‘Local scan negative for planetary bodies.’
At Astelan’s waist hung a power sword and his holstered bolt pistol. They had been in his possession since he was promoted to sergeant, only fourteen years ago, and they were as much a badge of office for him as the insignia inscribed upon his chest plastron. He tapped his fingers against the hilt of the sword as he waited for the sensor screen to re-establish itself.
‘Local scan negative for artificial bodies.’
‘Wide sensor array operational.’
The seconds ticked by slowly, as the Spear of Truth metaphorically shook away its dizziness and regained its sight and hearing.
‘Tactical display coming online.’
The mood of concentration did not lighten at the news, for although the Spear of Truth was now no longer swathed in a sensorial limbo, it would take a while before the data being relayed back to the ship was collated and analysed.
‘Local comm-web established.’
A few more minutes passed until a technician spoke again.
‘Localised scanning complete,’ he said. ‘Zero threats detected.’
Though there were no obvious sighs of relief or relaxation, the tension aboard the bridge dissipated somewhat. Alertness turned to focused activity; caution to curiosity.
Astelan looked up at the huge digital display that rendered all of the incoming data into an understandable image. It was crude at the moment, little more than a wire-frame schematic of the system and its major planetary bodies, and would take several days for the picture to be completed as the surveyor probes raced through the system sending back their findings.
Over the coming hours, eighteen more vessels broke from warp at various points around the star system’s outer reaches, each spawning its own small brood of escorts and augury devices. Seven more battle-barges, three fleet carriers and eight light cruiser-class warships descended upon the silent worlds orbiting the deep-red orb at the system’s centre. Invisible, tight-beam laser communications criss-crossed the void seeking the whereabouts and conditions of the other fleet members.
After several hours, contact was fully re-established. The fleet correlated their courses and calculated velocity descents for rendezvous, inbound towards the core worlds.
The Dark Angels began their exploration of system DX-619 in earnest.
Astelan was patient. It would be at least seven more days before the fleet had decelerated to something approaching orbit-navigable speed, and he was determined to use that time to gather as much information as possible about this uncharted stretch of the galaxy.
A radio signature, faint or perhaps even non-existent, had brought the Dark Angels here; the merest chattering murmur against the background radiation of the universe. It would most likely be nothing, a cosmic anomaly caused by an irregularity in the star’s emissions or a millennia-old echo of a civilisation long since turned to dust by the passing of an age. Such had been the case for ninety-five per cent of the systems the task force had investigated over the last five years. Almost all were deserted, for even at the height of mankind’s spread across the stars they were scattered thinly, pockets of humanity amongst the impossible vastness of interstellar space.
In the early years the forces of the Great Crusade had met with huge success, bringing the Imperial Truth to hundreds of worlds in the relatively densely populated systems around Terra. Here, in the yawning chasm between spiral arms, such colonies had always been sparse, and through the isolation of the Age of Strife it was possible that none at all had survived.
With every warp jump, Astelan always readied himself for action, for unexpected discovery, but with every jump he also hardened his expectations with the overwhelming probabilities involved in finding these far-flung outposts of humanity.
It was thus understandable that Astelan watched the data monitors in a less-than-expectant mood. As the fleet gradually converged, he subconsciously processed the scan results scrolling across dozens of screens that filled the walls of the bridge. Technicians fussed over control dials and comm-units, cursing as connections were lost, grinning to their colleagues when unexpected feedback results were received.
Astelan ignored them all, focusing entirely on one part of the main screen – the radio signature intercept relay. It was on that small wavering graph line that Astelan heaped his thoughts. It was a dull white line against the black of the screen, barely moving, showing nothing more than the static background hum of the universe’s birth.
Four days, he told himself. Four days for a positive contact. Four days before he ordered the fleet to turn around and head outsystem for another jump. It would be a waste of time to decelerate for longer, with the attendant need to accelerate again ready for warp jump, and so he gave his hopes four days to manifest.
Already resigned to disappointment by recent experience, Astelan tore his eyes away from the radio relay and gave a nod to his second-in-command, Galedan. The captain accepted control of the bridge with a nod of his own and took the Chapter commander’s place as Astelan turned and left.
‘Commander requested on the bridge.’
Galedan’s voice sounded metallic through the comm-grille of Astelan’s quarters, and its flat, precise tone gave no sense of the captain’s mood. Astelan was sat at his small desk, garbed in an open-fronted robe, poring over weapons manifests. There was no need to respond. Galedan would have been more specific if the Chapter commander’s presence was urgently needed, and the lack of a general alarm reassured Astelan that this was probably nothing more than some routine logging or scan result requiring his authorisation.
He placed the manifests neatly into the desk’s drawer and stood. A glance out of the small port showed the DX-619 star, much closer now. The dark shape of a planet could be clearly seen intruding upon the edge of the orb. That was nothing new, either. They had been closing on the world for three days now and they would reach it in two more. It was just a small shadow at the moment, like any other ball of rock they had encountered.
With a resigned weariness, Astelan made his way along the metal and plascrete innards of the ship to the bridge.
As the heavy double doors hissed open, Astelan was confronted by a scene of intense activity. The technicians were gathered in small clusters of fours and fives around certain instruments, and seemed to be checking each other’s calculations and findings.
Galedan turned, and Astelan saw a glimmer in his companion’s eyes and an expectant look. Unlike the Chapter commander, Galedan was in his armour, as befitted the bridge commander. Servos creaked as the captain gestured towards the main panel.
Astelan’s eyes immediately fixed on the radio relay as he strode into the room. He stopped in his tracks only three paces in. There was a spike on the small line. It was not particularly tall, but it was a definite abnormality. Regaining his composure, Astelan stepped up beside Galedan. The captain turned an inquiring look at one of the chief technicians and received a wordless nod in reply.
‘Report,’ said Astelan.
‘Confirmed artificial radio signature, commander,’ Galedan replied, unable to keep the hint of a smile from his lips.
Astelan turned his attention to the chief technician, a lanky man with thinning hair and grey stubble.
‘Automated? Location?’ said Astelan. A couple of times before they had come across old beacons or communications satellites miraculously still functioning centuries after those that had launched them had perished.