The Emperor's Light into the Dark
Techmarine Lukas Vochs sat in the command throne of the Lance of Hope, wired into its systems through the ports at the base of his skull and sporadically punched into the length of his spine. Many Space Marines initiated into the mysteries of Mars held the same contempt for flesh that the rest of the Cult Mechanicum did--but not so Lukas. His gene-crafted body was a creation of the Emperor in his manifestation on Terra, just as the cybernetics that joined his to his blood and bone was a blessing of the Emperor as Omnissiah on Mars. And so in equal reverence for his own nature as man and machine, Lukas sat naked, mechadendrites flexing from their insertion points into his skin, into the black carapace beneath his flesh, controlling the switches and levers and buttons of the command console before him. One of his serfs stood beside him, swinging a smoking censor, circumambulating him every two minutes, stopping to cense him again. Every five minutes, he took up his aspergillum brush and anointed Lukas's writhing bio-mechanics with holy oils.
Sword Brother Syvand Vechta stepped onto the bridge and the serfs, officers and crew alike, turned and knelt, each murmuring the words "Wisdom, Master!" as they ceremonially requested the Sword Brother's instruction. He waved his gauntleted hand dismissively and strode with purpose toward Lukas' command throne, the impact of his boots echoing through the bridge.
"Sword Brother, I await your word." Lukas whispered in greeting, barely audible, his voice strained. It was the words of the serfs and the sensors of the ship that told him it was Syvand--Lukas' own eyes were rolled up into the back of his head as he processed torrents of data.
"Brother Lukas," Syvand answered, placing a ceramite-clad hand on Lukas' shoulder. "The captain reported that we are nearing the space hulk, that we will be within range of its weapons soon," he repeated what Lukas already knew. "I am going to lead a boarding action," Syand declared. "What is the best path forward?"
"The uncertainty is significant," Lukas intoned, finally opening his eyes and swiveling in the command throne to face Syvand.
"Faith in the Emperor is the lamp that illuminates the path of the righteous, even into the utter dark," Syvand answered as easily as breathing.
"Yes, Brother, yes," Lukas whispered, nodding his head twice, eager to hear such words. "And the Emperor has given us light to enlighten our eyes and knowledge to enlighten our minds. The techngostikoi auto-divinators should guide us, and the Emperor's beneficence shall protect us. We should not jump in, Brother, because the foulnesss of the hulk runs too many risks of perverting our path. But I believe a sidereal pulse from the auto-divinators should allow us to trace weapon fire from the star chamber. Fractional seconds of fore-warning, but enough to help correct our course and direct our point-defense. It will be risky, but we will pray fervently that the Emperor forfends misfortune--we can get close enough to launch the gunship and board."
"No," Syand answered with a shake of his head. "We won't bring the Lance of Hope that close. We won't risk the loss of another of Urfa's auto-divinators. We will launch a boarding torpedo."
Lukas tilted his head in thought. "That, too, is best done close, Sword Brother. If we maintain the distance needed to keep the Lance safe, there will be ample opportunity for the space hulk to shoot down the boarding torpedos. And if we wish to recover the auto-divinator from the Litany of Absolution... how shall we do that from a boarding torpedo?"
"We will find a way because the Emperor will provide it," Syvand answered. "Some portion of the space hulk should hold some escape craft, if not the Litany itself. But in truth, Lukas, I cannot conscience half-measures here. Leaving on the gunship, even with the auto-divinator, is not enough for me. I will cut my way through the hulk and I will have the Litany back, with every soul that can still be saved from it. The gunship will be an unnecessary loss if we take it, so I think it must be a boarding torpedo. Perhaps we'll take only our best and use capacity for more fuel, or refit for more shielding; or prepare a payload of flakk and melta torpedos--I do not care, Lukas. I am going to pray the Fourth Office and the Litany of Hate. I need a report on the best way to board the Fulminating Antipathy within the parameters I have provided for you by the time I am done."
"Yes, master," Lukas nodded in obedience to his oathsworn commander, letting his misgivings burn away in the fire of his devotion. "All the evil aboard the Fulminating Antipathy is no match for the zeal of the Black Templar, by the Throne."
"In His name, Brother Lukas," Syvand nodded. "No pity."
"No remorse, Sword Brother Vechta," Lukas affirmed, rising to his feet, trailing the cables that connected him to his seat, and forming the sign of the aquila with both hands.
"No fear," Syvand answered back, lowering his head and catching the thumbs of his gauntlets together to mirror the aquiline salute.