Chapter 113: The Carpé Family's Reach
Duvette had assumed, before seeing it, that any Rogue Trader dynasty with the resources and standing to participate in a crusade assembling at the scale of the Sabbat Worlds operation would be operating from a position of substantial capability.
The assumption had been correct. The scale of it still surprised him.
Pyrite's low orbit was filled with the family's fleet.
Every soldier of the 112th was aboard the Munitorum-allocated military landers, already moving toward the Carpé assembly point. Duvette stood alone at the forward viewport in the cockpit space, looking through the reinforced glass at what was waiting for them.
At the absolute centre of the formation sat the flagship: a Conquest-class Star Galleon, enormous even against the scale that capital ships established as a baseline, its profile carrying the particular quality of Gothic architecture applied to something that had to function in vacuum. The prow bore the family's gilded crest. The broadside battery arrays were dense enough to constitute a structure on their own.
Flanking the flagship, two Dauntless-class light cruisers in close escort, their lance mounts prominent at the prow.
The outer defensive ring: six Sword-class frigates, fast and well-positioned, and four Cobra-class destroyers sitting in the shadows of the larger vessels at the angles that covered the approaches the frigates could not.
Behind the warships, the reason for all of it: three Universe-class mass transports, each one large enough to carry the full logistics requirement for a medium-scale planetary campaign. Massive, slow, carrying everything the expedition would need.
In the spaces between: a collection of smaller vessels, a dozen or so merchant ships of varied and unusual configuration, and several specialist work vessels whose purpose Duvette could not identify from the markings.
He ran the tactical assessment quietly.
A fleet of this combined combat capability, operating at the edges of Imperial space, would be a credible match for a formal naval patrol fleet assigned to protect a peripheral sector. Rogue Trader fleets were permitted to arm themselves heavily, the nature of their work required it. And a fleet this size implied a ground force of well-equipped private soldiers numbering in the tens of thousands, conservatively.
Imperial law placed limits on what Rogue Traders could field on the ground, however. Warships and individual arms, yes. An organized formation of heavy armoured infantry with organic tank support, the kind of asset the 112th represented. No. The distinction was the reason he was here.
His assessment settled: the alliance he had formed was with an entity considerably more capable than his initial estimate.
The military lander's engines shifted in pitch as the final approach began. At a certain distance, the Galleon's armour plating on the starboard side slid apart in sections, revealing a flight deck large enough to receive a dozen of the military landers simultaneously. Tractor beams extended in blue lines from the deck's interior and locked onto the approaching craft with practiced precision. The mechanical docking bridge extended and drew the landers in, the atmospheric pressurization cycling as each craft settled onto the polished deck plating.
The hatch dropped.
Duvette was first through it.
The sound that greeted him was a single sharp metallic report, simultaneous across both sides of the docking corridor: the Carpé household troops coming to attention. They were stationed in two formal lines the full length of the approach. The equipment they were wearing was high-grade carapace armour in the family's livery, with elaborate surface finishing that communicated this was not operational field kit but presentation armour, selected specifically for this moment. Naval shotguns, polished and ceremonial in position. Monomolecular combat blades at the hip, the mark of an elite household formation.
The eyes behind the visors watched the 112th deploy from the landers with an evaluating quality that was not quite contempt but was in that general direction.
Duvette took in the formation with a single unhurried sweep. His brow moved the minimum necessary distance to register mild curiosity.
An arranged intimidation display. He filed the observation and looked behind him.
The 112th's veterans were fanning out from the landers. The household troops in their presentation armour received the same expression of mild, slightly entertained indifference from three thousand soldiers who had spent the last several months fighting Tyranids at close range in underground tunnels. The psychological pressure of ornate carapace and polished shotguns produced no visible effect on people who had watched a Hive Tyrant reduce their orbital support to nothing and had kept going.
The tactical evaluation was quick. If it came to it, and it would not come to it, but if it did: thirty percent casualties on his side to achieve a complete result. The numbers did not favor the household.
Three figures were walking toward him from the far end of the hangar.
Venus Carpé, in full aristocratic dress this time, the elaborate construction of her clothes communicating the occasion's formal register. Beside her, a young man Duvette had not seen before, in well-fitted formal attire with the practiced ease of someone who had worn it since childhood. And ahead of both of them, guiding the introduction, a considerably older man in silk robes, the left half of his skull replaced with a clean integration of mechanical components fitted with the precision of decades of maintenance.
They stopped in front of him.
The older man inclined forward with the ease of someone who has performed a greeting several thousand times and has found the version that communicates exactly what it intends to.
"Welcome, Colonel-Commissar. Welcome, heroes of the Emperor, to the Carpé family's flagship." His tone had warmth without any component of performance. "I am Brandon, the family's major-domo. All fleet operational matters pass through my coordination. Please address me by name at your convenience."
Venus stepped forward beside Brandon and indicated the young man at her side.
"Colonel-Commissar Duvette. This is my full blood brother, Julius Carpé."
Julius stepped forward. The salute he offered was the formal chest-touch of Imperial nobility, precise in every particular. He lifted his head and produced a smile that carried something underneath it, not hostility, but the particular quality of a person who is measuring something.
"Your reputation precedes you, Colonel-Commissar." His voice was even and pleasant. "The Carpé family is grateful for the assistance you provided on Pyrite. Clearing that minor trouble was a considerable service."
Duvette's expression did not move. He gave a brief, flat nod.
The air in the hangar carried one uncomfortable second.
Brandon read it immediately and covered the distance with practiced grace.
"Colonel-Commissar, to express the family's respect for the Emperor's finest, we have prepared the fleet's best rest facilities for the 112th on the upper decks. Pressurized private quarters, high-grade provisions, the best the flagship carries--"
"We won't need them."
No hesitation. Duvette produced a brief courtesy to make clear the refusal was not personal.
"The Emperor's warriors shouldn't be made comfortable by luxury. They've had sufficient rest on Pyrite. Soft conditions are a degradation of operational readiness."
He let a pause settle the point and added the practical element.
"Allocate us an independent section of the mid-deck or a cleared cargo hold. Standard military billet specifications will do."
Brandon inclined his head with immediate agreement and confirmed it would be arranged to the 112th's operational standards.
Duvette gave his thanks, turned on his heel, and faced the regiment assembled behind him.
"Full regiment. Hear this." The voice carried through the full height of the flight deck with no effort. "Upon reaching assigned quarters, immediate transition to second-level combat readiness. No personnel are to leave the regimental area without my direct authorization. Any violation of this order will be handled under military law."
"Sir!" Three thousand fists struck three thousand breastplates in a single percussion that the Galleon's flight deck took a moment to absorb.
He turned back. Venus and Julius were watching him. Brandon was already organizing the transit logistics with the quiet efficiency of a man who has handled many such arrangements.
"The family's senior staff are waiting on the flag bridge, Colonel-Commissar." Brandon indicated the corridor that led toward the ship's core lifts. "We would like to conduct the first genuine tactical session before we depart, to establish the operational plan for Omicron-Nine in detail."
Duvette had expected this. He nodded without ceremony and transferred the regiment's settling-in to Evan.
He straightened his coat, settled his hand on the hilt of the power sword, and fell in behind Venus and Julius without pausing.
The flag bridge was ahead of them.