Everchosen : Chapter 22

-991.M41-

-Miracle of Suffering, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

The bridge of the Miracle of Suffering was once more the site of meeting between various captains of the escort fleet, now filled with a grim tension in the aftermath of the attack on the grand cruiser. Not that the previous meeting was lacking in grim tension- just about every official imperium-sanctioned meeting seemed to have a strict quota of scowls, glares, and grumbles that needed to be met- but this meeting had a somewhat larger percentage than normal.

He was no exception, this time. His lips were pulled into a tight line and his brows furrowed, staring at the hololithic projection that displayed the ship and the current damages it had sustained. He was clad in his power armor once more, with helmet suspended from a hook on his hip and overlarge sword used as a staff to rest his hand upon. 

Unlike the previous meeting, which had only who Joshua presumed to be the captains present, the bridge was filled with a much larger variety of people. The canoness with the white hair and the giant gauntlet was here with a retinue of bodyguards, as well as that female techpriest he met once and not since, and a few others that he didn’t immediately recognize. 

If this was a meeting between the highest ranking people on the ship, then where was Lord Dogma? Shouldn’t he be representing the Mechanicus? He drew from the Tarot.

The Voyager. The Machine. The World.

He traveled to a Forge-World while Joshua wasn’t keeping track then. Probably left before they left Pandaemonium, if he had to guess. That was good, that means that information about Necromunda wouldn’t go down with this ship, if the worst case scenario happened. 

“The attackers had an infiltrator temporarily sabotage our Void Shields through use of an improvised weapon.” A man in voidsmen armor that looked very official and high in rank explained, using a long stick to gesture at parts of the great hololithic display hovering over the middle of the rounded machine-table. “The backup systems came online several minutes later, taking as long as they did thanks to another instance of sabotage that was done with a pair of heat-pliers and several weeks of work.”

The official looking man in armor pulled the stick down and tapped across three small holes in the massive diagram of the ship. Of course, being proportional, the holes were absolutely enormous. “The void shields going down allowed heretics to board the ship, mostly at random, but concentrated generally around three target locations. The Void Shield Generators, the Engines, and the Gellar Field Generators. Thanks to the immediate alert of an emergency in the Void Shields, and the rapid response by the Lord Vessel, both locations were spared any functional harm. The explosives the heretic sorcerers brought with them were detonated well away from anything critical, leaving only superficial damage in sections of wiring that can be trivially rerouted.”

The man almost growled out the next words. “Unfortunately, damage was not so well contained in the Gellar Field Generators. A full thirty percent of the structure was totally destroyed in the third blast, with moderate to minor damage across the rest of the region.”

“Even without this blasted squall, the Miracle of Suffering is confined to realspace for the foreseeable future.” Captain Bruno declared with a tone of barely restrained fury, as if he personally had been attacked and injured rather than his ship. “Until we can limp to the nearest shipyard for repairs, that is.”

“How did this attack even happen?” One of the people on the monitors asked with a furious, retributive tone. “That you allowed the Lord Vessel to be in danger-!”

“It is the belief of my trusted psyker that the saboteur was not operating under his own will, having been possessed and puppeted into the betrayal.” That one inquisitor Joshua vaguely recognized from the trial spoke. He was one of the three Lords present.

Spindly limbs offered up a cocooned memory. He ignored the nauseating sensation and broke the memory open for inspection. A name. 

Lord Inquisitor Brutus Rayne, that was it. 

The man continued to speak, voice tinted by the machine interface of the speakers it was tied to. “Post-cognitive analysis of the remains suggest a hypnosis implanted years earlier and then activated by trigger-phrase communicated via dreams, but this is unconfirmed.”

“An unwitting infiltrator… what a loathsome strategy. I will pray for his soul.” The canoness with the powerfist growled, tilting her head and glaring ahead. 

“If the enemies translocated onto the ship, then they must be relatively near to us.” Another one of the people on the screens spoke, pointing out a pertinent detail. 

“I’ve already asked the Lady Navigator to attempt to look through the local squall, as well as run the full battery of scans on local space. Nothing has returned thus far.” Captain Bruno grumbled out, mustache twitching.

“I have likewise run scans on local realspace to no avail.” The inquisitor wearing the mask that killed himself during the trial spoke up. Or rather, one of his body doubles killed himself, apparently. “Either they are capable of hiding from some of the finest sensors in the Imperium, or they are sequestered within the warp-squall. There are no other options.”

“Then you are insufficiently paranoid.” An Inquisitor that Joshua didn’t recognize spoke. “Refinement of their translocation technique is immensely possible, as well as a vector of attack that you are not even considering to consider!”

“Even if we repair the Gellar Generator- if the heretics are somehow maintaining this warp squall then we’ll remain stuck in realspace regardless!”

“Enough.” Fyodor, who was very difficult to not recognize with his growl and looming even through the screen, cut off a building argument. “This bickering accomplishes nothing.”

The ‘Acting-Admiral’ spoke at this point, voice rolling with the static of the machine that made up half his face. “Techpriestess, how much of the Miracle of Suffering’s Gellar Generator can be repaired without a shipyard?”

“It would be necessary to cannibalize other machinery in the ship to repair what we could. We would still miss several critical components necessary to return it to operational status.” She replied with a blunt professionalism, her own voice crackling with machine-noise. “The necessary components could also be sourced from the Gellar Generator of another ship of Light-Cruiser class or larger, at the cost of leaving that ship bound to realspace in turn.”

“Understood.” The Admiral growled, then directed the servitor next to his screen to reach out and tap at the Hololithic display, changing the view from the damaged ship to the wider fleet, and then zooming out even further to reveal local space and the nearest stars. Several points of interest were highlighted with lines of scrolling text next to their names and titles. After a few moments, several stars were highlighted from some internal search filter benign applied.

The servitor then selected the star nearest to them that had been highlighted. “The nearest world of at least gamma-class or higher industrial capacity is Turan. No true shipyard, but several orbital facilities. Would it be sufficient to manufacture the components necessary to repair the Gellar Generator?”

“With unfortunate compromises to design efficiency, but yes.” The Techpriestess replied, sounded sour at the prospect but resigned to the work. 

“Captain Bruno, what level of acceleration can the Miracle of Suffering sustain?” The Admiral asked flatly.

“One point nine nine eight gravities, Acting Admiral, safe maximum speeds around the eighty percent light range.” Captain Bruno replied promptly.

The servitor punched in the numbers, a line was drawn on the hololithic display between their current positions and the position of the star. A number wrote itself next to the line.

Two months, eighteen days.

“Foolish of the traitors to attack us in the most heavily populated Segmentum in the Galaxy.” One of the inquisitors grumbled with eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Foolish, or with minds to a scheme?”

“That is entirely possible.” The Admiral spoke gravely. A silence came over the group, and eyes turned towards him.

He almost waited for Hercule to remind him of what they wanted again. A hand clenched as he remembered his guard’s current condition.

He drew from the Tarot. Was going to this world the best option?

Your enemies anticipate your movements.

“We can’t go there.” He declared, shaking his head with a frown. “They expect us to-” He drew from the tarot again. Why?

You will be ambushed by foul invention.

“-They have a trap prepared for us.” He declared, making the feeling of tension and paranoia spike throughout the meeting chamber. 

“The attack was just to force us to remain in realspace and divert our course into their ambush then.” Inquisitor Rayne deduced with a hard furrow to his brow. “They must have quite a number of ships prepared, if they feel confident in open battle against our fleet. Even as improvised as it is.”

“And if they do have such a fleet, how did they avoid detection long enough to reach this close to Holy Terra?” Another voice snarled, the fingers of their servitor-proxy clenching hard enough upon the edge of the table to draw faint drops of blood.

“Lord Vessel, do you have any suggestions about our course of action?” The Admiral asked in a steady, deferential manner. It was strange to be regarded in such a manner by a man who probably had decades or even centuries of experience compared to him.

But, of course, he understood why. 

He reached into his belt pouch and withdrew his deck of crystalline cards, shuffling them calmly between his hands as he stared at the map. Once shuffled, he placed them back into the belt-pouch and asked another question.

Where should they go?

After a moment, he frowned and reached forwards. The interface was surprisingly intuitive, and he quickly managed to select the world that the tarot had indicated in wordless meanings. The world was at a sharp angle away from the previously selected world, but still vaguely in the direction of Terra itself.

“Launcel IV?” Captain Bruno muttered, brows furrowing. 

“A Mu-class world that suffers semi-frequent xeno raids and has little else of importance.” One of the inquisitors recited with a thoughtful frown. “It is defended by a Knightly House and an inexplicable gravitational riptide that orbits the planet, but I cannot think of anything else remarkable regarding it.”

The realspace travel time typed itself out along a cogitator-charted route. 

Nine months, seven days.

“They’d catch up to us at that pace, long before we could make the needed repairs.” Captain Bruno pointed out with a puzzled frown. “What is the God Emperor telling us here…?”

“Is there anything there that will aid our journey back to Terra?” One of the captains asked, one of the few with the imperial ‘I’ next to his head on the screen. “Nothing to repair the ship on a knight-world, surely. The nearest station with orbital facilities is another year further away from that still.”

“It's the ‘best’ course, for whatever reason the God Emperor has foreseen.” Joshua replied firmly, pulling back and planting a fist on his hip, staring at the screen. He drew the tarot again. Why?

The path before you brings great fortune.

“There’s something along the route that he wants us to encounter or gain, some benefit that’s not immediately obvious.” Joshua replied again, a faint crown of light slowly forming around his head. 

“Then it is upon us to execute upon His vision.” Inquisitor Fyodor declared in a tone that brokered no argument. 

“Does he wish for the heretics to catch up with us along the route? A more favorable battle along the way, perhaps?” Another one of the captains asked aloud, in a somewhat puzzled manner. “Or is there a way to reach the planet without their harassment?”

“Dismantle my Gellar Generator.” Inquisitor Brutus declared, drawing out a moment of silence from the gathered. He turned the head of his servitor-proxy to the techpriestess. “Use the components to repair the Gellar Generator of the Miracle of Suffering while we fake a transfer of the Lord Vessel to my ship. I will travel at full pace to Sextus-VII. If the heretics are indeed within this squall, and indeed responsible for its manifestation, then I will draw them away. Once the rest of the fleet is at the edges of the squall, begin a warp-jump to Launcel-IV.”

Inquisitor Rayne nodded solemnly. “By the time the deception has been realized, the Miracle of Suffering and Lord Vessel will have escaped. A matter of days and you’ll have made it to Launcel-IV at Warp-pace.”

It was eminently clear what the Inquisitor was suggesting. A sacrificial play to lure enemies away, spring the trap, and buy time for the rest of their fleet to escape.

“A single ship will not be enough.” The Admiral stated bluntly, one machine eye closing. “If they are the source of the warp-squall, then they can follow us through the warp and keep our speed stunted while your ship springs whatever trap they have prepared. If they feel confident in battle against the entire fleet, then a lone ship will be torn apart by whatever forces they have lying in wait. Then, their prepared force will simply speed to our position and destroy us then.”

“...at least half the fleet will have to go in either direction.” 

Half the fleet sacrificed to get him to Terra.

He closed his eyes, a faint churn of golden gears in his chest.

No, not even to get him to Terra. Just to get him to the next planet on a chain leading towards Terra.

“Would it be wiser to simply battle these traitors in force? Surely we can just smash through them! An Inquisitorial conclave, a Space Marine Battle Barge, a Sister of Battle Grand Cruiser!” Someone asked from a screen on the right-hand side. “Won’t the heretics simply divide and destroy us piecemeal if we go through with such a plan?”

How many thousands or hundreds of thousands of people would die for this plan of action?

“...Lord Vessel?” The Admiral asked calmly.

They wanted him to decide. Or rather, they wanted the God Emperor to decide.

The distinct feeling of patience lingered in the back of his soul. Without judgement. It felt as if the decision was being left to him here. Further beyond this, one whisper pieced the constant muttering of the warp and sent words through the cracks in his mental doors.

You won’t consign these good men to their graves, will you? You’ll save them, surely?

They were getting pretty pretty picky about when and how to apply pressure, weren’t they? 

He pushed the errant whisper aside, and drew from the Tarot. He got the impression that he’d be told to make the decision on his own if he asked that, so he instead asked a different question.

‘What’s the best chance for success?’

Saying farewell is often harder than saying hello.

“Spliting the fleet will provide our best chance of success.” 

With those words, the fate of countless lives were sealed. Whether or not they survived would depend on the strength of the ambush awaiting them, their own strength, and the whims of fate.

It was a terribly, horribly heavy feeling to bear. 

It felt like training.

—

The plan was hammered out further from that point, with the various captains drawing lots to determine who had the right to be the diversion fleet. Not to determine who had the right to go on the escape fleet, but rather who had the right to go on what had great potential to be a suicide mission and possibly lose ship and life dying to buy him and the other ships time to flee the situation. 

The Imperium had something of a martyr culture.

When the lots were drawn, the captains had their ships all but hollowed out to give supplies to the intended escape fleet. Men, food, ammo, spare parts- just about anything that they could remove without totally crippling their ability to fight. Each ship was reduced to a minimal crew with just enough supplies to get them to their planned destination and just enough ammo to make it through a single engagement.

This had the benefit of denying all these potential resources to the enemy if they were to go down fighting. 

Venerable ships, some of them thousands of years old, giving up everything they had in full readiness to die in glorious combat against an unknown enemy of unknown strength. Captains and the most-veteran of each crew waved their juniors and menials off as they filled all remaining space on the escape fleets and gave bombastic declarations of how many heretics they’d kill before going down.

This was, apparently, their best chance of success. He didn’t kill half of the entire fleet making that decision, thanks to most of the actual crew transferring over to ships of the escape fleet, but it was still an uncomfortably high percentage.

The massive form of a space marine had approached him a few minutes ago. Completely silent in motion despite towering scale, Joshua would’ve missed him entirely if he still relied entirely on sight and hearing to sense his environment. 

He hadn’t truly needed either since the ritual that bound him to the God-Emperor. He simply knew what was in the room. The patchwork of armor plates and machinery was difficult to miss.

“This weighs on thy mind.” The space marine eventually said, voice rolling with the machine-timber of his helmet. They stood in a long viewing corridor that overlooked the massive internal docks of the Miracle of Suffering, where thousands of men moved crates of useful supplies and moved crates of garbage out- to make it difficult for any observers to tell which fleet was important and which one wasn’t.

Joshua glanced over to the towering man- it was the particularly enormous Chaplain of the Night Hunters, clad in his piecemeal armor with a skull-faced helm, speaking in an archaic accent of High Gothic. He stared for a few moments, before turning back to the window and nodding shortly. 

“It does.” He muttered. “I suppose you’ll be joining us on the Miracle of Suffering then?”

“Nay.” The gigantic chaplain replied with a small shake of his colossal head. “I will take command of the Night Hunters who will command the diversionary fleet. After our conversation, I will depart for that duty.”

Joshua closed his eyes.

“You are brave, honored chaplain. Braver than myself, I suspect.”

“Nay. I operate with certitude, there is no room for bravery in my heart.” The chaplain refuted, voice cracked with wisdom. “Courage requires two fundamentals, fear and action in spite of fear.”

He wasn’t really expecting a pep talk at the moment, if he was being honest.

“For many years I operated with the certainty of my purpose, and feared every moment that I could not predict. Never did I act in spite of that fear. Never.” The chaplain slowly turned his skull-faced helm down to look at him directly. “Courage was a lesson that took centuries for me to learn. You will be much quicker to learn that I, I suspect.”

The skull helm turned away, back towards the windows. “Even now, I do not operate with courage.”

“Yet you walk to your death?” Joshua asked calmly, golden things twitching throughout his marrow. 

“This will be the third time I’ve walked to my death, with full certitude. It has yet to take me.” The chaplain spoke in a manner that almost sounded humored. “The God-Emperor has purpose for me still, I suspect.”

They were quiet for several long minutes, simply watching the internal docks at work.

“If you somehow survive, compose a list of every marine that dies in this diversion. Every man and woman too if you can. I want it carved on a stone pillar.” Joshua muttered quietly.

The gigantic chaplain inclined his skull faced helmet. “It shall be done.”

It was the least he could do, honestly.