Herald of the Stars - A Warhammer 40k, Rogue Trader Fanfiction

For the next two days, we slog through the North Tomb, fighting our way up through a horde of poorly coordinated, respawning robots. We even stumbled upon three firefights where the Necrons were fighting each other, possibly Necrons from other tombs. By the time we reach the top, only two and a half companies remain, most of which are the officers and super heavy infantry in their power armour. All the Servitors and Vanguard Armour have been destroyed.

What saved us from complete destruction were the gun dogs with all the extra munitions they carried, and then the wounded, at least for a short time. Our turnover of anyone with leg wounds was fast, as once we could carry no more disabled Heralds, we would leave them behind in little fortifications, built from MOA shields, to cover our retreat.

It was horrible. That the men and women volunteered to cover us was even more heartbreaking. It also created relays through the tomb, so I witnessed every last stand and kept the rearguard updated so they would know exactly how many minutes they brought us and how vital it was.

To my shame, during these heroic moments, we discovered that the most effective weapons we had were not my fancy new lasguns, the heavy bolters with the tempest rounds, or any of our other more advanced munitions, but the phosphor stubbers everyone was carrying as back up. While one or two hits wouldn’t stop a Necron, a whole clip would turn them to slag.

The necrodermis was burned away by the dangerous rounds in debilitating quantities and it’s repair mechanisms slowed enough to properly destroy the fuckers in a way that the precise burns of a lasgun could not. Not unless one was lucky enough to hit something really important.

The Necrons adapted within the hour. Once they were burning enough, the Warriors would throw themselves at the Heralds, trying to tackle them so that the Heralds would die with the heat of their own weapons.

Having listened to nothing but screams for two days, I can say with confidence that I hate the Necrons even more than the Eldar, something I did not believe to be possible.

We burst through the entrance of the tomb with sombre steps and quiet sobs. Looking up at the stars has never felt quite so magical, even after my first trip through the Warp. The waiting blockade of Imperial infantry and armour opens before us and we are all ushered onto Chimeras for a long drive back to our forward base.

It’s a small risk and a little wasteful if we have to jump from the vehicle, but I order the Chimera to pressurise and, for the first time in two days, remove my helmet. Odhran copies me, as do the other eight, power armoured Heralds sitting with us.

For the first minute, no one is willing to speak. Odhran is stone faced and staring at my face. The Heralds are more discrete, taking small glances. One even pulls some wipes from his supplies and cleans his face.

Odhran turns his helmet over and over in his hands, “A great victory, Magos. Reckless, pyrrhic even, but a great victory nonetheless.”

I grimace, “I know the numbers. Three thousand Heralds and five salvage Wyrms for six titan sized Monoliths and the destruction of a tomb’s Cryptek.” I shake my head. “It would have cost us millions of lives if we faced those numbers topside in a conventional fight, possibly multiple worlds. Those Monoliths and the Tesseract Vault were likely the Kinbriar dynasty’s trump card. Not only that, we lost a tenth of what the Eldar did in their assault. We might have triggered a power grab between the other tombs too. It’s not a victory, its a fucking miracle. I just can’t quite bring myself to celebrate it.”

A Herald clears his throat, “Then hold a funeral, Magos. Full honours. They're a celebration, of sorts.”

I look at the Herald. He’s young, twenty-five maybe. He’s pale, with a fuzz of red hair, freckles. His expression is blank and his eyes are closed.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I say. “One every year, to remember the day when we crawled from the ground and back to the stars. Where we belong. A new Stellar Fleet tradition.”

“If you add a celebration for every victory, Magos, soon you will do nothing but feast,” says Odhran.

“That would be a worthy achievement!” I say.

Four hours later I am in my quarters, out of my armour, and lounging on sunken sofas. A hologram subtly fills the space, creating plants, a fake night sky, and a firebowl, roaring with flames. The environmental sustainer accurately blows hot air on my face, somewhat imitating the heat from a fire. It’s not quite the same but it helps, reminding me of camping as a child.

Bridgid and Thorfinnn are accompanying me as we all indulge in some amasec. My head is lying on Brigid’s lap as she slowly runs her hands through my hair. It’s incredibly relaxing and I let the resonating tones of Thorfinn and Brigid’s conversation wash over me, enjoying the sensation of being alive and surrounded by friends.

At some point I doze off and E-SIM shuts down my extra instances letting me truly rest.

I wake to Brigid holding my nose.

“Aldrich,” says Brigid.

I open my eyes, grab Brigid’s hand and move it to my chest, then hold it there, “Yes, Brigid?”

“Feeling better.”

“Yes, I am. Sorry I fell asleep.”

“That’s OK. Thorfinn and I had plenty we needed to review.”

“More work?”

“On and off. Thorfinn showed me some clips of this documentary he’s been making in his spare time.”

“Oh, more deep sea fishing?”

Brigid giggles, “No, none of that.”

“It’s about the different jobs in the Fleet,” says Thorfinn. “We’re big enough now that many crew only have a superficial, or intellectual understanding of the roles each person plays. For example, the guys training the Cyber Mastiffs have no idea what a generatorium worker does on a daily basis. I wanted to make a series that showcases all the roles, highlighting the personalities of specific crew. There is a big appeal in seeing how other people live, but it’s more than that. I want kids to be able to watch it and have something to aspire to, or the different crews to appreciate what each other are going through, promoting unity within the fleet.”

I sit up and put my arm around Brigid, “That’s one hell of a project. This is more than just a hobby for you, isn’t it?”

“Well, about that,” Thorfinn shakes his head and points to his side, “Quaani is here. You should hear what he has to say first.”

“Hello, Quaani. When did you get here?”

“About half an hour ago. I know you're having a break and all, but can you listen to an idea of mine?”

“Sure, it’s always better to share these things in an informal setting anyway.”

“That’s what I thought too,” says Quanni. “Right, so, you know how our big plan is to blow up the Tomb World and travel at sub-light to the next system.”

“I do.”

“Well, I was thinking that I would like to take Distant Sun and a couple of escorts at a faster pace. I would like to use the extra time to update our maps before we bring the Iron Crane and the rest of the Stellar Fleet anywhere near other occupied systems. I would also like to use that time to confirm who is worth trading with and set up deals in advance for when the Stellar Fleet passes through.”

I grab my glass from the side table and take a sip, “There is much merit in your proposal. Safety and efficiency should always be sought. I was originally planning to build two ports, one in Kinbriar and another on the other side. Perhaps ports that could assist in the initial acceleration of a vessel. Then I decided that, even with the Necrons hopefully disabled, that was a lot of infrastructure that would have no quick way of calling in support.

“Right now, during our long voyage, I am planning on building the core module of a mobile starport, or Macro-Ferry. The intention was to establish a transport route between the greater Koronus Expanse and Marwov, once we can finally visit it again. The starport would run at a set speed, say point five C. A speed we could leave the frame at when we reach the other side, letting it slingshot round and go back the other way.

“Another vessel would only have to accelerate up to that speed, then dock, and get carried between the two systems. Sure, without constant acceleration, the journey would take twenty years in each direction, but it would save vast amounts of fuel and provide a moving fortress that, because it’s a port, should always have a supporting fleet. Our escorts are already flying around the Kinbrair system, catapulting resources out for us to pick along the route.

“I’m telling you this now, because if we send you out to scout, we’ll need to use those resources to build more ships instead; only having two escorts for Iron Crane would be needlessly risky. On the other hand, if you arrived early, you could send more resources our way at the other end.”

Quaani nods, “I get it. You’re not against my idea though, in principle?”

“I am not. It is a good one and we should find a way to make it work.”

“How fast do we have to cross the gap?” says Brigid.

“That’s something we can’t really know,” I say. “We could spend a century doing so if we like, but the longer it takes, the greater chance there is of something going wrong. It’s not a problem for us if Quaani is constantly slinging resources at us, but the longer we take, the longer Quaani would be unsupported for.”

“Are you sure?” says Thorfinn. “Do we even need escorts while in transit in realspace, so far from any star system? I would argue no. We should use those resources we are gathering to start a new fleet while Quaani blasts off with everything but the Iron Crane, then travel slowly and test the route out. We may even decide it isn’t worth building a Macro-Ferry along the way. No matter what though, we’ll always need more ships.”

“I can tell you intend for the Macro-Ferry to be a shipyard and supply base for the region too,” says Brigid. “Your plan would dramatically expand our influence and we would control who could trade with Marwolv too.”

“Absolutely!” I say. “Also, the Macro-Ferry would be a recreation of the design of Marwolv’s Mandeville Point station, only with more thrusters.”

“Which is why you don’t want to have to accelerate that thing twice,” nods Quanni. “That thing is the size of a small moon, well, it will be.”

“It would take a couple of centuries to finish,” says Thorfinn, “Just in time for us to be back in our previous timeline and therefore make use of it and be a fleet unto itself.”

“I’m glad you’re all following along so easily,” I say. “I don’t really want to remain in subspace transition for too long. I want to explore and gather as much technology as possible before the Cicatrix Maledictum forms. We could get more from our STCs too if we can directly sell to Mars, rather than isolated Forge Worlds. The Nachmund Gauntlet isn’t really worth the risk. I’d love a chance to consult one of the Kin’s ancestor cores too. Also I want real tea plants. And milk. None of that vegetable crap that comes out of the food printers.”

“There’s the real reason,” says Quaani, laughing.

“We could budget twenty years though,” says Thorfinn. “Enough time to build the shipyard portion of the Macro-Ferry. That would drastically increase our build capacity. We could arrive in the other system with two more light cruisers and their eight escorts. Aldrich?”

I run a simulation, “Yes, that’s feasible. I have a design for a cruiser sized version of the Moth-class that I wanted to get done too, but waiting until I can purchase more hull designs would likely be for the best anyway.”

“Would the first light cruiser group be finished in time to be worth sending in advance to back up Quaani in an emergency?”

“They would arrive around year fifteen,” says Brigid, “I’d say it’s worth it, though we should keep them hidden and have them trail Quaani.”

“I’d have to go,” I say. “Not enough Navigators. We’ll need a way to tether ships together as well, or a way to link our gellar fields. We’ve been looking into linking gellar fields as one of the possible methods of strengthening them. That would let us travel in a big bubble with fewer Navigators.

“On second thoughts, While it is a priority, geller linking isn’t a project that can be rushed, or even tested without more Navigators for backup. Links will have to be tethers, or modified docking booms securing a light cruiser to its escorts. I have a design for a grand cruiser to do it, but I don’t think it’s been attempted with a smaller vessel before. Distant Sun will need to be modified in such a manner before Quaani departs or he won’t be able to take his escorts with him.”

“I already thought about this!” says Quaani. “The Tau already have a solution. Their Kass’l-Class Gunship travelled in such a manner with something called a Gravitic Hook.”

“Urgh,” says Thorfinn. “I really don’t want to trade with the Tau. They’ve been causing minor problems, what with their new quarters they traded for being delayed by the repairs to Iron Crane and our rush build of the fire ship. They keep trying to be ‘helpful’, saying they’d be happy to help build their own homes. They know we won’t allow it and that they wouldn’t either if the positions were reversed. They also know that if we don’t hussle with the fireship, we’re all going to die, but they keep bothering my security staff with petitions anyway.”

“They’re going to ask for a massive price,” says Brigid. “Let the matter rest until we’re away from Kinbriar. The Tau can stew. Leave them long enough, as if we don’t need them, and they will come to us.”

Thorfinn shakes his head, “I’ll forward our discussion to Eire. Trade is her job. We shouldn’t tell her how to do it. It’s not like she won’t put forward a neat proposal to Fleet Command before going to the Tau anyway.”

“Thank you for your proposal, Quaani.” I say, “I’m done with being serious for the day though. Join us for a drink? There are a lot of dead to send on their way and I keep seeing scarabs crawl from every wall.”

Quaani winces, then shakes his head. “I’m glad you liked my idea. Just one drink. Then I’m going to leave you old folks to it. I’m leading all our psykers for a group meditation in the Auto-Temple in an hour.”

“I didn’t know you do that, Quaani,” I say.

“Ah, it’s my first time leading. We take it in turns.”

“I know you’ll do well.”

“Thanks, Uncle. I hope so too.”