Being one of the smallest vessels in the Chapter fleet did little to diminish the scope and majesty of the Light of Iax’s bridge. While it lacked the gothic splendour and immense scale on display on the command decks of the larger warships – strike cruisers or battle-barges, where admirals ruled from what were more akin to the keeps of grand cathedrals – the destroyer’s bridge was one of the largest chambers on board that was not occupied by plasma drive cores or the decks where the torpedo tubes were armed and loaded.
Helios drank in every aspect as he crossed the polished iron floor to the central command dais. He found it to be very much a diminutive iteration of the Mare Nostrum’s own control centre. It followed the design of the Eighth Company flagship in its own dimensions, but instead proudly displayed the pennants and banners of its own triumphs.
With Theron at his side, Helios found the commander of the Light of Iax standing before her control throne. His mind settled upon the dossier for her that had been attached to his mission briefing, eidetic recall summoning every detail. Shipmistress Rayhelm had risen through the ranks aboard some of the most battle-hardened warships in service to the Ultramarines Chapter. As a reward for her devotion to duty and superior combat instincts, she had been promoted from a first officer to lead the crew of the Light of Iax, and had served as the guiding hand of the destroyer for close to twenty years.
Helios had never been particularly skilled in determining the age of mortals. The silver streaks at Rayhelm’s temples implied a woman poised to enter her declining years, an impression that the Chaplain found completely at odds with the calm fire that glinted in the wet amber of her eyes. A lack of the signs of extensive cosmetic rejuvenat treatments demonstrated an absence of vanity that Helios respected.
All that truly mattered to the Ultramarine had been found within her service record. Decades of resolute service across multiple theatres of war, without infraction or disciplinary action, and a tally of victories that exemplified the style of thorough, aggressive command that defined the warriors of Ultramar. Shipmistress Rayhelm’s actions had come to define her, and her actions were exemplary.
‘Shipmistress,’ said Helios as the two Ultramarines came to a halt before the dais.
‘Chaplain Helios, Sergeant Theron.’ Rayhelm made the sign of the aquila with a short bow. ‘Allow me to extend a formal welcome aboard the Light of Iax. I hope you will forgive my tardiness on this account, but the complexities of executing prolonged warp travel have become increasingly varied of late, and require a great deal of oversight. Especially if we are to reach our destination within the permitted timeframe allotted to us.’
‘You will never need apologise for performing your legally ordained duty,’ said Helios. ‘You have done well to make use of what little time and resources you have available.’
‘If you will forgive me for just a moment,’ said the shipmistress as a serf approached bearing a platter. The man poured a measure of dark steaming liquid from a silver kettle into a cup of simple white porcelain. He placed the cup on a thin saucer of the same pale clay and offered it to Rayhelm.
‘In these days,’ said Rayhelm, taking the cup with a nod and a smile to her attendant, ‘one must search out the little things. Duty, honour, loyalty, these are our lodestones, but it is up to each of us to find that one little thing that grants life its vigour.’
She lifted the cup to her nose, closed her eyes and breathed in the steam rolling from the liquid. ‘In my case, it is tea.’
‘Give thanks to the Emperor,’ said Helios. ‘The light of the Golden Throne shines upon all things.’
Rayhelm grinned. ‘It most certainly does on tea.’
Helios paused for a moment as the mortal’s meaning escaped him, before shifting tack. ‘Can you apprise us of the current situation, shipmistress?’
‘At long last, we are poised to arrive at our destination,’ replied Rayhelm after a small sip from her cup. ‘Our emergence from the immaterium is imminent, and not a moment too soon. Our warp core is as overtaxed as our Navigator, and we have had enough executions for aberrant behaviour in the crew decks on this transit to rival the rest of the Light’s service record put together. If this voyage had taken much longer it would have ended up with you and I having to get out back and push.’
Helios looked down at the woman, unsure of how to respond. The intricacies of human social interaction were largely absent from the minds of the Adeptus Astartes, particularly those facets he assumed were relating to humour. Thankfully for the Chaplain, bells began to ring, delivering him from the awkward exchange.
‘Translation,’ called out a hooded member of the Navigator’s entourage.
‘Prepare real space drives,’ said Rayhelm, her focus shifting entirely to the myriad complexities of hauling her warship out of the jaws of the ether in one piece. ‘Lock in our emergence locus. All hands stand by to depart warp space.’
The destroyer shuddered, a rumbling string of clangs that groaned down the entire length of her hull. The great noise and vibrations of the warp drives ceased, and were replaced by a moment’s silence and stillness that was altogether more disconcerting to those who spent their lives in the void.
The human mind rails against the warp, even from within the protection of a Geller field. Those without the fortitude of Space Marines, so vulnerable to the predations of Chaos while travelling within the immaterial realm, experienced a physical relief upon translation, free from the endless hunger clinging just beyond their sight. Each of the spacefarers relaxed as the deck began to thrum once more as the ship’s plasma drives were roused back into wakefulness.
The Light of Iax returned to reality, darting out from a laceration in the flesh of the material universe. It left behind a frothing delirium of living thought, churning seas of speaking eyes and indescribable shades of colours that had never before been seen and would never be seen again. The slit vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and the destroyer pressed on, back amongst the stars once more.
‘Convey our thanks to his eminence in his sanctum,’ said Rayhelm to the Navigator’s servant. ‘Tell him it is our hope that he enjoys his well-deserved rest.’
The hooded figure bowed, before turning and leaving the bridge in a swirl of velvet robes.
Being a smaller escort vessel, the Light of Iax’s bridge featured a series of tall armourglass viewing blocks that dominated the forward wall, rather than the oculus viewscreens and hololithic displays utilised on the more heavily armoured command decks of capital ships. Now that there was no longer any threat of exposing the crew to the warp’s maddening tides, the retractable blast shields that covered them slid up and away into their housings, bathing the bridge in the light of the stars.
Helios looked out, seeing the dark expanse of the void stretch in all directions as he took in the view from the bridge’s location, high on the destroyer’s aft castle. The system they had arrived in was small, a cluster of five worlds spinning about a star not unlike that which gave light and heat to Holy Terra. Two of the planets hugged too closely to their sun, lifeless spheres of charred and volcanic rock. Another two shied too far along the system’s edge, equally devoid of life but having traded flame for ice. Only a single planet held a place of balance, the world where Helios’ mission beckoned.
The Light of Iax made speed into the system’s interior, quickly bypassing the two frigid outer worlds. The third planet appeared as a shimmering dot through the banks of armourglass, quickly growing in scale and definition as the ship approached.
‘The site of our mission?’ asked Theron.
‘Quradim,’ said Rayhelm.
The grainy hololithic projection of the world from Captain Numitor’s strategium returned to Helios’ mind as he witnessed the real thing with his own eyes. Quradim hung in the void, looking more than anything like a misshapen skull wrapped in veils of storms. Vast portions of the planet were collapsed, riven with enormous sinkholes that gave it an uneven, porous aspect.
Quradim had once possessed a single moon, one that had met with some unknown catastrophe at some point in the last several millennia. Some manner of devastation had shattered the satellite, and now it hung around Quradim like an explosion of icy rock, frozen in time.
It was difficult for Helios to believe that the planet was still capable of sustaining life. Even more so that such an appalling husk would hold anything of great enough value for the Genesis Chapter to station warriors on its surface, and for the primarch to send him here.
‘Has there been any sign of contact from the Genesis Chapter garrison?’ asked Helios.
The shipmistress consulted her station briefly, scanning incoming reports before shaking her head. ‘No response to our arrival as of yet, even to our astropathic choir. Given the moon’s interference it may take some time for them to discover we are here.’
‘Then what of the ship they have in system?’ The Chaplain peered across the void ahead of them. ‘They would have detected the warp translation and travelled here to confirm who had passed through.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Rayhelm scanned over the data-slate attached to her control throne by a brass armature. ‘The Excelsior. A frigate, Nova-class. We have yet to receive any hails from her. Nor have we detected her on the augurs, though she may be on the far side of the planet. That may be interfering with our scans, in addition to the storm of fragments from the planet’s shattered moon, which is absolutely interfering with our scans.’
‘Take us in,’ said Helios. ‘Proceed to high orbit and maintain your scanning. Establishing communications with the garrison is our first priority.’
‘Of course, my lord.’ Rayhelm finished her tea and handed the cup off to a subordinate as she punched a series of commands into her station. ‘Helm?’
‘Ma’am?’
‘Take us in.’