Age of Darkness by Graham McNeill

Author:Graham McNeill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2016-07-07T15:21:40+00:00

The spires of Prospero as they once were...

THE FACE OF TREACHERY

Gav Thorpe

Artificial eyes scoured the firmament, seeking a telltale reflection of radiation, looking for a pinprick of light, searching for the merest hint of heat in the coldness. The enemy were out here somewhere, lurking in the shadow of Isstvan VI’s rings. Ice and dust particles provided ample cover for a starship, a hindrance compounded by the residual plasma clouds and radiation from the battle just fought.

Six vessels prowled the void. At their head was the battle-barge Dedicated Wrath, its flotilla of two strike cruisers, one grand cruiser and two destroyers spread across hundreds of thousands of kilometres of space. They approached Isstvan VI warily, unsure how many of the enemy had escaped the initial battle. Plasma reactors on idle, they drifted out-system by inertia; what power they were expending directed to the banks of scanner antenna jutting from their prows.

On the bridge of the Dedicated Wrath Lieutenant-Commander Nigh Vash Delerax fixed his stare on the main screen. The huge display dominated the wall of the main bridge, covered with an anarchic maze of surveyor data and scanner sweep returns. Isstvan VI loomed large in the display, its gold and blue rings shimmering coldly in the faint light of the system’s star.

‘Industrious reports possible scanner return in quadrant eight-theta,’ reported one of the aides at the scanning console behind the Legiones Astartes commander. He was non-Legiones Astartes, though his body showed signs of augmetic surgery and his left eye was a bionic replacement that twinkled red in the bright glow of his screen. ‘Too big to be an asteroid, though possibly an uncharted moonlet.’

Delerax moved his gaze to the top of the screen, to the area mentioned. It was pointless, he realised; even his augmented eyes would not spot something before the systems of the battle-barge, especially since the visual display he looked at was itself a construct based on that data. If the Dedicated Wrath could not see the enemy, neither could he.

‘Tell Industrious to close to within fifty thousand kilometres of the source,’ said Delerax, pulling his eyes away from the screen. ‘Move Justified Aggressor to a triangulating point.’

‘Affirmative, lieutenant-commander,’ said the aide.

The thought that he might have found his prey sent a buzz of excitement through Delerax. He had spent many days fruitlessly searching the outer reaches of the Isstvan system and had almost come to believe that the enemy were not here at all.

His pre-cortical implant responded to his change of mood. With the tiniest of vibrations, the device triggered a wave of chemicals through Delerax’s brain. Immediately every sense was heightened. He could smell the sweat of the men at the consoles, the oil from the machinery. He could taste the static from the display screens and feel the soft currents of air from the overhead ventilators. The blue and white of his armour seemed brighter and every hiss, bleep and breath across the bridge echoed in his ears.

‘Industrious confirms contact,’ the aide said excitedly. ‘Positive transmission identification.

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