The Astartes are coming...

[alfred_the_great]

First story, first draft, not finished (but I’ve idea of where it’s going); welcome feedback

 

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Intra-planetary space was ripped open like a wound, the immaterium shining its foul energy in system.  Defence lasers powered up, targeting servitors beginning to calculate salvo sizes needed to destroy whatever appeared.

 

The prow of a spacefaring cathedral came into view, warp-energy earthing itself around the hull.  It was transmitting ancient passphrases, the strength of the astropathic choir burning out the skulls of the unwary.

 

The Astartes are here

 

Within 15 seconds – a lifetime in void warfare – the Inner Fleet Commodore recognised his failings.  He retired to his night cabin and poured a small glass of amasec.  Before his Equerry could understand what was happening, the sharp retort of a pistol was heard on the Command Bridge.  By his actions, the Commodore had protected his family name, and ensured their future successes would be remembered, not his inability to defend the Sector Capital

 

The Astartes are here

 

The news whipped around the planetary system within minutes.  Traders began to assess if this meant war, and where they could make their money: supplies to the Fleet seemed the obvious choice.  Futures were brought and traded in bars planetside, the smart ones passed on making a quick credit.

 

The Astartes are here

 

It made it to the ears of the newly appointed Sector Governor.  He paused, straightened his day cloak and accepted it for what it was.  His installation was due in two days, and there was little the Astartes could do to change that.  Throne, they didn’t have the power – his carta of representation was sealed by the Segmentum Governor on Hydraphur.  Let them try and cause trouble.

 

The Astartes are here

 

Graf Avelina took note of their arrival and summoned a float-carriage.  It would be instructive to watch them land, she had never seen an Astartes before and she idly wondered if they were as powerful as legend made out…

 

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A small crowd had gathered on the landing fields.  Whilst he did not fear them, the new Governor could not ignore the presence of the Astartes.  A single message had informed the temporary Inner Fleet Commodore that they required the co-ordinates of the primary landing field, and they would arrive in orbit in due course.

 

Representatives of the powerful families jostled for position, eager to be seen by one another. Whilst none were over-keen to be the first to meet these war-gods, of whatever form they took, equally, none were going to let their rivals steal an unfettered moment.  Who knew, perhaps the Astartes might view them positively: the kudos a family could gain by having Astartes as allies was unfathomable.  More prosaically, the High Marshal of the Defence Force was there to meet the Astartes.  The representative of His Word and Power in this world, it was right they were the first inhabitants of Scintius to meet them.  The Death Heralds they had called themselves, a Chapter unknown to any within the sector.  Scholars were set to scouring the archives to see if any of the records recorded their deeds.

 

To the back, with an circle of emptiness around her, stood Graf Avelina.  Only her faithful companion could bear the strangeness that radiated from her.  She was known to the families, but she was never accepted.  There were rumours around her, not least when she disappeared from her family’s estate for decades.  She returned, looking younger than she should.  The more astute of these who watched her noticed the faint lines around both her wrists: she had lost her hands at some point, and the finest bionics had replaced them. Some claimed she’d been involved in esoteric research, others that she had been on a grand tour around the Segmentum, preparing for something, although as the second daughter of a fourth son of a previous Governor, no one could quite say what.  Regardless, she was a feature of the families and their social circuit, never to the fore, always radiating her strangeness.  She was invariably accompanied by her companion, an older women, known as Philomelia. Loud where her mistress was reserved, bawdiness seemed to a natural state.  She could be the ruin of a party if left unattended, and oftentimes Matriarchs sent a junior son to “entertain” her; they tended to come away as a more rounded and worldly character.

 

The intraplanetry craft came into view, much quicker than anyone was used to.  At a far too low altitude, it fired its retro engines, the wash buffeting the welcoming party.  With shock legs extended, it sat in the middle of the pad, clinking and whining sounds heard as the engines cooled down.  All stared expectantly, uncertain as to what would happen next.  Low grade entertain-casts typically had this moment when the Astartes came charging out in las-fire and gore, ready to cut down the enemies of the God-Emperor.  They all hoped that the Astartes would not be taking that approach.

 

At the craft’s bow, a ramp began to lower, hydraulics smoothly opening.  Smoke wafted out, reducing vision and adding to the tension.

 

They heard them before they saw them.  The sound of metal on metal, felt through the earth beneath their feet.  The first one cleared the smoke.  It looked like a thing of legend.  Some of the less robust amongst the families fainted, unprepared for the vision that was in front of them.  Even the Graf, galaxy-wise as she was, was impressed.  It – he – was huge, almost twice the height of a normal man, and more than double the breadth.  The armour was pale white, with the scarring of war evident.  His left arm finished in a massive powered claw, with a viscous liquid playing around the individual digits; in his right arm the weapon he carried was a massive double barrelled gun of some kind, with etching around the case and muzzle.  His face was not visible, protected by a helmet.  Over where the left eye should be was a collection of lenses, each independently focusing and re-focusing; the right eye-piece was startlingly blue.  At the top of the armoured suit, a series of exhausts in two lines , pumping out a visible gas.

 

He continued to move forward, and before they could continue to study him, a second Astartes came down the ramp.  Smaller than the first, his armour much less bulky.  Again, the same pale colour, but this time, all eyes were drawn to the helmet: completely smooth and featureless, it gave no sense as to who was behind it.  Two large pistols were carried, with conduits snaking back to his armour’s backpack. Even despite his relative smallness (but still one and half the size of any of the men on the landing field), danger radiated off him.  Whilst the first Astartes looked as though he could walk through anything untouched, this second one suggested that he would cut down in an instant anything he saw.

 

With all distracted, they did not notice a normal human being walk down the ramp.  Compared to what went before him, he was nothing.  But by himself, he was a stately and noble man, dressed in a short blue parade jacket, white breeches, black boots.  At his right hip was slung a large pistol, almost the size of the one carried by the second Astartes.  It was he who spoke first.

 

“Kneel for the Destroyer of Planets, the poisoner of Gamather, the Master of the Death Heralds’ Arsenal.  Kneel for Captain Gaius.  Kneel”.

 

Captain Gaius surveyed the landing field.  All of the families dropped to one knee, simply petrified.  Only the High Marshal and the Graf remained standing.

 

The noise that came from the Astartes was clear, almost sweet, standard Gothic, only slightly modulated by the vox-caster

 

“Stand. I am here to recognise Governor Megia on behalf of my honoured Master.  I wish to see him.”

 

The families scrambled to regain their feet, the politics of what had jut happened racing through their minds.  What had happened to make Megia so singled out? An honour? A warning? Were the traders right, was it to be war – did the Astartes expect tribute?

 

The High Marshal answered on their behalf

 

“Honoured Captain Gaius, Governor Megia of Scintius is humbled by your presence, and asks that you attend him at your convenience.”

 

“Now.”

 

The Astartes’ response brooked no discussion.  The High Marshal simply nodded.

 

“Follow me then, I shall take you.  I fear we may have to walk, we have nothing that could transport you appropriately.”

 

“Very well, lead the way.”

 

The families scattered, parting the way for the Astartes.  Graf Avelina remained stock still, having not moved since the ramp lowered.  As Captain Gaius passed her, he rotated to face her.  Helmet towards her, lenses stock still, he addressed her, raising his weapon in what only could be called a salute

 

“My Lady”

 

The Graf nodded in return, and made the sign of the Aquila

 

“Honoured Captain”

 

That really would set the tongues wagging she thought grimly…

 

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[Brother Lunkhead]

Good start .......looking forward to seeing more.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

This is a great setup. Here's hoping it'll be A New Hope to later chapters (pun not intended), and not The Force Awakens.