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be driven insane. Astropaths were vital to the function of the Imperium; without them, messages could not be communicated over vast distances, and forces could not be readied and co-ordinated. Even so, it was an inexact science. Messages both sent and received by the Astra Telepathica were often nought but a string of images and vague sense-impressions. Wires and thick cables snaked from the vestibule, slaving the astropaths to the control hub, where their ‘messages’ could be logged and inter-preted.
    ‘It started fifteen minutes ago,’ said the stationmaster, an elder-ly veteran of the Imperial Army with cables running from under his shaved scalp, plugged into the command ports of the consoles set above the astropathic chamber. ‘We’ve only received fragments of meaning, so far. All we know for certain is that they come from a distant source. Thus far, only part of the message has reached us. Our astropaths are endeavouring to extract the rest as I speak to you.’
    Cestus turned to regard the stationmaster and in turn the gibbering astropaths. Beneath the protective psy-skin, he could see their wasted bodies, swaddled in ragged robes. He heard the hissing of sibilant non sequiturs. The astropaths drooled spittle as they spoke, their sputum collecting against the inner material of the skin enveloping them. Their bone-like fingers were twitching as their minds attempted to infiltrate the empyrean.
    ‘Falkman, sire,’ said the stationmaster by way of introduction with a shallow bow. His right leg was augmetic and, judging by his awkward movements, most of his right side, which was probably why he had been sidelined to age and atrophy at Van-29

    Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
    gelis, no longer fit to taste of the Imperium’s glory on the battlefield. Cestus pitied his fragility and that of all non-Astartes.
    ‘Could it be a distress beacon sent from a ship?’ Antiges broke through Cestus’s thoughts with his assertive questioning.
    ‘We have been unable to discern that yet, sire, but it is unlikely,’
    said Falkman, his face darkening as he turned to Saphrax.
    ‘The nature of the message was... broken, more like a psychic cry delivered with extreme force. With the warp in tumult the energy used to send it was unpredictable,’ said Saphrax, ‘and it was no beacon. There was a single message; the pattern does not repeat. We think perhaps it was an astropathic death scream.’
    ‘And that is not all.’
    Cestus’s gaze was questioning.
    Saphrax’s face was grim.
    ‘We have yet to receive word from the Fist of Macragge .’ The banner bearer of the honour guard let the words hang there, unwilling to voice what was implied.
    ‘I will not make any negative conclusions,’ Cestus replied quietly, unwilling to give in to what he feared. ‘We must believe that—’
    The three astropaths slaved to the control hub began convulsing as the full force of the psychic scream made its presence felt.
    Blood spurted inside the psy-skin covering them and looked hazy and bright viewed from outside it. The wasted limbs of the astropaths pressed against the material, forcing it tight, their muscles held in spasm as they writhed in agony. Cogitators set around the hub above them were spewing reams of data as the astropaths fought to control the visions rushing into their minds.
    Smoke clouded the already hazy interior of the psy-skin as it rose from their decrepit bodies. Consoles sparked and exploded as wrathful electricity arced and spat. It earthed into the wizened frames of the astropaths, carried by the wires and cables, now little more than human conductors for its power. As one, they threw their heads back and a backwash of pure psychic force was unleashed in a terrible death scream that resonated throughout the room. The astropaths became a conduit for it, the strength of 30

    Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
    the psychic emission made many times more powerful by the volatile state of the warp.
    Walls