01x05 - Tempest

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Master of Helm, bring us narrow-about.

We've got one shot at this b*stard.

Master of Ordnance,

forward batteries on full rotation.

Blast that thing from the void.

Damage report.

Ablative plates

fractured. Main integrity sound, Mistress.

Then for Emperor's sake,

shut off that alarm.

I'm well aware we're in the rough-wash.

Judgement lost, Ship Mistress.

Switching our ident beacon to lead ship.

The fleet is yours.

Master of Vox, survivors?

Several beacons showing active,

Ship Mistress.

There's too much interference

to discern whose.

Sergeant Kazarion was aboard that vessel.

Comm, dispatch Thunderhawks

at full thrust.

If he's still alive, my lord,

we'll bring him home.

Forewarning, Mistress.

Cogitators estimate at half battery

we'll exhaust munitions

in less than five minutes standard.

We haven't even drawn the blood of it yet.

Get us to boarding range.

There may only be a few of us left,

but we're not done yet.

What the g*ns of this ship

cannot accomplish,

we will do with bolter and blade.

As you command, my lord.

Master of Helm, angle us

towards the organism's centre mass.

Maximum thrust.

Aye, Ship Mistress.

Hadrael, charge the teleportarium.

My honour guard and I will translate

as soon as range is achieved.

I shall see it done, brother.

The Angel light the darkness ahead.

Rafael, Ancaeus,

lead the last of our brothers

to the boarding torpedoes.

I do not need to tell you,

old friend, that even in victory

we will likely meet our end here.

Then our duty is done.

In w*r born and in w*r ended.

And for those of the Blood,

only in death does duty end.

Let us just be sure we take

a wrathful tally of the xenos with us.

You have served me well, daughter of Baal.

The Blood keep you.

As it armours you, lord.

All hands, arm yourselves.

We are closing to as*ault distance.

Brace for impact.

Ship Mistress, there is an urgent signal.

It'll have to wait

until the next life, Vitoria.

From Baal, Mistress.

Lord Dante himself calls us home.

Verify.

All codes and rites are a match, my lord.

The order is genuine.

We are to fall back.

The seventh fleet must have failed.

The Tyranids have cut a clear path

to the Chapter world.

Lord, the manufactorum world

has not completed its evacuation.

This sector and the next relies

upon the weapons produced here.

If we fall back now

I know.

Let us not be unclear

that we are about to condemn

billions to death.

Lord Dante would not give

such a command lightly.

Make all speed, Mistress.

In the Angel's name, Baal cannot fall.

Whatever the cost.

Order confirmed. We fall back to Baal.

Get us clear

and begin the rituals of translation.

This is Ship Mistress Livia Solken,

Strike Cruiser Sword of Baal,

of the Baal Protectorate.

I am the ranking fleet officer.

Comply with order 817-43, return to Baal.

Execute immediately.

Aye.

Mistress,

we have Sergeant Kazarion on board.

Thank the Angel for small mercies.

Techmarine Hadrael confirms there were

no other survivors from the Judgement.

Master of Helm, punch us down and through.

All power to starboard weapons

as we pass that thing.

Seal all compartments

through starboard outer decks.

We're not getting through

without a few scars.

All hands, brace for translation to Warp.

Master of Helm, do we have an entry point?

Navigator confirms course ready.

Then by the blood of Sanguinius,

get us out of here.

May the Angel's grace preserve us

from the perils that lie beyond.

Ship Mistress!

Navigator Nissus is screaming!

System anomalies throughout the ship!

Massive aetheric disruption.

Blood of Baal, the void is coming apart!

Throne!

What in the Emperor's name just happened?

We're in the Warp, Ship Mistress.

But we are rudderless

and in the grip of storm tides!

Navigator, report.

We are blinded by its passing.

The Great Rift, once whole,

now torn. Torn!

All is red and night!

The light! The light is gone!

I have no patience for your riddles.

Speak plain.

The light, Mistress.

The light cannot shine in many darknesses.

We are lost

in the breaking of the universe.

All stations report. Day 38.

Internal chronometers read a three-hour

inconsistency between bow and stern.

Outbreaks of madness within tolerance.

Violators expunged.

Resetting for day 39

by internal chronometer.

Secondary Navigator Tabor at station

after Primary Navigator expired.

Forgive me, Mistress,

but what are your orders now?

Unless the situation changes,

we wait.

We can do nothing

until the Navigator finds us a path.

Until then we continue to stand ready.

While the universe burns,

and the storms throw us like scrap.

Mistress!

Navigator reports a weak contact.

Confirm.

Confirmed.

Astropathic message repeats,

"Safe harbour".

Is the Navigator able to steer a course?

- He believes so.

- Yes or no?

Yes.

Master of Helm,

stick fast to the Navigator's call.

Get us back to realspace.

Helm, all engine stop.

All stations, diagnostics.

Master of Auspex, where are we?

Cogitating.

Sensorium confirms

translation to realspace.

Acquiring astral map references now.

We're on the fringe

of the Niades System, however

something is throwing out

the galactic plane.

I know we're here.

I just don't know where here is.

What of Baal?

How far are we from the Chapter planet?

Lord, forgive me,

but we are blind beyond this system.

We cannot pierce the veil of the storm.

Navigator.

Yes, lord.

- Can we translate to the Warp again?

- No, lord.

Neither I, nor this vessel,

are in fit state.

We're receiving a signal

from the second planet.

Show us.

Signal is offering

safe harbour and supplies.

The Imperial coding verifies.

What do we know of Niades?

A collection of mineral worlds.

Ore mining and gas refineries feed

a central planet

near the heart of the system.

They should be amply prepared

for ship salvage and repair.

For the moment,

it seems we have little choice

but to make harbour

and accept what aid they have.

Agreed, Lord.

Master of Helm, take us in.

Achieved maximum weapons range

of the orbital, Ship Mistress.

Slow engines.

Full auspex sweep.

The orbital tower appears

to be functional.

There are civilian craft

in proximity to it,

damaged but operational.

Assessment?

No sign of weapons fire or void battle.

They look storm-wrecked.

I don't think we were the only ones

wrenched through the Warp.

What of the planet?

Heavy radiation signals

across its landmass.

Atmospheric signs suggest

multiple macro-weapon detonations.

This planet has been devastated

by w*r, Mistress.

One city remains at the base of the tower.

There is a high degree

of signal and auspex interference.

Likely a fallout

of rad-weapon detonations.

I cannot get a read on life signs or-

Incoming audio burst

from the orbital dock.

Manifold greetings and welcome.

We of the Niades Governance extend

the hand of help and friendship.

This is the Sword of Baal,

warship of the Blood Angels Chapter

of the Adeptus Astartes.

Your offer of aid is welcome.

We are honoured

and humbled to serve and aid you.

Please approach and dock at station three.

What befell your world?

w*r, rebellion.

When the Great Rift split the heavens

many years ago, much fell into anarchy.

We waited for divine aid from the stars,

but it did not come.

Now the last of us wait to leave

when the storms finally pass.

Years ago?

We were not in the Warp that long.

It is not unheard of

for vessels to reappear

from the Warp outside their time.

The Immaterium's currents are

neither benevolent nor linear.

Speculating serves us ill, Brother.

The Angel only knows what other oddities

this storm has wrought.

The Chaplain is right.

We must do what we can

and trust in the strength

of our brothers to prevail.

Complete docking procedures.

We make quick repair and continue to Baal.

Aye, lord.

The storm has been

a blight on us all, indeed.

We are manoeuvring to dock.

Received, honoured guest.

We humbly await your arrival.

Kazarion still does not join us.

He will. He has only recently returned

from the long watch.

Give him time, brother.

He is

changed.

As we are all.

Time's ills are only furthered by w*r.

In his blood Kazarion is the same son

of Baal he has always been.

My lords, Ship Mistress,

we have received

an audio packet from the planet's surface.

- Source?

- Unknown.

It was just a short burst that made it

through the interference.

- Message?

- It is cyphered

in encryption of the highest level.

Decryption rituals are cogitating.

It's a set of coordinates.

Confirmed.

Designated site is within the city.

Prepare a gunship for launch.

I'm going down to that city.

Sergeant Ancaeus, you hold command.

I shall ready the squad.

No, brother.

We cannot afford to commit

our full strength without firmer cause

or more tactical information.

Then allow me the honour

of reconnaissance.

You would rob me of respite

from this inaction?

Never.

Ensure the Sword is ready

to cast off when I return.

As you will it, lord.

Good hunting.

As the Blood wills it.

Pilot signals final approach, Captain.

Prepare.

Egress! Go.

Negative contacts.

The signal coordinates are

in that direction.

I've never seen air filtration

corridors as large as these.

They must feed the tower.

Or perhaps subterranean dwellings.

How hollowed-out

do you think this rock is?

There's enough thermal piping to suggest

a modest populace could survive

below ground.

Perhaps that's how

our would-be benefactors

survived the w*r here.

In there.

Stay alert.

Hold.

I am Brother-Captain Orpheo

of the Blood Angels.

Step forward and be known.

I am designated Magos Castia-Theta-9

of the Adeptus Mechanicus,

speaking through this servitor unit.

You shall authenticate

or be considered hostile.

Code signal identification broadcast.

Listen well, Captain Orpheo.

Blood Angel.

Relaying the contextual data you require.

This world is perverted

by the corporaptor hominis xenos species.

Tyranids.

There is material vital to the Omnissiah

that must be preserved.

Success in this venture is critical.

You shall follow

my proxy servitor and secure it.

Movement!

Cut a path back to the gunship!

Negative.

You must follow this servitor to safety.

Xenos! Target high!

Get to the Thunderhawk

and take off!

I will not leave you, brother.

You must get word to the Sword.

I will give you what time I can.

Now go!

We are

the Emperor's will made flesh.

We are taken from the dust.

We shed our weaknesses,

our frailty,

to become

Angels.