Gain and Loss
The door to the bridge caved in with a burst of blue light and a shower of ruined, smoking metal. Erastus strode through the flames and debris, but he did not fire. The soldiers who came with him held their fire as well. Zofia was at his side, panning from crewman to crewman.
When a ship was taken, when the blade was pressed to the throat, then that was the time for surrender. For negotiation. There would be use for men of quality in such transitions. The crew were silent, their eyes downcast. Some had already fallen to their knees.
‘Where is your captain?’ Erastus asked. None answered, and he gestured with his smoking plasma pistol. ‘A shipmaster? Shipmistress? Who is in command here?’ He looked to Zofia. ‘Ensure nothing is damaged. Spread out, secure each station.’ He turned back to look at the ashen-faced crew. ‘I ask again – where is the master of this vessel?’
‘Fled, lord,’ said a plaintive voice. The Officer of the Watch looked up from her kneeling pose. ‘Shipmaster Yurat has fled for the safety of Noatun Control. There is no command here now.’
‘Excellent.’ Erastus laughed as he strode forward, bracing himself against a cogitator bank. ‘I am Erastus Lamertine, of that dynasty. I am a rogue trader, his Warrant of Trade sanctified in the Emperor’s own sight.’
Gasps arose from around the bridge at his proclamation, somehow louder than those that had accompanied the influx of armsmen and the threat of martial violence.
‘By the power of that Warrant,’ he continued, ‘I am pressing this vessel into service – that she, and all who sail within her, shall serve the will of the Lamertine name, and the power invested in it by the Davamir Compact.’
Whispers followed his words as they turned to each other at their stations, or leant close in their kneeling submission. Erastus could barely suppress his smile. This was the power his father had always wielded, and yet it was through Erastus’ own words that it took root. His place had always been amongst the mercantile expeditions, the trade disputes and delegations. He had been trusted with minor skirmishes, while his father and Evelyne had waged their wars of commerce. It had been Erastus who had honoured the family name with words: stories, songs, praise at the right moment… He laughed quietly, and a few of the crew looked up, surprised at the conqueror’s joy.
‘Be at peace,’ he said. ‘If you serve, then you will be rewarded. Stand with me, and the Davamir Compact. Stand with me in the Emperor’s light, and you shall reap the benefits that flow from such undertakings. We sail to Endymica, into the very jaws of the Great Rift, to fortify and to secure passage.’ He paused, weighing his words. ‘A crusade comes. Only the Emperor’s own Great Crusade is its superior in scale and ambition. The Primarch…’ he began, and fresh gasps rose from the chamber. Prayers were muttered under breaths, even as the crew made the sign of the aquila. One man fell to his knees, weeping.
‘The Primarch Reborn, Roboute Guilliman,’ he continued, ‘has beseeched me, and others like me, to do this in the name of the Emperor. If you stand with us, then you shall stand in his light and favour. You shall enjoy rank and privilege as few have known down the millennia. Where I stand before you, a rogue trader – accredited and sanctified – so you shall be as princes amongst men. On this you have my solemn vow. As a Lamertine. As a rogue trader. As a true and faithful servant of the God-Emperor, beloved saviour of all mankind.’
A hush fell. Erastus looked out across the bridge, at the masses of servile humanity. Wide eyes looked back at him, hollowed out by time and suffering. They were silent for a long moment, and the hush that fell deadened the sound of combat from without. Throughout the ship the last spasms of defiance were fading, and the distant guns were stilled or too far away to make any difference.
The Officer of the Watch stood, brushing her dark hair from her face. Her lip trembled, but she drew a deep breath, and began to speak. ‘I will serve, Lord Lamertine. For your glory, and the glory of the Emperor upon Terra.’
‘I will serve.’ ‘We will serve.’ ‘Let us serve.’ The voices rose and fell, with the tempo of human desperation. Erastus closed his eyes for a moment, and finally allowed himself to sheathe his weapon.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘We shall serve Him and His will. Together.’
Erastus stood at the communications station, resting his hand upon it as the attendant worked over its clattering keys. He sighed gently, clenching his hand into a fist. He was anxious to proceed. The ship’s systems were being roused, bit by bit. Chief amongst his priorities were weapons and shields, but he was also eager to re-establish communications with his fellow boarding parties.
The attendant looked up at him nervously, not used to the close proximity of a ship’s lord. He strained against the cabling which bound him to the station, feeling it tighten along his neck. It was slick with sweat, and pungent with sacred oils.
‘Communications established,’ he said breathily. ‘I have a link to the Gracious Light.’
‘Thank you.’ Erastus smiled as he spoke. He turned towards the comms unit, and nodded to himself. ‘Katla? Do you hear me? How goes the hunt?’
There was a whisper of static and then the signal resolved itself into the rough laughter of Katla Helvintr. ‘As well as can be expected, Erastus. No real challenge. That lies ahead for us, does it not? What of you? How went the fight? Did my daughter distinguish herself in your service? Were you awed, as you ought to be?’
Astrid… The thought gave him pause, and he took a moment before responding. ‘She performed well,’ he said. ‘She is, at this time, securing other sections of the ship. We hold the bridge now, the crew are being compliant.’
‘We have cowed them here, too,’ she replied. ‘Nothing to fear. As I said, no great challenge. Have you checked in with Gunther’s proxy? I would like to hear what he has to say in his master’s stead.’
‘I’ll do my best to check,’ Erastus said, as he shot the attendant a meaningful look. The man met Erastus’ gaze, and then turned his attention back to the console. His fingers were a blur as they hammered keys and twisted at dials. The signal expanded and resolved, and Erastus began to speak again. ‘Maximillian. Do you hear me?’
The machinery wheezed and hissed, before an audible human voice joined Katla’s.
‘All has proceeded to plan,’ Maximillian drawled, as though bored. ‘My lord was more than right to hold back and relish the battle in the void. They were no challenge at all. Pitiful, really.’
‘Excellent. We have the ships we need, then.’
Erastus breathed a sigh of relief. It had worked. Against all odds, it had worked. He almost laughed. He turned back to the – to his – communications attendant.
‘Get me a signal to Astrid. Once we find out where she is, we can get these ships moving. We can rendezvous with the fleet, and pursue the Norastye.’ He shook his head. ‘Astrid. Now, if you please.’
‘I am afraid you will not find it quite so easy,’ another voice hissed over the channel. A man’s voice, wheezing, though not frail. There was a curdled strength in it. The man at the station grew pale, shrinking back from the console. He knew this voice. He feared it. ‘Let us speak, you and I. Let us speak of your little savage, and what might be done with absent pets. Before the end.’
‘I have come under the auspices of a Warrant of Trade, bearing the authority of–’
‘I’m afraid… I just don’t care.’ The whispering voice broke into a dry, strained laugh. ‘You are merely another usurper. The latest in a long line. Nikolai Vaskin shall not be found wanting, nor taken for a fool.’
‘Nikolai Vaskin?’ Erastus asked. ‘Should I know who that is?’
The attendant held a hand over the broadcast unit, and his fingers moved to hold the signal. Erastus raised an eyebrow as the man began to speak.
‘Forgive me, lord. He is this station’s master.’
‘And is he…’ Erastus paused, waving a hand in the air with a sigh of frustration. ‘Is he a reasonable man?’
The man grimaced. ‘No, lord. Not in the slightest. The years, they have not been kind. He ruled well, once. As the station failed, as our profits shrank, he grew paranoid. Cruel. Restrictions followed, more control. He pays lip service to Imperial piety, but all he truly cares for is himself.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Soren, my liege.’
‘“Lord” will suffice,’ Erastus said, holding back a scowl at the overwrought formality. Soren nodded, smiling gently. ‘Put me back through to him,’ Erastus said.
Soren readjusted the console’s settings, and the voice crackled back into life.
‘Do you hear me, usurper? Or do you wallow in your own ignorance? The smallness of outside minds, as I have ever said.’
‘I hear you, Nikolai. You said you have someone who belongs to me? I assume you mean Astrid.’
‘Is that her name? I had not thought to ask her. It hardly matters. She is not long for this world. Trespassers must be punished. Traitors, looters and privateers… They all meet the gallows.’
‘Void justice,’ Erastus laughed. ‘Is that what you think you are fit to dole out? The rope is an old conceit.’
‘But an honest one. There is a purity in justice, and in judgement.’
Erastus shook his head. ‘You remind me of my father.’
‘Idle flattery will get you nowhere,’ the voice said. It paused to wheeze, and the signal thrummed with the hydraulics of bellows. ‘I am not so easily wooed to the plight of those who would rob and insult me.’
‘You misunderstand me, Nikolai. I can assure you it was not a compliment.’ Erastus’ hand had tightened into a fist, rapping against the console. ‘I want my warrior returned to me,’ he said, and then paused. ‘Along with any others of my company whom you have taken hostage.’ He gestured to the weapons station, and the officer there began the rites that would channel vital energy into the ship’s gunnery systems. ‘Refuse me, and I shall hole your station through. Each and every one of you who calls Noatun home shall die.’
‘You are a liar, little lord.’
‘I have been that in my years, many times,’ Erastus said. ‘I am not lying now.’ He gestured again, and the ship’s weapons went live. The station would undoubtedly be able to detect it by now. ‘You have my warning.’
‘We shall speak more of this, trust me.’ The man’s breathy laughter resurfaced again. The hollow joy of a machine, regurgitated like the empty repetitions of a servitor. ‘Before your pet is hung by the neck until I am satisfied that she is dead.’
‘Hold.’ Katla’s voice cut across the channels. ‘I am Katla Helvintr. I too bear a Warrant of Trade. Astrid is my daughter, my blood, the continuation of my line. I would not see her die a prisoner’s death. Hers is to be a death-in-glory, to draw the eye of the Allfather Himself.’
‘You ought to have trained your whelp better, then. I am a reasonable man. You will vacate my station and my ships, you shall recompense me in trade goods, materiel… And since yours is the sin of transgression, I shall take whichever of those pretty ships belongs to you. Pay this tithe and I may be moved to return her to you.’
With that, the channel fell silent.