stony silent as if processing what had happened in the reactor. He touched a fang totem attached to his cuirass with an inward expression.
‘There is little left,’ confessed Falkman, who, though he had managed to restore lighting and some of the basic functions of the hub, had failed to recover the entire astropathic message. ‘I 40
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
need to get one of the logic engines functioning if I’m to decipher it with any degree of certitude, but this is what we have.’
Cestus glared at the pict-slate of the psy-receiver as the broken images cycled slowly: a gauntleted fist wreathed in a laurel of steel, a golden book, what appeared to be the hull of a ship and a cluster of indistinct stars. Cestus knew of a fifth image. Though his rational mind told him otherwise, in his heart, the Ultramarine knew what he had seen – the range of mountains, the lustr-ous green and blue – it was unmistakable. He also knew what he had felt: a sense of belonging, like coming home.
‘Macragge,’ he whispered, and felt suddenly cold.
41
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
FOUR
Divine inspiration
A gathering
Contact
MHOTEP STARED INTO the water, so still and clear its surface was like silver. The face that stared back at him had hard and chiselled features with a handsome bone structure, despite the vel-vet cowl that partly concealed it. Hooded eyes spoke of intelligence, and skin, so tan and smooth that it was utterly without imperfection, suggested the nature of his Legion: the Thousand Sons.
Mhotep was dressed in iridescent robes that pooled like deep red liquid around him as he knelt with head bowed. Stitched in runes, his attire suggested the arcane. He was at the heart of his private sanctum.
The ellipse-shaped chamber had a low ceiling that enhanced the sense of claustrophobia created by the sheer volume of esoteric paraphernalia within. Stacks of scroll cases and numerous shelves, replete with well-thumbed archaic tomes, warred for space with crys-glass cabinets filled with bizarre arcana: an ocu-lum of many hued lenses, a bejewelled gauntlet, a plain silver mask fashioned into an ersatz skull. Upon a raised dais, there was a planetarium in miniature, rendered from gold, the stellar bodies represented by gemstones. Gilt-panelled walls were swathed in ancient charts in burnished metal frames, cast in the azure glow of eldritch lamps.
A red marble floor stretched across the entire room, engraved with myriad paths of interlocking and concentric circles. Runes 42
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
of onyx and jet, etched into the stone, punctuated the sweeping arcs without regularity. Mhotep was at the nexus of the design, at the point where all of the interweaving circles converged.
A chime registered in a vox-emitter built into the sanctum’s entry system, indicating a guest.
‘Enter, Kalamar,’ said Mhotep.
A hiss of escaping pressure accompanied the aide as the door to the sanctum opened and he shuffled into the room.
‘How did you know it was I, Lord Mhotep?’ asked Kalamar, his speech fraught with age and decrepitude.
‘Who else would it be, old friend? I do not need the prescience of Magnus to predict your presence in my sanctum.’
Mhotep bent towards the bowl, plunging both hands into the water to lightly splash his face. As he came back up, he withdrew his cowl and the lamp light reflected from his bald scalp.
‘And I need no sophisticated augury to divine that you bring important news, either,’ Mhotep added, dabbing his face with his sleeve.
‘Of course, sire. I meant no offence,’ said Kalamar, bowing acutely. The serf was blind, and wore ocular implants; the augmetic bio-sensors built into his eye cavities could not ‘see’ as such, but detected heat and provided limited spatial awareness.
Kalamar supplemented his somewhat unorthodox visual affliction with a silvered cane.
‘My lord, we have docked at Vangelis,’ he added finally, confirming
‘There is little left,’ confessed Falkman, who, though he had managed to restore lighting and some of the basic functions of the hub, had failed to recover the entire astropathic message. ‘I 40
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
need to get one of the logic engines functioning if I’m to decipher it with any degree of certitude, but this is what we have.’
Cestus glared at the pict-slate of the psy-receiver as the broken images cycled slowly: a gauntleted fist wreathed in a laurel of steel, a golden book, what appeared to be the hull of a ship and a cluster of indistinct stars. Cestus knew of a fifth image. Though his rational mind told him otherwise, in his heart, the Ultramarine knew what he had seen – the range of mountains, the lustr-ous green and blue – it was unmistakable. He also knew what he had felt: a sense of belonging, like coming home.
‘Macragge,’ he whispered, and felt suddenly cold.
41
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
FOUR
Divine inspiration
A gathering
Contact
MHOTEP STARED INTO the water, so still and clear its surface was like silver. The face that stared back at him had hard and chiselled features with a handsome bone structure, despite the vel-vet cowl that partly concealed it. Hooded eyes spoke of intelligence, and skin, so tan and smooth that it was utterly without imperfection, suggested the nature of his Legion: the Thousand Sons.
Mhotep was dressed in iridescent robes that pooled like deep red liquid around him as he knelt with head bowed. Stitched in runes, his attire suggested the arcane. He was at the heart of his private sanctum.
The ellipse-shaped chamber had a low ceiling that enhanced the sense of claustrophobia created by the sheer volume of esoteric paraphernalia within. Stacks of scroll cases and numerous shelves, replete with well-thumbed archaic tomes, warred for space with crys-glass cabinets filled with bizarre arcana: an ocu-lum of many hued lenses, a bejewelled gauntlet, a plain silver mask fashioned into an ersatz skull. Upon a raised dais, there was a planetarium in miniature, rendered from gold, the stellar bodies represented by gemstones. Gilt-panelled walls were swathed in ancient charts in burnished metal frames, cast in the azure glow of eldritch lamps.
A red marble floor stretched across the entire room, engraved with myriad paths of interlocking and concentric circles. Runes 42
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
of onyx and jet, etched into the stone, punctuated the sweeping arcs without regularity. Mhotep was at the nexus of the design, at the point where all of the interweaving circles converged.
A chime registered in a vox-emitter built into the sanctum’s entry system, indicating a guest.
‘Enter, Kalamar,’ said Mhotep.
A hiss of escaping pressure accompanied the aide as the door to the sanctum opened and he shuffled into the room.
‘How did you know it was I, Lord Mhotep?’ asked Kalamar, his speech fraught with age and decrepitude.
‘Who else would it be, old friend? I do not need the prescience of Magnus to predict your presence in my sanctum.’
Mhotep bent towards the bowl, plunging both hands into the water to lightly splash his face. As he came back up, he withdrew his cowl and the lamp light reflected from his bald scalp.
‘And I need no sophisticated augury to divine that you bring important news, either,’ Mhotep added, dabbing his face with his sleeve.
‘Of course, sire. I meant no offence,’ said Kalamar, bowing acutely. The serf was blind, and wore ocular implants; the augmetic bio-sensors built into his eye cavities could not ‘see’ as such, but detected heat and provided limited spatial awareness.
Kalamar supplemented his somewhat unorthodox visual affliction with a silvered cane.
‘My lord, we have docked at Vangelis,’ he added finally, confirming
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