The Flight of the Eisenstein (25 page)

The time would come, Typhon promised himself, and it would be soon, when he would cut loose from Mortarion's shadow and stand alone. With the patronage of darker powers, Typhon would become a herald before which whole worlds would tremble. From his command throne, the Death Guard's gaze ranged across the bridge of the
Terminus Est
to take in the servants and Astartes toiling in his service. Their loyalty was to him, and it was emboldening.

With that, Typhon's thoughts turned to Grulgor. He frowned and rubbed the black stubble of his beard. In the hours since he had sent Ignatius the command to remove Garro and join the attack on Isstvan III, the braggart commander had been uncommonly quiet. Now the bombardment was over and Horus's plan was in a moment of ellipsis, he had pause to reflect.

Grulgor was not a man to stay silent about his victories, and Typhon knew that Ignatius would relish the chance to relay the story of how he had murdered Nathaniel Garro. The commander's powerful dislike for the battle-captain had grown into full-fledged hate over the years, as Grulgor used Garro as a target for his every ill-humour and odium. Typhon had no idea where the roots of the enmity had been born, and he did not care. It was Typhon's nature to seek and exploit weakness. The rivalry had become a thing that fuelled itself, and Typhon had taken advantage of it. It was easy to use the poison in Grulgor's heart to make him his attack dog, and through Grulgor the first captain had been able to touch the lodges hidden inside the XIV Legion and guide them as well.

He gestured to a Chapter serf. You, check the communications logs. Have there been any machine-calls from the frigate
Eisenstein
²
.'

The servile was back in a moment. 'Lord captain, we show a signal to the fleet command, a message regarding a weapons malfunction, and then another, with reference to an ongoing issue with the ship's power system. The former bears Commander Grulgor's authorization.'

'Nothing else?'

The serf bowed low. 'No, lord.'

Typhon rose and placed his battle scythe across his bridge throne. 'Where is the
Eisenstein
now?'

'Moving on a transition vector, captain,' answered a deck officer. 'Port high quadrant.'

'Where is he going?' A creeping discontent pushed at Typhon's thoughts. Vox! Hail the
Eisenstein
and get me a voice link. I want to talk to Grulgor,
now'.

Maas listened carefully to the tinny voice in his headset, his opposite number on board the
Terminus

Est
repeating the orders of Captain Typhon with flat, emotionless precision. He had the vox pickup in his fingers, holding tightly to it, trembling slightly. Maas hazarded a sideways look at Carya, Vought and the other Astartes. They were all engaged in conversation, watching as the frigate made its way along the path that the deck officer had set.

Maas licked his lips, the tension making him thirsty. It was still difficult for him to fully grasp the chain of events that had led him to this point. His assignment to the
Eisenstein
had been recent, and in his eyes, it had not come soon enough.

Years of dogged service aboard armed transports and system boats had finally been rewarded with a promotion to an actual expeditionary fleet, and while the Death Guard's exploits were not as glamorous or renowned as those of other Legions, it was a step up for Maas's ambitions. He coveted command, and there wasn't a day that passed when he didn't think of a future where it would be Shipmaster Tirin Maas at the throne of a cruiser, running a vessel like his own private kingdom.

Now, all of that was in danger of crumbling away. The posting he had been so euphoric to be granted was turning into a millstone around his neck. First this high-handed Garro had taken command and set things awry, and now Carya himself was following the fool's insane orders! If what he had gleaned was true, this Death Guard had already murdered several of his own, allowed another turncoat to escape destruction and willfully destroyed a dozen fighters! Maas felt as if he was the only sighted man in a room full of blind people.

He looked around the bridge for any glimmer of expression on the faces of the other officers, anything at all that might have shown him they felt as he did, but there was nothing. Carya and his arrogant executive had them all playing along! It was inconceivable. The shipmaster had defied the decrees of Horus himself, and then Vought had compounded things with her falsification of signals. Maas had tried to reason with Carya, and what had he got in return? Censure and violent reproach!

He shook his head. The vox officer felt soiled by the willing piracy unfolding before him. They had sworn an oath to the fleet, and Horus was at the head of that fleet. What did it matter if the orders the Warmaster gave were distasteful? A good captain did not question, he served! But Tirin Maas would never get to do that now, not after Carya's rebellion. Should he survive, Maas would be tarred with the same brush as the shipmaster, labeled disloyal and doubtless executed.

The young man stared at the vox unit. He had to take steps. Already, he had broken protocol and secretly disabled the enunciator circuits so that the bridge would not be alerted to incoming signals unless he wished it. That alone was a flogging offence, but Maas saw it was necessary. It was clear that he could only trust himself, and that meant he alone bore the responsibility to warn the rest of the fleet of the duplicity brewing aboard the
Eisenstein.
He raised the communicator to his lips and drew back into the vox alcove. Maas was afraid, that was undeniable, but as he began to speak in a careful whisper, a sense of purpose and strength came to him. When this was done he would have the gratitude of Horus himself. Perhaps, if
Eisenstein
wasn't destroyed as an object lesson after the rebellion had been put down, he might even solicit the Warmaster for command of the ship as his reward.

'Repeat yourself,' demanded Typhon. He loomed over the Chapter serf at the vox console, the broad form of his armour dark and menacing.

The helot bowed. 'Lord, the message comes from a person claiming to be
Eisenstein's
communications officer. He says that Grulgor is missing, and that the ship's command crew are in revolt. He claims treachery, sir.'

The first captain rocked back, and in his mind the pieces of an unwelcome picture fell into place. 'The bellicose idiot failed me! He tipped our hand to Garro.' Typhon spun in place and barked out orders to the ship's crew. 'Sound general quarters! Power to the drives and the prow lances! I want an intercept course to
Eisenstein,
and I want it now!

'Captain, the vox officer,' said the serf, 'what shall I tell him?'

Typhon smiled grimly. 'Send him my gratitude and the commiserations of the Warmaster. Then get me a link to Maloghurst aboard the
Vengeful Spirit'.

Garro saw the brief flicker of fear on Carya's face as the sing-song siren call blared from the forward command console. Vought was already at the station, punching control strings into the keyboard.

'Report!' said the shipmaster.

Vought paled. 'Sense-servitors are registering a distinct thermal bloom emanating from the drive blocks of
Terminus Est,
sir. In addition, there are readings of possible bow configuration changes in line with lance battery deployment.'

-'He knows,' snapped Qruze. 'Warp curse him, Typhon knows!'

'Aye,' agreed Garro, facing Carya. 'It's time. Give the order.'

The naval officer swallowed hard and threw a nod to Vought. 'You heard the battle-captain. All decks to combat stations, release drive interlocks and make for maximum military speed.' He gestured to a junior rating. 'Get below and alert the esteemed Severnaya to prepare himself for the jump. I want him ready to go.' Carya saw the question in Garro's look. 'Severnaya, the Navigator,' he explained, pointing at the deck. 'Two tiers below us. Spends his days meditating inside a null-gee sphere. I'll warrant he doesn't have the slightest idea what's going on up here. He lives only for the thrill of the jump, you see.'

Garro accepted this. The warp is stormy. Do you think he will baulk to enter it when your order comes?'

'Oh, he'll go all right,' said Carya, 'but what I fear is whether he will survive the leap.'

Vought broke in to the conversation. 'What about the gun batteries, sir?' she asked, her voice taut with tension.

Carya shook his head. 'Make them ready, but I want all available power to be on hand for the void shields and the engine clusters. What we need is strength and speed, not firepower.'

Aye sir, all ahead full,' she replied, and went to work implementing the orders.

Garro felt a faint shudder through the soles of his boots as the frigate's decking trembled with the abrupt application of velocity. Chimes and bells from the enginarium relays sounded as
Eisenstein
went instantly from a stately drifting course to a full battle pace.

'Terminus Est
is moving from her orbital station,' said Sendek, reading the data from a pict-screen repeater. Turning now, swinging guns to our bearing.'

'Any other ships following suit?' asked Garro.

'I don't see them, lord,' he replied, 'only Typhon.'

'Captain Garro,' Vought called, 'we have no records of the warship's capabilities. What can Typhon field against us?'

'Sir, if I may?' broke in Sendek.
'Terminus Est
is a unique craft, not of a standard template construct pattern, well armoured but ponderous with it and very burdensome on the turns.'

Carya nodded. That we can play to our advantage.'

'Indeed, her forward armament is formidable, however. Typhon has an array of bow-mounted lances, and more in turrets that prey abeam and ahead. If he pulls alongside us, we're finished,' he concluded grimly.

We'll keep the behemoth out of our baffles, then,' said the shipmaster. Watch the reactor temperatures!'

'How did he guess?' Decius snarled at his commander. 'Could it not be a coincidence? Perhaps he is only taking the ship to another orbit?'

'He knows,' Garro repeated Sendek's words. This was inevitable.'

'But how?' demanded the younger Astartes. 'Did he have a seer pluck your intentions from the ether?'

Garro's eyes strayed to the vox alcove and met those of the man cowering there, his face pale and sweaty. 'Nothing so arcane,' said the battle-captain, reading the truth in the naval officer's expression. In three swift steps he was across the bridge chamber and dragging Maas to his feet. The vox officer appeared to have been crying. 'You,' growled Garro, his eyes turning flinty. 'You alerted Typhon.'

Hanging there in his grip, Maas suddenly jerked and flailed at Garro, weak blows rebounding off his power armour. 'Traitor bastard!' he shouted. 'You're all conspirators! You've killed us with your duplicity!'

'Fool!' Carya retorted. 'These are the Emperor's men. It's
you
that's the traitor, you arrogant dolt!'

'My oath is to the fleet. I serve the Warmaster Horus!' Maas bellowed as he started to weep. 'Until death!'

'Yes,' agreed Garro, and with a savage twist of his wrist, the Death Guard broke the vox officer's neck and let him drop to the floor.

There was only a breath of silence after the killing before Vought's voice called out across the bridge. 'Lance discharge, port rear quadrant! We're under attack!'

The crew turned their faces away from the viewports as a dazzling sword of white light crossed over the frigate's bow. The shot was a miss, but the edges of the lance's energy nimbus crackled over the exterior hull. On the bridge a handful of stations flickered and popped as the backwash raced through the control systems.

'I think he wants us to heave to,' muttered Qruze.

'A request so politely phrased as well,' said Sendek. 'We'll show him our exhausts by way of reply'

'Look sharp!' snapped Garro, turning away from the man he had just executed. 'Warn Hakur and the others to be ready for impacts and decompression! I want those civilians kept alive-'

The next shot was a hit.

At the periphery of its range, the lance fire from the
Terminus Est
was at its weakest, and yet the collimated beams of energy were still enough to inflict serious damage on a ship with the tonnage of
Eisenstein.
The bolts cut through the void shields and sent them flickering. They raked over the dorsal hull at an oblique angle that tore decks open to space and ripped several portside gun turrets from their mountings.

Puffs of gas and flame popped and faded. Cascade discharges vaulted down the corridors of the frigate, blowing out relays and setting combustion. In a single secondary explosion, an entire compartment on one of the tertiary tiers became a brief, murderous firestorm as stored breathing gas canisters ignited.

A handful of Garro's men left there to stand guard died first as the air in their lungs turned to flames. The back draft flooded over their bodies, torching the living quarters and sanctum of
Eisenstein's
small astropathic choir. Safety hatches slammed shut, but the damage was done, and with no more air to burn, the chambers became dead voids of blackened metal and ruined flesh.

Some of the impact transferred into kinetic energy that staggered the ship and made it list, but Carya's officers were battle-hardened and they did not let it turn them from their course.
Terminus Est
was moving upon them, the massive battleship filling the rearward pict screens with its deadly bulk.

'An explanation, Typhon,' growled Maloghurst over the crackling vox link, 'I await an explanation as to why you saw fit to draw me from my duties during this most important of operations'

The first captain grimaced, glad he did not have to look the Warmaster's equerry in the eye. There was no great esteem held between the Son of Horus and the Death Guard, a holdover from an incident years earlier when they had disagreed fiercely over a matter of battlefield protocol. Typhon disliked the man's insouciant manner and his barely restrained arrogance. That Maloghurst was known by the epithet 'The Twisted' was, in Typhon's opinion, an all too accurate description. 'Forgive me, equerry,' he retorted, 'but I thought it important you be informed that your primarch's grand plans are in danger of faltering!'