The First Heretic

He regarded the others gathered in the briefing room, where they all stood around an expansive central table. Forty men, women and Astartes (the latter, he smirkingly liked to call ‘post-humans’) turned to regard him in turn.

Above them, the chamber’s illumination globes flickered as the ship shuddered again.

‘Sorry,’ said the major. ‘I’m here now.’

Several heads shook, while irritated mutters broke out. The officer took one of the few places left at the table, next to a Word Bearer captain. The charged hum from the warrior’s armour joints was ear-achingly loud up close. It made it a chore to hear the others’ voices.

‘Good of you to join us, Arric,’ Fleet Commander Baloc Torvus said, scowling down the table at the breathless major. ‘As I was saying–’

‘My apologies,’ the major interrupted again. ‘The servitors on D deck are struggling with the... elevator... gyro-cogs. Something of a nightmare, really. Had to run the long way.’

From across the chamber, the armoured figure of Chapter Master Deumos thudded a fist onto the table.

‘Be quiet, you fool,’ he grunted.

‘Sorry, sir.’ Arric saluted – the pre-Crusade fist over his chest, rather than the aquila.

Xi-Nu 73 turned his hooded head with a rattle of grinding gears. ‘There is no component in the ship’s construction matching the term “gyro-cog”,’ he noted.

Arric narrowed his eyes at the tech-adept. Thanks for that.

‘I am aware,’ the Word Bearer lord growled, ‘that Major Jesmetine was lying through his teeth with very little skill. Torvus, get on with the details. We have a world to bring to compliance.’

Torvus began his summary, detailing land masses, population projections, and the disposition of forces. The people of 1301-12 were primitives, yet the entire Expeditionary Fleet was preparing for war: Army contingent, Astartes companies, Mechanicum forces – everything.

It all depended on first contact.

Arric listened to the things he’d already studied in the official reports. He caught the Word Bearer captain next to him glancing down.

‘Did you comb your hair with your fingers?’ Argel Tal asked.

The doors slid open before Arric could reply, but the retort would have been a rude one. Clad in ceremonial armour of chainmail and a breastplate of carved ivory, the primarch entered the war room.

‘My friends, please accept the sincerest apologies for my untimely arrival.’ Lorgar favoured them all with a beatific smile before taking his place at the head of the table. ‘I trust all is in readiness for planetfall?’

The gathered commanders assured him that it was. Resplendent in the ceremonial armour of a Covenant warlord, Lorgar listened to their reports in turn.

‘Sire,’ one said, at the conclusion.

‘Speak, Argel Tal.’

‘One matter still troubles me. It has been three weeks now,’ the captain said, ignoring the mutters that started up. ‘Where is the Unending Reverence?’

Lorgar rested his golden hands on the central table, leaning forward. All present could see in his eyes how much the words cost him.

‘It is stormlost. We will mourn the crew, and our brothers on board. But it is folly to hold out hope any longer.’

‘Sire...’ Argel Tal was far from placated. ‘We will not even search for them? One vessel stormlost is a tragedy, but three... Aurelian, please, the Expedition is threatened. We must seek them.’

‘How? In the warp?’

Another judder gripped the ship, this one lasting several moments. Lorgar smiled a downcast little smile, no doubt amused at the timing of the ship’s renewed trembling. ‘Even the aftershocks of this storm are savage. You wish to dive back into the warp to hunt three atoms in a whirlwind?’

‘I call again for the astropaths to make the attempt,’ said Argel Tal. ‘If they can find their counterparts on the Reverence–’

‘My son,’ Lorgar shook his head. ‘Your compassion does you great credit, but we cannot halt the Pilgrimage on account of one lost warship. The warp is a cruel mistress. How many vessels has the Imperium lost in its tides over the course of the Great Crusade? Hundreds? Perhaps even a thousand or more.’

Major Arric tapped a few buttons on his own data-slate. ‘We’re on the frontier, and we all know it. Reinforcements aren’t coming our way, no matter how loud we shout for help. How regularly are we receiving word from other fleets now?’

‘The time between contacts is rising exponentially,’ said Phi-44. ‘The last astropathic transmission from Lord Kor Phaeron’s main fleet was four months ago.’

Xaphen spoke up now. ‘The first captain’s last message contained updated star charts showing the Legion’s expansion to the Galactic Rim, and a list of compliances achieved. It also contained the sincerest gratitude for the eight thousand more words and three pict references to be added to their fleet’s copies of the Book of Lorgar.’

The primarch chuckled, but said nothing.

Xaphen continued, ‘The closest Imperial expedition to us is the 3,855th, almost a year’s warp flight distant.’

‘What Chapters lead the 3,855th?’ asked Deumos.