Aeschelus and a cluster of his warriors watched the real time vid-feed from the palaces as the massive installation powered out of its ordained orbit. Heat and light flared from the lower levels as they skimmed the outer atmosphere. Ahead, the necron bulk hauler hung like a black obelisk against the distant stars, the jade engine-gleam of its transports shining across bizarrely faceted sides.

The palaces’ guns opened fire, streaming plasma and shells into the alien vessel. Amid the fury of the Imperial commander’s fusillade the glow of atmospheric entry grew bright. Fronds of white and yellow passed across the vid-feed, briefly eclipsing the blue of plasma bolts and dark red of high explosive detonations.

‘In the Emperor’s name, they shall be remembered,’ Aeschelus intoned solemnly, watching as a green crack of light spread along the length of the alien obelisk. Secondary fractures snaked outwards as the palaces continued their bombardment.

The view was almost lost as the flare of atmospheric friction grew brighter and brighter, but in the final few seconds before the feed died, Aeschelus saw the mysterious alien edifice split, a shard larger than a starship falling away from its side, the break blazing with emerald sparks.

The screen turned to static even as Aeschelus felt a lifting of the burden that had weighed upon his thoughts for many days. He heard a laugh from one of the Primaris Marines behind him, for no particular reason yet infectious all the same. Aeschelus turned and smiled at his battle-brothers, giving release to the relief he felt.

He thought of the massive enemy fleet still coming towards the planet but met the recollection without fear. In the other direction, the Ithraca’s Vengeance had passed out of range, accelerating towards the periphery.

‘May the Emperor speed you onwards, Prax,’ he whispered. ‘By our deaths we honour the Lord on the Throne, but by your life you protect His servants.’

There was no way to outrun the xenos scum, Praxa­medes concluded with reluctance. Admitting that they were not going to turn back meant he faced a decision. He had hoped when the sensors had picked up the destruction of the necron heavy hauling ship that the escorts would be afflicted in some way. They had not. With single-minded persistence they continued to close on the Ithraca’s Vengeance despite running the strike cruiser’s engines at one hundred and twenty per cent capacity. Very soon the plasma drives would explode under the pressure.

He viewed the system charts, looking for inspiration, wishing he could have some lateral leap of thinking like Aeschelus or Nem­etus. Something like using a gravity well to accelerate, or a way to slow down the necron attackers.

A sudden blurting from the navigational servitors drew his eye. Officer Kaloses translated their distress.

‘Lieutenant commander, we have a spatial obstruction four thousand miles ahead.’