The First Heretic

captain continued her final checks, pointing her silver-topped cane to each console station in turn.

‘Propulsion.’

‘Engines,’ replied the first officer, ‘aye.’

‘Auspex.’

‘Aye, ma’am.’

‘Void shields.’

‘Shields ready.’

‘Weapons.’

‘Weapons, aye.’

‘Geller field.’

‘Geller field, aye.’

‘Helm.’

‘Helm standing ready, ma’am.’

‘All stations report full readiness,’ she said to the Word Bearers captain. This was something of a lie, and Sylamor hoped her tone didn’t betray it. All stations had reported readiness, true, but the last hour had also seen reports of insurrection in the lower decks, put down by lethal force, and one suicide. The ship’s astropath had requested to be assigned to another vessel (‘Request denied’, Sylamor had frowned. ‘Who in the Emperor’s name does he think he is to even ask such a thing?’) and the Navigator was engaged in what he referred to as ‘intensive mental barricading so as to preserve one’s fundamental quintessence’, which Sylamor was fairly sure she didn’t even want to understand.

So instead of relaying all of this to the towering warlord standing next to her throne, she simply gave him a curt nod and said, ‘all stations report readiness’.

The Astartes turned his helm’s slanted blue eyes upon her, and nodded.

‘There will be one last vessel docking soon. Ensure all of your crew are removed from the bay once it arrives.’

Her raised eyebrow conveyed just what she thought of this unorthodox demand. And in case it didn’t, she added her own spice to it. ‘Very well. Now tell me why.’

‘No,’ said one of the other Astartes. He’d named himself as Malnor, a sergeant. ‘Just obey the order.’

The captain, Argel Tal, gestured for his brother to remain silent.

‘The last gunship will be bringing a creature on board. The fewer of your crew that are exposed to it, the better it will be for all of us.’

The first officer pointedly cleared his throat. Crew members turned in their seats. Sylamor blinked twice. ‘I will suffer no xenos presence on board the Lament,’ she stated.

‘I did not say it was an alien,’ said Argel Tal. ‘I said it was a creature. My warriors will escort it to the bridge. Do not look at it once we are underway. Focus on your duties, all of you. I have my men in the starboard docking bay, and will inform you when the gunship reaches us.’

‘Incoming hail from De Profundis,’ called an officer from the vox-console.

The Word Bearers went to their knees, heads lowered.

‘Accept the hail,’ Sylamor said. Without realising, she lifted a hand to check her hair was in neat order, and straightened her uniform. Around her, officers did the same, brushing epaulettes and standing straighter.

The occulus tuned into a view of De Profundis’s command deck, where the primarch and Fleetmaster Torvus stood in pride of place.

‘This is the flagship,’ Torvus said, ‘Good hunting, Lament.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Sylamor replied.

An awkward silence reached between both bridge crews, broken by Argel Tal.

‘Sire?’

‘Yes, my son?’ Lorgar’s smile was sincere, though vox-crackle ruined his smooth voice.

‘We will return with the answers the Legion needs. You have my word,’ he gestured to the parchment bound to his shoulder guard, ‘and my oath of moment’.

The smile remained upon the primarch’s painted lips. ‘I know, Argel Tal. Please, rise. I cannot abide you kneeling before me in this moment of moments.’

The Word Bearers rose as ordered, and Argel Tal nodded to Captain Sylamor.

‘The last vessel has docked and my warriors are leading the creature to the bridge. Take us in, captain.’

The ship trembled as its engines came alive, and Orfeo’s Lament speared away from the planet, cutting through the void towards the storm’s distant edges.

‘Three hours until we reach the storm’s outermost border,’ one of the helmsmen called.

Argel Tal held his bolter in his fists, waiting for the bridge doors to open once more.

‘When the creature arrives, do not look at it.’ He seemed to be addressing everyone, while looking at none of them. ‘This is not a matter of decorum or politeness. Do not look at it. Do not meet its eyes. Try not to breathe too much of its scent.’