Herald of the Stars: Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen (Patreon)

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During the following three weeks, preparations for a ground war against the Necrons continue without pause or, at least, any snafus that reach me for arbitration. I keep multiple sensors on Odhran, the other four marines, and Ylien at all times, as well as two dedicated minds.

I am unsure what to make of Odhran. For the first twelve hours he did nothing but pray, sometimes with tears streaming down his face. I can’t tell if it’s sorrow, religious fervour, or happiness. I didn’t even know that Space Marines could cry. He clearly isn’t as fine as our initial conversation suggested.

After his prayers, Odhran performs slow martial katars and breathing exercises. I quickly notice that all of them are meditative exercises designed to improve focus and lung capacity.

The mnemonics he mumbles trigger specific commands from his implants. Most commands he mutters turn them on and off, or alter their states slightly and he is clearly practising and checking his body. One change, however, is far more obvious, as Odhran alters his skin colour to a deep black in advance for landing on a planet with a minimal atmosphere and fairly high solar radiation.

From time to time, he checks on his brothers, reading their medical data on the datapad I gave him, or sitting with them and talking, usually about who they used to be. He ventures out to the promenade every day for his meals and makes a point of striking up conversations with the my crew, checking everything I have told him is true and filling in details I cut from my summary.

Once Odhran receives his gear, he books a workshop and takes everything apart, checking every circuit trace, weld, and mechanism from memory. From time to time, he makes miniscule adjustments, tuning the armour away from default in amounts I just cannot see would make a meaningful change in performance. He also tests his bolter and a plasma pistol at one of the many ranges on Iron Crane. The plasma pistol is the only device he does not disassemble and inspect. Instead, he commissions a tech-priest to double check it.

Ylien spends the entire three weeks in meditation. I sense small fluctuations in the Warp around him, a mix of telepathy and divination, I think, but he is a master and excellent at obscuring what he is doing. I suspect he is in contact with the Yme-Loc Eldar. Having asked him to liaison between the Stellar Fleet and the Yme-Loc Eldar, I can’t object to his possible communications and I’m not expecting an immediate betrayal from him. I’m not happy about him being so sneaky about it though. Now he is close to his own fellows I am unsure if I will get my century of service out of him.

We slip into orbit around Kinbriar V. Iron Crane deploys hundreds of satellites and within six hours of our arrival we have a detailed picture of the situation. Kinbriar has six detectable tombs and all six are active.

There are approximately two million necron warriors and one hundred thousand armour units, including two monoliths, closing in on the Eldar landing zone. Remaining numbers within the tombs are undetectable with my vessels’ scanners.

The Eldar are confined to their landing zone and three satellite bases. They possess some five-hundred thousand infantry and fifty thousand armour. Their shields and anti-air are strong, but they do not have air superiority. They have an impressive network of bunkers and trenches.

Without orbital support, the Eldar can only create area denial zones, not strike out against the Necrons. It will be months, possibly years, before the Necrons can overrun them, but the Eldar’s prospects are bleak.

An Eldar Vampire Raider, the Eldar Thunderhawk equivalent, rises into orbit during Iron Crane’s final approach and docks with us. The Vampire Raider has wide, aggressive, forward facing wings with two nacelle’s close to the centre fuselage. A spear-like neck with a split blade juts forward between the wings.

The guests, four Eldar officers, twelve Eldar Guardians, and two Wraithguard, are led to a pilot briefing room near a hangar. The carapace armour of the Eldar is similar to an Imperial mesh suit, like the hyperweave variant my crew use as an undersuit, but with reinforced joints, fine torso plates, greaves, boots, and arm guards. Their helmets are conical with insect-like eyes. The Stellar Fleet ship uniform provides similar extra armour.

All of the Eldar are the same height as Odhran, at two point one metres tall, though they are not as broad.

I enter the briefing room. It has been refurnished for the meeting, the individual desks replaced with long tables facing opposite each other, in front of, and either side of, the main podium. Maeve Muire is present with two aides and four bodyguards. Odhran is sticking close to me. I would have liked to have all my Fleet Command here, but placing our entire command structure within shooting distance of an Eldar delegation is foolish.

Maeve and her aides take their seats, as do I and the four Eldar officers. Odhran stands behind me. The two Wraithguard, Eldar souls trapped within armoured constructs, loom behind the four Eldar officers, their faceless helmets reflecting the overhead lighting. The Eldar guardians put their backs to the wall and keep their helmets on. Their rifles, Shuriken Catapults, rest in their arms, the barrels pointed at the floor. Ylien rushes in at the last possible moment and sits on my right.

A full minute goes by and no one says anything. The Eldar might like to play power games, but I have better things to do with my time, so I decide to start the meeting.

“I am Magos Explorator Aldrich Issengrund, leader of this Imperial expeditionary fleet. To my left is Herald Primarus, Maeve Muire. She is the leader of my ground forces. To my right is Warlock Ylien. He is serving my fleet to repay for his rescue from your sadistic cousins. Ylien will be your primary contact with the Stellar Fleet. Behind me is Sergeant Odhran of the Barghest Chapter. Your names and ranks please.”

The four officers remove their tall helmets and place them on the table. One Eldar has a particularly elaborate helmet with a blue soulstone in the centre and golden runes printed on its conical crest. He speaks first.

“I am Exarch Orodor of the Yme-Loc Necron Termination Fleet. To my left is Aspect Warrior Isenedor of the Dire Avengers. To my right is Daenthala of the Howling Banshees. To my far right is Caervan of the Swooping Hawks.”

As Exarch Orodor speaks, I notice he makes subtle gestures with his posture, hands and face. While Orodor and I are speaking in High Gothic, these almost imperceptible movements are part of the absurdly complex Eldar language. Their language lets someone say one thing, while changing the meaning of the words with their gestures, or having two conversations simultaneously. Thanks to E-SIM, I am able to interpret his subtle movements.

“Blind Fool,” he gestures.

E-SIM aids me and I gesture, “Prideful Twit,” trying to make it as casual and accidental as I can, so they can’t actually be sure I’m not just fidgeting. The three Aspect Warriors and the Exarch tense slightly and I notice the Eldar Guardians’ fingers twitch towards their triggers. The Wraithguards remain dead still.

“Thank you for the introductions, Exarch Orodor. I hope this meeting will be swift and productive with minimal drama. Herald Primarus Muire will provide a summary of the current situation and the Imperium’s stance. Following Muire, you will have the opportunity to express your own stance, Exarch Orodor. We will then negotiate. To ensure negotiations are speedy, only water will be provided and there will be no breaks. Should we fail to reach an agreement by the time you depart, the Yme-Loc Necron Termination Fleet will be considered hostile by the Stellar Fleet. Please begin, Herald Primarus Muire.”

“Yes, Magos. The Kinbriar Tomb World has begun reanimation and threatens Yme-Loc and Imperial interests in the Koronus Expanse. We are aware your Craftworld operates in this region. We will not disclose our own interests.”

Maeve gives Orodor a stern look and continues, “Exarch, I shall be blunt. You have no orbital support, no reinforcements, and no retreat path. You are outnumbered by a soulless, self-repairing army of sapient robots by at least four to one. The Stellar Fleet can provide everything you lack, from materials to fire support, to troops on the ground and a path off it, once we cease operations. First, to potentially save us all time, I ask, are you willing to negotiate?”

Exarch Orodor sneers, “You would dictate terms to us, Monkeigh?”

Odhran, in a single, smooth action, draws his knife and hurls it at the Exarch. The handle of the blade hits his skull with such force, his head cracks and blood pours from his eyes and ears. The Exarch spasms, then face plants onto the table. I immediately trigger my conversion shield and spread it between the Eldar and my own side.

My mechadendrites snap out and keep Odhran from pointing his bolter at the rest of the Eldar. At the same time, I open my third eye and send disorientating pulses of warp energy outwards in a cone, directly stunning the souls of the Eldar Guardians before they can get any shots off and the Wraithguard shutdown and reboot.

The Aspect Warriors are much tougher and fight off my influence. They grab their weapons and fire their shuriken pistols at me. The monomolecular disks slam into the conversion field and disappear in ineffectual light flashes.

Sadako deploys two tarantula turrets from the ceiling, I snatch their controls from her and have them fire a single bolt each, as close to the feet of each Eldar as I can without injuring them. Two guardian’s are unlucky and clutch at their bodies as the explosive bolts punch shrapnel through their armour. Blood trickles from their wounds.

“Stand down or be put down, Eldar!” I yell. “Heralds, do not escalate.”

A tense three seconds passes as Eldar cease firing and shake off the effects of large blasts in a small space and my Stupefy the Soul navigator power. Maeve and her aides stand back up, having dived to the floor, and the Heralds point their lasrifles back at the floor. Maeve and her aides stand back up, having dived to the floor, and the Heralds point their lasrifles back at the floor.

“Apologies, Magos,” says Odhran. “My diplomacy is a little rusty. I was unable to suppress my training: rudeness to a superior officer is a capital offence. At the last moment I remembered to use the blunt end. I did not expect him to be so weak.”

My minds whirr as I consider the situation, a plan forms and I say, “Apology accepted, Sergeant. It was generous of you to save the lives of such hostile xenos.”

There is a slight hitch in Odhran’s breathing, “You’re welcome, Magos.”

“What theatre is this?” shouts Daenthala. “We came in peace and you murdered our Exarch!”

“Warrior Daenthala, he’s not dead yet. Stand close and I shall heal him,” I say.

“You will not approach, Magos! We are leaving,” says Isenedor.

“Remain where you are or I will shoot you, then drop rocks on your base until you are all dead. I shall heal your Exarch and your Guardians while you thank Sergeant Odhran here for sparing you all from such a fate. Had your officer continued to insult the people offering to save you, negotiations would have failed and half a million Eldar would have died, Eldar your diminished race can’t afford to lose, and your soul stones would likely be shattered by the Necrons as they picked over the rubble.”

The three Aspect Warriors frown and I don’t wait for the fools to respond. Two mechadendrites reach out from my back and spray Exarch Orodor with nanites. They flow into his body and repair the damage to his skull and brain. I make a show of it, having his pooling blood flow back in through his eyes, nose and ears, leaving a clean wooden table behind, as if time itself is reversing. The nanites continue to spread out, forming a cloud that envelops the bleeding guardians, healing them and patching their armour.

“That is Dark Age Technology!” says Caervan.

“Speculate as you wish,” I say.

“The Exarch’s breathing has eased and his heart beats steady,” says Daenthala. She scowls at Odhran.

“I’m still waiting for your gratitude,” says Odhran.

“I refuse!” says Caervan

“Are we really going to repeat the same show?” I say, pointing at Exarch Orodor.

Isenedor slams his fist into the table, then strides over to Odhran, stepping so close to the Space Marine their chest armour is almost touching. He looks Odhran right in the eyes and growls, “Thank you for saving my life.” Isenedor’s face puckers, looking like he swallowed a sour and bitter fruit.

The rest of the Eldar Aspect Warriors follow Isenedor’s example and mutter the same words.

Sergeant Odhran smiles for the first time in three weeks, “It was my pleasure.”