analysis officer. ‘It’s like a voice…’
‘It’s something amplified and broadcast,’ said Maskar.
‘A weapon of some description?’ suggested Kiran.
‘What action do we take?’ asked Maskar.
‘We deploy, of course,’ said the unmistakable tones of the Lord Commander Militant.
They turned. The vox and pict link had been established to the Lord Commander Militant’s vessel, and his face, slightly crackled by interference patterns, had appeared in the ruddy field of a large hololithic projector unit.
‘Is that not rash, my lord?’ asked Admiral Kiran. ‘We don’t even know how close we can get and maintain the safety of the squadron.’
‘We travelled six weeks to face a problem and perhaps save the lives of some honoured friends,’ said Heth, his voice signal distorting slightly. ‘We are also investigating a potential capital threat to the Terran Core. I don’t think this is the time to be prissy. How long until we’re inside a decent deployment distance, admiral?’
‘Four hours and seventeen minutes,’ replied Kiran.
‘Are the men ready for planetary landing, general?’ Heth asked.
‘All infantry and armour support will be boarded on the drop-ships and surface landers within the hour, sir,’ replied Maskar. ‘I can commit a full force drop as soon as we are in range.’
‘And the Imperial Fists?’ asked Heth. ‘The wall-brethren?’
‘We are ready,’ replied Daylight.
‘Then the only thing that appears rash,’ said Heth, ‘is the notion of me making this decision rather than waiting to hear it from the nominated and honoured commander of this expedition. Forgive me, sir. The call is yours.’
There was a pause.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Daylight. ‘Given the extremity of the conditions, I believe it would be prudent to arrange an advance recon, fast and powerful, to penetrate the zone and report back before we risk the bulk of our forces. I will lead this. Have a ship prepared.’
Daylight looked at Heth.
‘The main force should be held at readiness. As soon as we have data, and as soon as an enemy or objective is identified, the fleet elements and the Imperial Guard will take it with the fury of the Emperor Himself. Does that seem like a plan to you, my lord?’
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ replied Heth.
‘Then let us begin,’ said Daylight.
‘The Emperor protects,’ nodded Maskar and Kiran, making the sign of the aquila.
‘And we, in our turn,’ replied Daylight, ‘protect Him.’
Fifteen
Like stooping raptors, pinions swept back for the long dive, the Stormbirds plunged into the swirling atmospheric halo surrounding stricken Ardamantua.
The planet was swathed by a bright, visible corona of agitated energy, a sensor-opaque aura that shrouded the orb to almost the depth of its own radius. It resembled a solar storm, a swirling, luminous ocean of gas, dust and radiation that flickered in blues, golds, ambers and reds. The planet itself was just a dark globe, silhouetted within the maelstrom.
Just as the wall-brothers had been drawn out of traditional service and allowed to roam away from Terra, so the Stormbird war machines, the fastest and most honoured of all the drop-craft in the arsenal of the Adeptus Astartes, had been selected for the reinforcement mission. Stormbirds, sleek, powerful and large-capacity, had been born in the earliest years of the Great Crusade, developed from the almost mythical Skylance drop-ships that had served during the final days of the Unification Wars splitting open the hives of Ceylonia and Ind. Stormbirds had been the inter-orbital weapon of choice throughout the Crusade, and through the dark, treacherous time that had been the unexpected sequel to that bright glory.
The Heresy had consumed them in great numbers, however, just as it had consumed men and brothers and Legions, and the forces of the Imperium had been obliged to resort to more utilitarian vehicles that were cheaper and easier to mass produce. These replacement craft were now ubiquitous in all Chapters, and had proved worthy of service through their simple functionality and durability.
Still, for those with long memories, there was nothing like a Stormbird to stir the heart. The symbol of the Emperor’s wrath, wings hooked back like an aquila — one only saw them in ceremonial flypasts these days, or in the Hall of Weapons, or as escorts for High Lords, warmasters and sector governors.
Daylight had ordered six of them to be raised from the Fists’ Chapter House hangars and stowed aboard the reinforcement fleet. No one had argued. Heth’s presence on the campaign mission had helped. He was a High Lord, after all.
Firing from the capital ships like missiles, the Stormbirds formed a formation spread and scream-dived into the unholy vortex surrounding the planet. Ardamantua lay beneath them, a vast curve of grey mottled with orange and crackled with veins of fire. Cloud banks and storm patterns of vast magnitude curdled and swirled across the boiling surface. Magnetics, radiation and the pop of gravity blisters rendered the nearspace realm a lethal soup.
‘We have substantial vulcanism around the equatorial belt,’ reported the lead Stormbird’s tech-adept. ‘The crust there is faulting and splitting.’
The Stormbird was shaking. Daylight keyed up the data on his overhead monitor and swung it down on its gimbal arm. On the flickering pict, strung with overlays, the planet seemed to have a burning, white-hot girdle around its waist.
‘Something’s happening to the magnetic poles,’ said the adept. ‘The planet is deforming. I—’
His voice cut out briefly as another noise burst ripped through the vox-links, squalling and deafening. The screech was painful, but Daylight’s ears could endure it. He had a concern for the human component of his taskforce, however. The unmodified, unaugmented humans of the Imperial Guard formed the greatest proportion of his strikeforce. They would suffer, either through mortal injury from the noise bursts, or through lack of coordination if vox-comm proved unviable. What were the implications if he was unable to deploy any of his Guard strength to the surface? Could the wall-brothers complete the mission unassisted? Could they find and rescue the shield-corps?