In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war. And pauldrons. Orks, lots of Orks, too. And their dakka. Xenos and heretics out the wazoo, certainly. Lost technology, space hulks, enormous vehicles and plenty of skull motifs…. Come to think of it, there are plenty of things in the grim darkness of the far future beyond war. There is one more important something that exists in the far future that bears mentioning….

            Mistakes.

            Errors, if you will. There are always blunders to be made, ranging from the trivial – misspelling a word – to the inconsequential – signalling the guardsmen to charge the charging monstrous xenos rather than calling in the artillery – to the embarrassing – such as misspelling the name of the planet on which to perform an Exterminatus. Honestly, a mistake like that people will be laughing about for years.

            Then there are the kinds of mistakes that lead to one running off with only the clothing on their back or – if the timing is just right – anything within arms reach as well. The crew of the mining and salvage ship Paragon of Exile were uniquely this; a remarkable assembly of five people of different backgrounds, each to have erred in a fashion so severe that there would be no going home for any of them.

            At the helm of the tiny vessel was Haran, an Eldar blessed with agility, dexterity, and senses above a great many of his kin. A little too blessed with the senses, in that unlike his stoic kin, this slender redhead was one of emotional extremes, unable to achieve anything resembling the standard of stoicism employed by his kind. At earlier ages, when his emotional outbursts were attributed to the folly and inexperience of youth, it was jokingly said he would one day bring about a lesser incarnation of Slaanesh, or perhaps Khorne. As he got older yet no less impulsive with his feelings, it stopped being cute to his people. One Warp Gate to anywhere later and he was looking for work.

            At the opposite end of the thirty-some meter long vessel, monitoring the state of the engines and miniature power plant, was the Tau Fio’el D’yanoi Kais M’yen. Oh, she was a cheerful sort who had been good at her job, fitting in to her role within the Earth Caste perfectly; fixing up everything from basic drones and firearms to the battlesuits of the elite cadres. Why, the blue-skinned alien was even dutifully fixing a pulse rifle while an Ethereal was publically addressing the people of her district. One lousy misfire when adjusting the power couplings, and she’s catching the next shuttle off world as the sacred leader is being treated for injuries to his left buttocks.

            One room on the right before the bridge, a former Sister of Battle was ensuring the ship’s medical supplies were in order in preparation for their next salvage operation. Sophia was everything the Order of Our Martyred Lady could have hoped for: strong, ruthless, and efficient; perfect for bringing about utter destruction to those guilty of heresy. She even had standard issue platinum blonde highlights put in to compliment her normally pitch black hair.

            Unfortunately – and this had caused her to take off like a guardsman out of the Eye of Terror – she had been heard asking the phrase: “Who’s ‘the Emperor’?” Now, granted, that merits a death sentence for anyone, anywhere in the Imperium of Man, but for someone belonging to an organization known as the Daughters of the Emperor, the expectation that you know who the Emperor – saviour and unifier of mankind – is.

            Waiting in the cargo bay, was the largest of the ship’s crew; a man over seven feet tall and disproportionately broad for a man of his height, clad in power armour that made the giant appear even larger. His face was the only part of his body exposed to air, his skin a deep ebony outmatched only by his trimmed head of hair and beard. A former Space Marine – proud member of the Salamanders chapter of the Adeptus Astartes – who had resigned himself to a role as the loader of the Paragon of Exile. His departure was one of shame, though it wasn’t as if he could legally leave the ship chapter so even his was a disgraceful fleeing.

            Throughout his career, he tried desperately to perform admirably, but it all seemed to end in failure. Even with the assistance of his power armour, his accuracy was one-in-ten at best with a bolter, and he holds an astounding record of having missed a target – at point blank range – with a flamer. It didn’t matter that his weapon was found to contain a defect preventing the ignited promethium from projecting directly in front of the weapon; a miss was a miss. Even now, here he was serving aboard a ship with two xenos.

            Sitting in the ship’s sensors room, just across from the ship’s locker where Sophia was performing her checks, was Iggy, not there to perform his duties aboard the ship – far from it, he wasn’t giving the controls any more than a cursory glance and it wasn’t his job in the first place – but making use of its chair to inspect his lasgun. Former Imperial Guardsman, his dereliction of duty was the most curious of them all. Unlike the others, this ordinary human – average height and build with a nondescript face and military haircut – had just been just another one of the billions of soldiers in one of the millions of regiments. No standing out, no getting ahead, either be fortunate enough to survive to the end of his service term or be yet another body littering some godforsaken planet.

            That was what he had expected to happen; reality wasn’t quite so predictable. His regiment was one of the many with the duty of holding the line against a Tyranid Hive Fleet until the Adeptus Astartes could come save the day. The battle had been going well until out of the Warp they were beset by the heretics of Chaos, lead by a Daemon Prince. Caught in a pincer attack by two unrelated foes, even the commissar assigned to his squad had opted out of the battle, biting the bullet. Iggy didn’t have that sort of sense, nor the time to plan things out like his leader, caught directly between the leader of the forces of Chaos and the massive Hive Tyrant leading the current wave of Tyranids. His standard issue lasgun did nothing to the beast’s thick carapace or to the daemon. The chainsword he lifted off the dead commissar fared only slightly better.

            Slightly better was just enough for Iggy, however. To make short a long tale, the guardsman stood victorious over the remains of the Daemon Prince he had cast back to the Warp and the tank-sized armoured alien before the heroic Space Marines had arrived. Fearing what the elite forces would do to him for having stolen their glory, the guardsman took advantage of the miserable state of the battlefield and deceased commanding officer to hop a ship as far away as he could. It was in good time, for not long after getting off world did he see the yellow-clad marines soar towards the battlefield, riding the mere engines of landing craft that had been deemed ‘too slow’ for their tastes.

            Though a small ship; not at all large enough for a crew of five, an intercom was in place to let anyone speak to anyone or everyone else. It crackled to life – poor, worn system that it was – so that Haran could make his announcement.

            “Fuck yeah!” he shouted enthusiastically, causing the audio to sound even worse. “Space hulk found on the scanners! Let’s loot this bitch and make some fucking sweet scratch!” Laughter was all the followed until the end of the transmission.

             Iggy shook his head at the sound of the Eldar’s unbridled excitement; while space hulks were rich with exploitable cargo at times, they were also one of the last places in known space he’d wish to venture for the horrors lurking within. What might this one hold? Omnicidal brutes? A ravenous swarm? Perhaps some good old fashion daemons from the Warp. If he was lucky, it would be the nigh-unkillable soul-powered robots that would have him disintegrated with a single shot. If he wasn’t, then Haran’s dark brethren would be lying in wait.

            What a miserable day to be part of the boarding team.

            The door to the comms room slid open faster than it otherwise should have, revealing an armoured bosom and the woman behind it, standing there with her bob cut hair – naturally black with platinum blond highlights put in.

            “Suit up,” she smiled, “we’ve a busy day ahead of us. I hope this one was a medical supply ship; we’re could use some more antibiotics.”

            If there were Orks aboard, he prayed that it was; the sorts of infections that their weapons lead to were unimaginable. But at least that was all they were—

            “…As well as anaesthetics, bandages…oh, for the last few weeks I’ve been using a needle from a sewing kit for stitches….”

            Swallowing hard, the former guardsman had never been happier to have avoided serious injury. “I trust we’re doing it the usual way?”

            She smiled cheerfully. “You betcha; by the book, all the way.”

            With a click of the tongue, he shook his head. “If we could afford to, I’d love to do it by the book. But I’d hate to go through the trouble of getting that much Terminator armour in the first place. Anyways; how many frag grenades do we have left?”

            Staring off into space, the woman counted on her fingers before just waving it away. “Um…I think…three?”

            “You…think?”

            “I don’t know; maybe Silas is hanging on to a couple.”

            “Fair enough,” he sighed, holding onto his lasgun with one hand and pushing against his knee with the other as he stood. “I’ll get my flak vest on and meet you by the airlock. You…do have enough ammo for this, right? It’s not just going to be me doing all the shooting, is it?”

            She smiled happily. “Oh, don’t you worry; I have my gun and knife waiting by the door already.”

            Sophia made them sound so small and inconspicuous; like what she was taking along was vastly underwhelming given the scenarios they often faced. Of course, to anyone else, that knife was an Eviscerator – a chainsword so large it was effective at tearing down walls or rending a vehicle’s armour plating. Her gun, on the other hand, was a Heavy Bolter: a belt-fed cannon that spat out fist-sized rocket-propelled slugs fitted with armour piercing tips and explosive cores.

            Back in the days he served as part of the Imperial Guard, teams of men carried one of them and their ammo boxes before mounting them on tripods just to be able to make use of a Heavy Bolter. He had heard tell of speciality Space Marines known as Devastators who could make use of them by hand, provided a sturdy stance was made on top of their power armour.

            It never ceased to astound and baffle Iggy, then, that she could fire the blasted thing with a single hand.

            “I’ll bet Silas is already on standby with his torch,” she remarked. By ‘torch’, she meant a flamer that spat super-hot chemicals that stuck to its victims like a vicious descendant of napalm.

            “So long as he can do the heavy lifting for us,” Iggy breathed. If there was some less dangerous job he could be doing, he’d have gladly changed careers. Too bad there wasn’t anything else that was less likely to end in an unpleasant death.

            Iggy was the last to be ready for the mission, but was able to take the last handful of frag grenades before Haran’s voice came on once more.

            This time he was sobbing, the pilot’s words broken up by frequent hiccups caused by his sorrowful wailing. “You…you three be…be careful in…in there, alright? B-be…be s-sure to come back alive! We…Isha protect you!”

            “Every bloody time,” Silas sighed, scratching at his short black beard before putting on his helmet, letting his augments make full use of the targeting systems it provided. For all the good it seemed to do him. “Hey, Haran…no, Fio’el, any life signs on board?”

            In the background of the one-to-one communication, sobbing could still be heard. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if our scanners were good enough to do that?” the Tau mechanic asked in a perky, cheerful voice. “We’d be able to tell you just what parts of the hulk to avoid.”

            “Emperor protect us,” the ordinary guardsman sighed, his uttered prayer drawing a confused hum from the Battle Sister.

            The first door of the airlock opened, letting Silas through then closed behind him. Before anything, they had to ensure that everyone could survive the derelict vessel’s interior. Once on the other side of the airlock, he gave the environment a quick test; the results of which green lit the connection to be opened fully, allowing for free travel between ships.

            “Just an old freighter, it seems…good, not too big of a ship and a simple layout,” Iggy sighed. Lots of places for lootable goods while leaving few hiding places for anything truly nasty. Though less valuable, he did prefer the smaller marks for their salvage missions.

            Sophia took point, leading the way with her massive cannon being held in both hands as Iggy marched along behind her, lasgun perpetually at the ready to snipe anything that may come into the line of fire. Given the state of the vessel, be it human or xeno, he’d be quick to pick off anything that wasn’t part of their three-man team. In the back was the former Salamander, his flamer at the ready to defend their rear or flanks.

            A human vessel, and a common one at that, it was trivial for the trio to navigate their way to the cargo bay, thankful to have found nothing lurking in any of the halls they traversed. The cargo bay itself revealed the hard times of the ship; while the corridors they had traversed had damaged lights making the march rather tense and full of the unknown, there wasn’t any sign of grave danger or disrepair. The cargo bay, however, was filled with displays of destruction: overturned crates that had been reduced to jagged stretches of metal with scrap inside so damaged that it was impossible to tell the original contents. Scratches and gouges were all over the walls and the unbroken containers. While it was unlikely and Dark Eldar had a hand in the damage, and the sort of unnecessary brutish destruction was not the way the Necrons operated, it did nothing to rule out inhabitants of the Warp, psychopathic Orks, or the terrifying Tyranids.

            “Anything still in tact that we can make off with?” the Salamander asked, lowering his flamer to inspect some of the smaller, though still broken, containers. If he put his effort to making off with the goods, he figured two or three of the smaller metal boxes could be moved by his own strength.

            “Couple over here, but we ought to look inside to see if they’re worth taking,” Sophia replied, rubbing some of the grime away from the label, disappointed to only find a human-readable barcode that revealed nothing of the contents. “Damn it….”

            “If the ship’s computers still work, we could try to find any shipping manifests,” Silas suggested, his voice transmitting through his helmet.

            The physically fit blonde human turned his head as the others made their sensible plans, swearing that he heard a noise in the distance, somewhere deeper in the hold. Raising his lasgun and taking aim, Iggy stared into the dark expanses of the abyss like hold, looking for anything that could have made the clicking noise he had heard. Just for a moment, he – unfortunately – got his wish, spotting a red glow that was soon met with an instantaneous flash from the muzzle of his gun as he fired a shot square at the source of the glow, quickly extinguishing the source and leaving a gaping hole through its form. In the brief flash of light his laser emitted, the guardsman was able to make out his quickly fallen foe.

            “Shit,” he spat, “You two; grab what you can, we have to get out of here.”

            “Why, what’s the rush?” Sophia asked, turning away from one more whole container, getting her Heavy Bolter ready.

            “Spotted a gaunt; put that one down already, at least.”

            “Then what’s the problem?”

            “Hive Mind,” he answered. “I’ve fought them before; if one saw us, or even just suddenly was lost to the collective, the rest are going to be on our asses any second. Grab what you can and move it; double time, people!”

            “Shit; I’ll send a vox back to the ship; let them know trouble is inbound,” Silas huffed, willing his power armour to start the message as he hoisted the two largest intact containers he could find.

            The Sister of Battle followed suit, taking a small crate under one arm while still leaving her right free to carry her gun. Iggy, on the other hand, considering neither beneficial to or his role, kept his weight load to its minimum and remained on guard; the butt of his lasgun never leaving his shoulder.

            On a ship the size of the freighter, there couldn’t be a very large swarm upon it – for Tyranids, at least – but two things were clear to the guardsman through simple deduction. Their enemies were indeed the ravenous xenos and taking into account the one he had already slain had been silently observing from the shadows rather than charging towards the trio in an attempt to add to its  biomass was an indicator that a synapse beast was hiding somewhere on the ship.

            Their numbers would surely be overwhelming. For now, they needed to get as close to the safety as they possibly could before the horde started nipping at their heels. Between their hurried movements and the weight of the packages weighing down the Battle Brother and even the inhuman Sophia, the team was moving only a few steps faster than when they had entered.

            “Any reply from Haran?” asked Iggy nervously, hearing the first call of ‘skree’ echo through the ship’s halls.

            “Yes…I mean, kinda…does half count?” Silas huffed, thankful for all the training, genetic alteration, and the power armour his former chapter had put into him.

            A second, louder skree sounded; they were closing in on them.

            “H-half? What in the name of the Emperor is that supposed to mean?” the guardsman shouted in panic. Were the two of them still in their respective service, such an outburst could likely have ended with Iggy’s powerful throttling.

            “He said something about sealing the airlock until we reached the ship before…well; you know how he gets when angry….”

            “Let’s hope it was nothing,” Sophia winced; what, for other people, would have been a rather foolish thing to say was understood to be reasonable among the ship’s crew, given the emotional stability of the pilot.

            Skree!

            Two quick flashes of red came and went and Iggy cursed. “Incoming from the rear!” he shouted, taking aim at more of the slithering rippers that were fast approaching. For creatures that were little more than armour-plated mouths with a tail lined in miniature scythes – little more than a gaunt’s head – they had some speed to them, making their incredible numbers an even greater threat.

            Reaching for one of his frag grenades, the guardsman pulled the pin and tossed it at the ravenous swarm. It arced through the air and landed just behind the front most of the xenos, striking the ground with a clatter. The human’s jaw clenched in anticipation for the ka-boom, but as his back peddle continued in response their approach, he realized he had thrown a dud. Ripping another grenade off his vest at once, he gave it a toss and soon had to instinctively shield his face as it detonated.

            The thousands of high velocity chunks of casing and ceramic bands denting the metal ship floor while sending the aliens on and around the point of impact sprawling. Every victim either blasted to shreds or propelled by the concussive force of its detonation, making a sizable dent in their immediate numbers and providing the trio some extra distance.

            Still, it gave them little advantage, given the distance they had yet to move. Especially should their escape be cut off by the rest of the xenos infestation with only one grenade left to be thrown – and it, too, could be a dud.

            “Silas, hey, how full is your flamer?” Iggy shouted, throwing the sling of his lasgun over one shoulder.

            “The ship’s out of promethium, so I wasn’t able to fill its supply, but the tank still feels about full,” the Space Marine answered through his helmet. “Why, need me to do some fighting for you?”

            “No, not yet,” he answered, reaching for the strap holding the flamer to the stout giant’s body. Snapping it free, the guardsman spun around to back peddle once more and let out a spray of the gel-like chemical, the mixture igniting the instant it came in contact with the air.

            Starting the blast with the nozzle pointed at the right side of the corridor and not stopping until it went all the way to the left, he left behind them a super-heated wall of fire, cutting off the pursuit.

            “There was enough, for now,” Iggy shouted, picking up speed to lead the pack, flames still dancing from the flamer’s nozzle from the gel stuck inside. “Silas, how much farther to the ship?”

            Distance and direction was one of the things the Space Marine had done well back while serving as a scout for his chapter. A shame he couldn’t shoot well then, either. “Eighty meters ahead, turn left; from there it’s a straight run through the docking.”

            “Can you see anything coming in from ahead?” Sophia asked, tightening her grip on her ‘gun’.

            A moment’s hesitation spoke volumes. “We’ll have slight difficulty making it back, I would think.”

            “I don’t like slight difficulty,” the Guardsman winced. “You know that right? I don’t want to have to face any whatsoever.”

            “Don’t like it? Gimme back my gun and you can carry these damnable boxes.”

            SKREE!

            The turn off was only a little way ahead now, and even in the darkened halls of the ship, the ordinary Iggy could tell from the writhing shadows that the wide corridor was choked with the bodies of voracious beasts. The duo in their power armour and helmets offering optical enhancements could see that the ground was filled with swarms of rippers, with both the deer-sized hormagaunts and termagaunts standing above them. The former, with their wicked bladed and hooked forearms, were slashing at the air in front of them. The latter, were using their biological firearms to launch borers – small beetles that would dig their way through armour, flesh, and bone – either into their ship or the blast doors of the airlock, had Haran been sensible enough to seal the bulkhead.

            Had he not, there was surely no ship for them to return to. Had the Eldar been wise enough to do so, there was then no way in which they could return to the safety of their small vessel.

            Above the lesser creatures, standing nearly two and a half meters tall, was a Hive Tyrant; a synaptic link for the swarm back to their Hive Fleet and a monstrous dealer of death. Ignoring its dripping maw of razor-sharp fangs able to bite even a armoured guardsman in half, it possessed a pair of massive scythe-like talons a meter in length each, while its lower body was composed of two arms – blood red with onyx plates protecting areas, just like the rest of the swarm – held what the Imperium of Man had labelled a Deathspitter. Such was a weapon that, not unlike the termagaunt borer launcher, would propel maggot creatures composed of volatile fluids, the likes of which would sear or melt any flesh or armour it came in contact.

            Iggy had seen many guardsman fall from a single blast of the sinister bio-weapon, and Silas himself had watched it eat away at the armour plating of a Rhino transport.

            “Silas, send another Vox; we need to know the plan. Will they disengage and rendezvous at another docking bay? Are we to cut a swath? What?” Iggy ordered; once again, an offense that, elsewhere, could justify his immediate execution.

            “Haran, this is Battle Brother Silas, do you copy? There is a swarm between us and the bulkhead. What is the situation? Over.”

            A second passed and the a message crackled in ears, just as a flash of light left a white-armoured and remarkably thin alien air bound over the rear end of the swarm. A stream of colour seemed to fill the air between the slender pilot in the bulky pack and heavy cannon-looking weapon and the targets below. As the beam of colour washed over the swarm that was just now reacting to the teleporting foe’s new location, bodies seemed to liquefy, their armour plating appearing unharmed but everything softer pouring the metal floor with the consistency of thick water.

            To the naked eye or the uninitiated, the Eldar gun would give the impression that its merest light would liquefy that which it fell upon; a weapon against which there was no defence. Those who could observe it closely or while it was not in the midst of firing, however, would realize that the light came from the flickering cloud of innumerable monofilament wires that would writhe and lash through one’s soft body, leaving the body’s innards in a liquefied state. As such, it was known as a Death Spinner.

            Though he could be heard by Silas through Vox-chatter, it wasn’t a necessity, as the Eldar Warp Spider could quite easily be heard.

            “—fucking die, you fucking cock-sucking—” he screamed at the top of his lungs vanishing as he fell from the aerial position in which Haran had appeared only to step out of the Warp elsewhere, as was the tactic of  his brand of Aspect Warrior. Of course, there were far more obscenities than just that; they were simply the only words that were not in his native tongue, only allowing them to assume he was saying things far worse.

            Sophia, waiting for no order, as none needed to be given, let go of her container and held her Heavy Bolter steady. Squeezing the trigger, the ammo belt leading from the underside of the heavy gun to the ammo back worn on Sophia’s back started to feed rapidly into the gun; the empty casings spilling out the ejection port at an alarming rate. The swarm was quickly hit by the diamantine-tipped slugs as big around as a man’s fist, the rounds piercing and exploding as they cut through the ravenous xenos, thinning their numbers considerably. Despite the heavy recoil of the heavy hand-cannon, Sophia marched forward, getting ever closer to the massive threat between the away team and safety.

            The ordinary Guardsman spent just enough time to set the discarded container upon Silas’ already considerable load before taking up the flamer once more, following along behind the Sister of Battle from her left, ready to release gouts of fire whenever the close-ranged hormagaunts or rippers tried to engage them. For the rest, he had to leave his trust in the woman of amazing strength to slay them before they could fire, and for the protection of the Emperor to keep any shots fired from hitting him or his compatriots.

            As they continued their nigh-suicidal advance, Iggy nervously glanced out of the corner of his eye at the Sister of Battle. Oh, how he hoped this wasn’t enough for her, but given how dire the situation, he knew it to be as futile as trying to be diplomatic with an Ork.

            Face obscured by her highly ornate sallet, only Sophia could know that her visage, with seemingly every round she fired, was transitioning from that of a cheerful and calm, if not naïve, lady to that of a woman whose expression matched that of someone prepared to eviscerate anything before her barehanded. In short, given her weapon’s rate of fire, it was a fast and fluid transition.

            The Tyranids, now in optimal range for the sticky swath of fire the flamer left before it, many of the bodies on fire, be they living or dead, were taking the threat of the trio quite seriously, turning their many weapons – all biological – on the three. With their numbers, there was nothing that he could have accomplished with his lasgun that wasn’t being done more effectively with Sophia’s heavy bolter, nor would any more fire hasten the demise of the crowd already in the midst of incineration. The only weapon in his arsenal that could do any more good, he was already snatching off the strap slung across his chest.

            The last of the frag grenades. By the Emperor’s will,  he prayed it was live as it soared through the air, bouncing off the inside corner of the wall, and bouncing back into the hall leading to the bulkhead. It fell out of sight, and then nothing. With how many burrowing insects and fleshy barbs flew at him and his allies, time seemed to slow to a halt, his eyes following the projectiles as though he could pluck them from the air, were only his body able to react accordingly. Iggy could watch as the very end of belt of bolts zipped along and disappeared into the firing chamber, Sophia letting the gun fall idle on its shoulder strap as she drew her eviscerator, its many teeth whirring slowly in this observational span of time.

            And then, a flash of light and spray of metal and ceramic, launching gore in all directions, brought everything back to full throttle, causing everything to zip by faster than he could discern. The powerful Sophia gripped her massive chainsword in both hands, swinging at range, cleaving a row of termagaunts that had been unable to suppress her charge.

            It was then that the fuel tank of the flamer emptied, leaving him with a useless hunk of smouldering metal. Too valuable in the long run to abandon yet of no use to him in the present, the guardsman stepped off course just enough to hang the woven strap around Silas’ neck, the stout super-soldier physically able to accommodate the extra weight. Snapping his lasgun back into his hands and braced against his shoulder, Iggy fired as quickly as his finger could pull the trigger.

            Sophia was a human of inhuman strength, and what a swing of the eviscerator didn’t bisect the sheer weight of her swing blew aside. Yet a weapon so large lead to a tremendous swinging arc; everywhere not in the path of her latest swing being left dangerously exposed to the throng of ravenous creatures through which she was wading. It fell upon the deserter to rapidly mark targets and punch a hole through their heads with his laser before they could exploit her weakness.

            Time and time again, they saw their Warp Spider appear in mid-air or a flanking position, spouting an indecipherable chain of obscenities and liquefying the innards of many more Tyranids before slipping back into the Warp. While the enemy swarm was dwindling, they were still greatly outnumbered and out-gunned. No grenades, out of fuel, and only a matter of time before the guardsman’s battery ran dry; the trio – with support – tightened their advance. The berserk Sister of Battle allowed them to advance, with Iggy doing his best to cover her though his shots quickly grew more frantic and rushed as the danger surrounded them, requiring multiple shots against a single target more frequently and shots grew slower as fatigue set in. Behind them, Silas did his best to protect the rear, making use of his shoulders and suitably timed kicks to keep them at bay, relying on the thickness of his power armour to deflect talons and borers alike. The advance continued until the three had their backs against the bulkhead; a reinforced diamantine door several feet thick standing between them and safety.

            Over the vox, on an open signal, Haran’s voice, sounded as a message to all; when information didn’t need to remain confidential, there wasn’t any harm in an open broadcast. “Away team is back! Crack open the gates and let the fuckers in!” the Eldar roared, his voice sounding scratchy, shouting through a raw throat.

            No longer did the Warp Spider pop in and out of the air, but the bulkhead was now starting to lift; a few inches per second. With a space now large enough for the rippers to squeeze through, the little all-devouring critters skittering across the floor, ignoring the meals standing before them for the next ship in line for their feasting. Sophia and her blade was focused on the larger gaunts and the Hive Tyrant being kept at bay by her weapons alone; its gnashing maw eager to rip her apart. Iggy fired at one or two that came a little close to his feet, but was more focused on pestering the Tyrant, needing to keep it distracted enough that it wouldn’t make use of its Deathspitter, or burst its biological grenades before they could get close enough to splash he or his allies. Silas, with no weapon of his own to speak of and his arms full with the two metal crates, could only stop on the rippers that were underfoot.

            Inside the Paragon of Exile, what rippers did cross the threshold were immediately met with a flash of light; Fio’el’s pulse rifle quickly picking off the little buggers as they came out from under the metal door, with Haran using his Death Spinner to liquefy those that she missed; they couldn’t let any of the voracious eaters on board.

            Soon the door was open a foot, then two, and finally high enough that even the large Battle Brother could duck under and in, at which time the controls were immediate set to close, making it just a matter of holding back the swarm with Death Spinner, pulse rifle, and lasgun until they were successfully separate from the space hulk.

            Once the only path connecting the two ships was sealed, Haran teleported back into the cockpit and set about disengaging their small vessel from the other entirely. With that, they were safe. Well, they were safe from the Tyranids, anyways; the Sister of Battle’s switch wouldn’t flip back quite so easily.

            Even then, with the clear and present threat gone, her massive chainsword was still being swung about with the full force of the woman’s abnormally strong arms. Wherever the exposed edge of the buzzing teeth touched, the metal it touched was gouged by either the length of the teeth in even the sturdiest of resistance, as was to be expected of a weapon that could be used even against tanks.

            Silas, being the only one even conceivably well-armoured enough to withstand a single blow from the motorized blade and the only one strong enough to control the woman’s movements, danced about her, avoiding blows and occupying her attention. After one particularly strong swing, he lowered his centre of balance and charged for a tackle. He knew her well enough to know that her swing wasn’t at its end and that she’d catch him on the backswing, but if he was going to be struck regardless, best to make the choice of a lighter blow. Watching carefully, he saw the weapon reverse direction with frightening speed, but hers was a model with only one exposed edge and it was poised opposite to him. Raising a shoulder to protect his head from a direct blow, the Battle Brother felt the blunt edge hammer into his right pauldron only to slide upwards over his body, regrettably catching on his backpack, giving him a good jolt to the left.

            He’d have been blown from his feet, too, had his low center of balance not improved his footing and that, by the time he was struck, the Space Marine was able to get his hands on her wrist and waist; she could no longer steal his footing without toppling herself. Wrist held tightly, he struggled to keep her weapon in place, despite it noisily buzzing behind his back, the destructive teeth far closer to him than any living creature could be comfortable. Weight, size, and stance were all in his favour and all she had on him were two arms over his one, and somehow that was enough to put up a good struggle.

            Thank goodness her ammunition had been spent or they’d have had to of left her with the swarm.

            “Wow…look at her go,” Fio’el shivered, watching the two titans struggle against each other, with the giant of a man moving his legs to disrupt her footing to give him an even greater advantage. “So….”

            “Emperor, don’t tell me I have to do more today,” Iggy sighed, unfastening his helmet so that he could run a hand through his sweat-soaked, buzz-cut head of hair.

            “You’re not afraid, are you?” the Tau mechanic pushed, her brow shifting to one side and mouth curving in a way that the human could recognize as one of sarcastic disbelief.

            “Oh, there are many, many things that terrify me: what that Astartes chapter will do to me if they ever find me, being hit by that Eviscerator, being trapped on a space hulk with anything, Commissar Ardwin, and the Nine Actions….”

            There was one peculiarity to that list. “Commissar Ar—”

            “But that? It’s just…really exhausting. Why can’t we just sedate her or…something?”

            She would have to ask later. “Maybe bring that up before the next time our ship’s doctor goes berserk, hmm? Or do you know what a safe drug and dosage is for…that?”

            “Any time now!” shouted Silas with a strained voice. “She’s getting her second wind! Just ‘cause I can outlast her doesn’t mean I don’t have better shit to do!”

            Letting out an uncomfortable moan, Iggy shoved his trusted weapon into the arms of the smaller Tau female as he marched towards the grappling pair. “Hah…c’mon, Sophia; we’re having ourselves a date.”

            Despite the powerful marine’s endless contest against her might, the guardsman had no problem pulling her away by one wrist, his hand not gripping her even tightly enough to blush skin were it exposed. The massive weapon’s engine fell silent and the teeth stopped their movements as it fell to the ship’s floor, having left the Sister of Battle’s grasp without struggle. Leading her with one hand, the other carefully pulled the helmet from her head, exposing her sneering, slasher smile and made her violent growling audible.

            “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get to that, but not before I cook us dinner.”

            “Blargh!” would be the most suitable onomatopoeia for how she answered him.

            Being the only sensible means to calm down the berserker, the guardsman was given free reign of the ship, able to claim one of the ship’s two quarters and what few fresh ingredients were available for himself. He had no choice but to hold her hand the whole time, seeming to be the only way to keep her from giving in to boundless wrath. Once inside the paltry three by four-and-a-half meter room – three by three if ignoring the space filled by the bed – he guided the equally-sized woman to sit on the bed and locked the door behind them.

            Once seated comfortably, she was able to be released without apparent risk of a spontaneous savaging, though Sophia’s head continued to rock back and forth on her shoulders, growling and bellowing incomprehensible coarse noises.

            Iggy removed a hotplate from the room’s personal locker and turned it on, letting it warm as he boiled water and prepared some linguine, preparing the cheese, shrimp, mushrooms, and garlic as it cooked. This he considered a welcome perk of his duties, being granted access to proper foodstuff, rather than the soylent viridians or ration bars given to him to eat back in his service days. The former, also known as ‘corpse starch’ tasted like crap while the latter, fortunately, was flavourless.

            Glancing up from his cooking, the odour of the raw ingredients enough to make his mouth water, Iggy ran a hand over his stubbly hair and gave a scripted smile. “Creamy pasta tonight, darling; hope you’re hungry.”

            More animalistic growling and raving.

            “No…no grox this time; maybe after we turn a profit we can pick up some steaks.”

            Shorter growls with some grumbling.

            “No, there are no onions in this.”

            Quick, almost optimistic-sounding garbles.

            “Why yes, I have some amasec; here, I’ll pour you some.” Taking a pair of small metal cups from the locker, he poured some of the rich brown beverage into each and held one out for her to take. “Still plenty left, so I suppose this batch was a bit too strong for Fio’el and Haran.”

            Taking it from his hand, Sophia’s roars before imbibing the potent liquor were made in quick bursts, like laughter.

            As the meal finished cooking, he divided the portions up into equal portions on simple metal plates, leaving her to eat and drink from the bed while he sat across from her on a stool. “You know, you were exception out there, today.”

            More indistinct growls as the Sister of Battle angled her head away from Iggy somewhat as she waved a hand dismissively in his direction.

            “No, really; suppressing the enemy until you were able to engage them up close; had it not been for you, cutting such a wide swath through their ranks, we’d have all surely been lost back then.”

            A short snarl as she fanned herself with one hand.

            Taking up his cup for the first time, the guardsman toasted. “You were our angel of the battlefield.” With that, he took a sip of the hard liquor, welcoming the way it took the edge off. “How’s the food?”

            Gnashing her teeth, grinding the noodles into paste, she nodded approvingly.

            Only one thing left to the script, he noted, and one that would herald the closing act. Before he dared to speak it, however, the guardsman ensured his plate had been cleared and cup emptied, unwilling to let a single scrap of his only comforts go to waste.

            Swallowing the last morsel and washing it down, he wiped his mouth clean and looked to her once more. “I would be happy to spend the night with you, should you be in the mood,” he breathed, resting his hands upon his knees.

            At once, the dishes clattered to the floor as Sophia lunged forward, what was left on her plate spilling over the metal floor. His did, too, when she grabbed him by the front of his undershirt and yanked him clear of his stool.

            Iggy’s feet never touched ground as he was pulled through the air and slammed face up on the stiff mattress; the springs having only enough give to keep him from being harmed from the throw. Every time; when she was like this, and for long enough that she’d not settle down on her own, it fell upon his shoulders to wine and dine her, and whenever it came time to make the offer, he had to brace for impact.

            At least – he consoled himself – her aggressive tendencies wouldn’t last for very much longer. Not to mention when she was feeling ‘take charge’ getting her out of so much power armour wasn’t his responsibility. In the time it took the berserk Sophia to strip from head to toe, Iggy had been able to remove his flak vest and boots, while also unfastening his pants, but the woman wanted to waste no more time.

            One hand roughly grabbed the bottom of his moss green jacket and the other his matching khakis and boxers, and with one strong tug in opposite directions, the guardsman was left exposed from his pectorals to his knees. Straddling his face, she leaned back and began handling his little soldier, touching it with gentleness unbecoming of her bestial snarls. Said noises then grew more like cooing when she felt his lips press to hers, his tongue gently moistening her feminine folds.

            Over and over Iggy’s tongue ran from the lowest point of her womanhood up to the top of her little button then back to the bottom, keeping time no matter how much her thighs quivered or thrust against him. Slowly, her body grew slick with need as did he, growing hard with desire; the pair of humans – the only ones who could truly be called such any more aboard the ship – finding themselves ready to take their passion to the next level.

            Such was the moment the guardsman needed to work the fastest. From the bed, he quickly turned off the lights and fished a condom from his jacket pocket. The way she was, Sophia would take him any which way so it was upon him to exercise caution. The Emperor may protect, but he wasn’t about to take any chances with one of the Daughters of the Emperor. Slipping on the rubber before she descended, Iggy felt as she rocked her hips back and forth as she pushed down on him, making the first descent all the easier.

            For all her mental fortitude, animalistic state, and unfathomable strength, it didn’t change the fact that there was one outstanding trait the deserter possessed beyond his heroic will to live.

            Sinking down to the base of his length, the Sister of Battle paused for a couple seconds as she adjusted before letting out a sound that a wolf would make were it to attempt a purr. Her hips moved wonderfully, rocking front to back as she bounced upon his lap, the weight of incredible muscles and enormous bust testing the hardiness of his waist and thighs with every passing second. She could feel him fill her so completely, so wonderfully, rubbing against her g-spot with every thrust when she leaned backwards.

            Ever since that first time they had made love, that one day years ago, she couldn’t forget how wonderful it felt. No matter how much her actions were likened to a Khornate Berserker, part of her would still remember that one night, and while everything else was dyed red, he alone would stay in vibrant colours. There was more than just the physical with him; when they made love, no matter how carnal and base her violent side tried to make it, Iggy remained soft, kind, and loving. Perhaps it was all in her head, but being with him was like retreating to the comforting embrace of a spouse.

            Joining her in her movements, the guardsman slowly moved his hips, angling them to provide some much-needed variety to her regular motions, while timing things to make it softer than she was attempting. Her tastes, he knew, were on the softer side of things, and if he would just cater to that preference….

            Erotic growls and snarls.

            His hands moved over his hips, gently massaging the stiff, hard muscles of her upper legs and waist, his thumbs easing out the knots.

            Content purrs and yips.

            Slowly sitting up, he carefully guided her onto her back, feeling her body relaxing through his, her movements growing muted as he became responsible for every thrust and gyration.

            Soft, excited moans as she whispered his name, each one a loving call as though she were speaking to the Emperor himself.

            …Then she would return to her pleasant, buoyant self.

            “Sophia?” he called to her softly. “Are you back?”

            “Y-yes,” she breathed, panting as his gentle hands touched her while he moved just the way she liked, soft, slow, and precisely. “D-did we ma-ah-ake it out okay?”

            “Yeah.” A nod that no one but him could know he made. “No fatalities; not even a casualty.”

            “Mm, t-that’s good.” It was a relief; a genuine reprieve to know she had, in her anger, helped everyone pull through.

            “Then, if you’re all better, shall we stop?” asked Iggy as he already started moving his hips away.

            “No!” she cried, Sophia’s two strong legs rising and wrapping around her partner’s waist, holding him firmly in place and pulling him back in. Her arms wrapped around his neck and drew him down against her bosom, burying his face in her mountains, the warmth of her body mixing with that of his flush cheeks. “I-I want to finish…I want you to finish….”

            Swallowing, he gave his consent and continued; his eyes closing as he relaxed into her embrace. One hand slipped out from between their bodies, sliding behind her head to gently hold her and feel her light, platinum blonde and black hair. The other moved lower, his fingers massaging her pelvis as best he could given the angle.

            Well, he did enjoy this part, too.

            For tens of minutes, the two gave comfort and pleasure to the other in the dark, with the Sister of Battle’s gasps and moans filling the complete darkness of the room, broken up only by the panting of her loving partner. Enjoying herself to the fullest, the Adepta Sororitas came only when she could hold back no longer, feeling the pleasure wash over her, making her believe the room to be brightly lit despite the extinguished lights. As her fit body tensed and shivered, he joined her in orgasmic bliss, feeling satisfied and once again grateful for having protection.

            Slowly and carefully he rolled off of her, instead now lying face to face in the dark, cuddled close to one another. For just the briefest moment, he felt a finger that wasn’t his own brush his manhood and then came a soft, disheartened sigh.

            “I…want kids, you know…” breathed Sophia as fatigue overtook her.

            For her, at least, there was just a certain something about him….

2: Chapter 2 - Ore Else

           Four hours later, after everyone had a chance to rest and recover after the exhausting mission, the crew of the Paragon of Exile gathered in the cargo hold – the only reasonably-sized room in the ship – to take a gander at their spoils. The Eldar was jumping for joy in anticipation to see their profits, as he had been for an hour – before which was spent crying endless tears of joy at the safety of his shipmates.

           “May I have the honours?” Silas asked, tapping a crowbar against his open, armoured palm. Unlike the others, shy of sleep there were few occasions when the power armour came off.

             “Open it! Just open it already!” shouted Haran, unconcerned by who did the manual labour, just so long as it was done.

            “Just be careful; we don’t know what’s inside,” Fio’el reminded him, folding her arms under her ample bosom, giving them some extra support.

            Stepping up to the small container Sophia had carried, now resting atop one of his larger hauls, the Battle Brother confirmed the lid was tightly secured before setting to work with his tool, prying it open to reveal tightly packed plastics.

            “Ah, well…that’ll be easy to sell, at least,” Silas shrugged.

           Waiting for the Tau woman to document the contents, he then put the lid back on and went to one of his. Inside the second, there were many sorted machine parts. At first he hoped they could serve to improve their ship or maybe be assembled into something of more value as a whole. Such dreams were quickly crushed when the ship’s mechanic shook her head.

           “Just generic replaceable parts for appliances and vehicles; other than holding on to some screws and bolts, we should just find some Imperial merchants to unload this on, unless you’d rather just sell it as scrap.”

           At least there was enough particular machinery parts to fetch a good price, he sighed, turning his attention to the last crate.

           “C’mon…something valuable,” he softly prayed to the Emperor as he cracked it open, finding many separated plastic bags and clear containers of powders and ground up plants. “Oh?”

           So fast one could have sworn he had just moved through the Warp had he been still in his battle dress, Haran was gripping the sides of the container and looking down at the various goods. “Please tell me these are drugs! By Cegorach, please let them be drugs! If we fence them right, we’d walk away—”

           “They’re not drugs,” Iggy yawned, holding up one plastic sack as the other scratched at his bare stomach. “Salt, see? Looks like spices.”

           The hem of her long sleeping gown fluttering as she walked, Sophia rummaged through the contents and read off some of the product names. “Benzoic acid, potassium hydrogen sulphite, sodium nitrate…I think they’re all food preservatives.”

           Before his tears could flood the metal shipping container, the Eldar was pulled away back to the cockpit, letting him sob uncontrollably from learning that the product was worth less than a sixteenth of what he had hoped, if not more.

           “So, what do you think?” Silas asked, replacing the lid. “Is it enough to be worth setting a course to the nearest colonized world?”

           The reply from Fio’el was a resounding “Eh” as she held up one four-fingered hand horizontally while gently tilting it from side to side. “Would we turn a profit? Maybe, but not a very big one after all our expenditures, and even then, that’s only if we don’t get fleeced by our fence. We’d be much better off finding a nice planet, letting out the drones, and pull out all the ore we can get our hands on.”

           “As long as I don’t have to go back in there,” Iggy huffed, thrusting his thumb in the direction of the space hulk.

           “Right. I’ll go tell Haran to get us moving to the nearest rock once he’s finished having a fit,” the Tau smiled, leaving the three humans to their own devices as she moved to the front of the small vessel.

           Letting out a yawn, the guardsman looks to his two kinsmen. “Either of you taking any sleep?”

           Sophia shook her head and smiled cheerfully. “I think I’ll sort the medicine; we’ll probably have a run-in with Orks where we’re going so I’d better get some antibacterials ready for choppa wounds.”

           “Wonderful,” thought Iggy, “something to fuel my nightmares.”

           “I’d better some rest while I can, then,” the Space Marine breathed. With his Catalesean Node, he could technically last two weeks without proper sleep, but it was still best to rest where and when he could.

           “Good, then there’s a bed left for me,” Iggy breathed, trudging off back to bed. “If we get there within ten hours, someone wake me a couple hours in advance.”

           With everyone else having decided to wander off to rest, leaving the Sister of Battle to her lonesome, she stepped towards the ship’s locker, intent to inspect the quality of their medicine. Her bare feet walking over the cold metal floors, she had but two thoughts. The first was how it was a shame that the crate hadn’t been pharmaceuticals; they could have taken some for themselves had that been the case. The second was how they really ought to spend some money to put some flooring down in the halls and rooms.

           Sliding open the door to the small room of shelves, boxes, and cabinets, she started sifting through the contents of the rather disorganized dull metal room. As bottles clinked and metal clanged whilst she inspected every medical supply in their possession, the woman raised her head and looked about, swearing that she had heard some high-pitched chatter. Looking about the floor, she heard a sudden clicking and raised her gaze somewhat higher. Still, on low boxes and shelves, there was still nothing to confirm her suspicions that she was not alone in the room.

           “Skree!”

           Rising almost to her full height, Sophia found herself face to face with a ripper that had successfully evaded their notice. Below its armoured carapace, the creature’s mouth hung open, its tongue running against the back of a row of long, piranha-like fangs, while its scythe-like claws started to twitch as it readied itself to lunge. Though the creature was only a fifth of a meter from head to tail, it was a perfect creature for devouring all things organic in its way.

           Staring at the tiny xeno, unarmed and without armour, her eyes went wide and arms slowly rose. At once, and before even the small Tyranid could complete its attack, her powerful arms snatched up the alien and pulled it to her chest in a terrifying bear hug, the force of which caused a crack to run straight down the ridge of its largest plate.

           “Aren’t you cute!” she exclaimed as it repeatedly released pained cries of ‘skree’ whilst thrashing about in vain, unable to free itself from her grip. “How did you get on board?”

           Holding it out at arm’s length, it continued to wiggle and writhe, its four frontal claws tapping against a metal shelf as it tried to escape, the tips of the scythes clicking ineffectively on its surface. “Skree!”

           “Oh, but what should I do with you? Hmm…if I kept you as a pet, I’d have to name you…hmm….” Stopping and staring, she listed to its repeated tapping and a big, innocent smile crossed her face, the likes of which should never have found its way to an Adepta Sororitas. “Clicky! Oh, you’re going to like it here; everyone’s so nice!”

           Unbeknownst to the ship’s doctor – at least, the closest thing they had to one onboard – the Eldar had set the small mining and salvage ship into motion, drawing it far, far away from the xeno-infested freighter. As a result, the newly named ‘Clicky’ found itself separated from the Hive Mind; without a connection to the Hive, there was no intelligence left in what constituted the creature’s brain. The very moment the boundaries of the Hive Mind had been breeched, Clicky went from frantically trying to escape with gritted teeth, to resting in her hands, flopped over to one side, claws fallen still, and tongue hanging out, dripping with saliva.

           “Aw, did you tire yourself out, Clicky?” she giggled, cradling the brain-dead monstrosity in her arms. “Oh, I should see if I can empty out a box for you to sleep in!”

           While the ripper’s existence had become an unusual one, what was more remarkable was something the crew was apt to never learn – the last thing the Hive Mind of that collective had registered before losing that one part of the swarm, was sheer, unrepentant terror as caused by the woman’s grip.

 

           Eldar and their dark kin could travel across the galaxy with a simple step through their use of the labyrinthine Webway – accessed through a vast nexus of Webway Gates. However, there was no way the self-exiled Haran would have access to such precious technology – especially on a ship full of mon-keigh.

           The Imperium of Man had long since developed technology that would allow their ships to open a rift into the Warp and travel along the currents and tides before returning to real space, having bypassed light years of galactic space. Unfortunately, not only was the Warp unpredictable, allowing for long jumps to leave a ship far from its target destination, while also having several other complications. That of the passage of time in real space against the Warp – it was certainly possible for the vessel to reappear hundreds of years or mere seconds after their departure. Likewise, they could even arrive before having left. Additionally, there was the risk of daemons, followers of Chaos, or other creatures that reside within the Warp attacking the vessel in Warpspace. There would be a Gellar Field to protect them but they, like all of man’s devices, could fail.

           Despite the crew’s ratio, the Paragon of Exile was not one of mankind’s ships, either.

           No; the worn austere mining ship was built using Tau technology: frugal, efficient, maintainable, impervious to the effects of Warp travel…and only able to travel at one fifth the speed of those of mankind.

           To Haran, who in his youth had grown accustomed to the alacrity of his people’s Webway Nexus, couldn’t help but feel that he’d reach their mining destination faster were he to simply zip along with his personal equipment.

           “Ceiba-ny-shak, I’m bored!” the pilot bellowed, pulling violently on his flowing red hair; were it not in a ponytail, surely handfuls of the silken threads would have been sundered

           “Language, Haran,” Fio’el chastised, poking her head in through the open door joining avionics with the bridge. Given that the two human men had occupied the staterooms and the last of them had claimed the sensors room and could be heard cooing to one ‘Clicky’, the bridge was the most comfortable place left for the Tau to performance maintenance checks on the crew’s weaponry.

           “If this ship could just enter the damnable Warp, we’d be there already! It’d be worth the risk, even were Slaanesh himself to appear before us.”

           “Oh, there you go again,” she chuckled. “Slaanesh, Khorne, and those ‘Chaos Gods’ of yours. Really now, if they existed and really were speaking to us, don’t you think my people would have noticed by now?”

           Releasing his hair and doing an about-face with his chair, the Warp Spider stared at her for seconds with an expression that could only be described as lacking any form of emotion whatsoever. Seconds only before Haran broke out ranting and raving. “Curse you and psyker-free race! Making the rest of us look stark-raving mad!”

           “No, no, don’t be silly,” replied the member of the Earth Caste. “You don’t need us to do such things.” Feeling a sting on the thumb of her right hand, she quickly pulled it to her mouth and nursed the small bleeding wound. “Ow, why does everything the Gue’la make have to be so heavy and sharp?”

           On her lap was Silas’ flamer, the casing removed so that she could give it a full cleaning, only now one of its mechanisms was wet with bluish-purple blood.

           “Isha! Are you alright?” shrieked the Eldar, kneeling at her side and pulling her four-fingered hand from her mouth. Within a second the colour had drained from his face, now resembling pristine porcelain. “How deep is this? Should I fetch Sophia? Does it hurt?”

           “Your grip does,” she answered, using her free hand in an attempt to lessen the pressure he was inflicting upon her wrist. “I’m fine; I’ll just suck on it for a bit and it’ll heal. Just like if you pricked your finger.”

           Snapping up to his feet, standing tall, the slender man coughed into his hand and looked away. “Yes, of course. I should see how far we are from the planet.” Taking his seat at the helm once more, the Eldar set about inspecting the controls with remarkable silence before looking over his shoulder at her once more, the porcelain now a bright pink. “That didn’t happen, right?”

           “Didn’t it?” Fio’el replied, placing the finger between her lips once more.

           “Don’t say a word,” he begged.

           “Oh, alright.”

 

           The tiny vessel groaned as it touched down on the similarly small planet’s surface; the landing gear compensating for the less than perfectly flat terrain upon which Haran had touched down. In search of valuable ores, the landing ground had been selected for its elevation and rocky surface. No later then after the engines had cooled did the mining drone bay doors upon the ship open, releasing the large hovering drones to begin the excavation.

           “Attention crew, we’ve just successfully landed on Mintu VI,” Haran announced over the ship’s internal speakers, his tone hard. “The mining process has already begun and with any luck there will be some worthwhile minerals here to be found. Now, I may have set us down as far from any discernable Orks, but it’s only a matter of time until we’re ass-deep in greenskins.”

           The internal speakers cut out as the crew gathered on the bridge, the device no longer being required.

           “How long do you figure we have?” Silas asked, standing as everyone else sat, his body being too large for the Tau-sized seats. “The sensors must have detected something in the region.”

           “Various tribes can be found as close as the bottom of this mountain, which means we could have company in as little as an hour; but they only appear to be feral Orks, so nothing that presents a grave threat.”

           “That’s reassuring,” Sophia smiled, busily securing her power armour in preparation for the inevitable fighting.

           “There did appear to be a bustling Ork fortress hundreds of clicks away, however,” Haran continued. “Assuming they spotted us, we might have a real fight on our hands in the later part of the day.”

 

           While it was true that none of the greenskins, too busy with rousing face-eating contests, had looked to the skies and seen the ship’s entry into the planet’s atmosphere, there came a sense of – for lack of a better word – distress amongst the ‘civilized’ population of Orks.

           “Waagh?” one would ask, looking about like an agitated squig.

           “Waagh?” another would reply, joining in to look about for the source of the ‘distress’.

           “Ah tink weez gonna ‘av a Waagh,” the next would exclaim excitedly, having narrowed down the direction to one of three.

           “Did ah ‘ear one’a you gits say Waagh?” came a bigger greenskin, trudging along with a choppa – in the form of a crude yet enormous cleaver – and ramshackle machinegun.

           “Dat a’ways!” shouted an even bigger Ork. “Weez gonna ‘ave ourselves a Waagh!”

           “WAAGH!” came a ear-splitting cry; already bullets were being shot into the air – unfortunate for any of the xenos standing on a second floor or higher – as engines revved and rockets were strapped to the most agitated and antsy of the clan.

 

           “Even for when they do arrive, until their numbers become something of a concern, we can keep the drones operational; just keep the damned things safe. Remember, ever hour we keep at it, the greater our earnings.”

           Groaning, Iggy rose to his feet. “Guess I’ll set myself up on top of the ship; until the real threat shows up, it’ll make for a safe nest.”

           “I’ll join you,” Fio’el offered, rising to her hooves and pursuing the man who stood a full nine inches taller than herself.

           “Just watch your aim,” he replied, placing his helmet atop his head.

           “Relax, I won’t shoot your ass,” she sighed, grabbing her rifle from the ship’s locker as they went.

           “Good, but watch out for the drones and ship too, while you’re at it.”

           Only three left sitting around, Sophia started to stand. “And I’ll get to it with my gun and knife.”

           “Hold it,” the Space Marine declared, holding up a hand to her face, keeping her from rising any further. “You used up the last of your ammunition last mission, remember?”

           “Just my knife then.”

           “And my flamer is all out of fuel,” he continued. “I’ll use your ‘knife’, you stay inside where it’s safe.”

           “Aw, why?” she pouted before innocently hitting him below the belt with the added remark: “I can actually hit things.”

           Closing his eyes while chewing his lower lip the towering man in a suit of steel tilted his head to one side and sighed loudly. “Be that as it may, didn’t you say Ork choppa wounds are hard to treat? If that’s true, do you really think it’s smart for the only one of us with real medical knowledge at risk?”

           Over several seconds, the woman replied with a hesitant ‘no?’

           “That’s right,” he replied. “So you stay inside where you’re less likely to get hacked apart and get the medicine ready for any cuts or unplanned amputations we experience.”

           “Will do!” answered Sophia, full of vim and vigour and a wide cheery smile plastered on her face.

           “Haranshemash! We’re all going to die!” the pilot shrieked, tears streaming down his face. “Oh gods…oh gods…” Within seconds he was clinging to the shoulders of both the Battle Brother and Sister of Battle. “P-promise me that you mon-keigh won’t die before I do…I-I couldn’t stand to lose you!”

           As the sobbing and shivering continued without end, Silas – standing over a foot above the Eldar – placed a massive armoured hand upon his closest shoulder and gave him a single shake. “I won’t die here; not today. You know…if you let those foul xenos get the better of us, we’ll never get to sell those goods we looted….”

           The tears cleared as quickly as they came. “Ceiba-ny-shak! I won’t let those primitive fuckers get their filthy hands anywhere near my shitty treasure!” And with that, quick as a whip he had teleported from the bridge.

           The remaining two waited in the nearly empty room in silence. The Space Marine looked about the room, finding only dull terminals and depressingly bare, flat white walls and gave a nervous cough.

           “So, uh, your kni—”

           “Oh, uh, yeah…port stateroom, under the bed.”

           Nodding slowly and continuously, he slowly backed out of the room, unable to think of anything clever enough to leave in a smooth fashion.

 

           Standing atop the veritable flying brick of a space ship, Iggy patrolled the roof while keeping an eye out for any approaching hostile forces. Fio’el, on the other hand, sat near the back, just over the engine as she watched the large disc-shaped drones hover about, cutting away at the earth in search of valuable raw materials.

           “Do you mind?” the guardsman shouted as he moved along the starboard wall, marching towards her though his gaze was on the descending horizon.

           “Just look at them,” she sighed dreamily. “Moving about, using their plasma cutters and hydraulic limbs to move tons of earth away while scanning for minerals…ooh, I get shivers from their efficient design.”

           “That’s great; do it when we’re not expecting trouble.”

           “Aw, just give me a shout when you see them and—”

           “You’re the one with the damned scope; Emperor knows you need it to shoot.”

           “Alright, alright, I’ll keep watch, yeesh…this is the thanks I get for fixing up your sad rifle.”

           Glancing away from the horizon for just a moment, Iggy gave his thanks. “But we can’t all have your fancy xeno tech, now can we?”

           “Hold that thought,” Fio’el insisted, too absorbed in the view through her scope to care that he had already finished. “I got something over here. Six…seven…uh…nine that I can see so far; Orks, but all they’ve got are spears and primitive choppas.”

           Jogging, he rushed to the port side and brought his lasgun to his shoulder, using the sights as he scanned for their movement. “What distance?”

           “Hmm…a couple Tor’—sorry, just over a kilometre away; watch where I shoot.”

           Setting up her aim on the Ork that was closest to the center of the pack of boyz, she squeezed the trigger. The built-in gyroscope kept the weapon steady despite her shaking hands, and a bright light, blue in hue, flashed from the muzzle as its silicon-steel ferrite slug was converted into plasma by electromagnetic induction. The trail of light allowed the guardsman to know just where to look, but the shot itself blew off a low-hanging tree branch rather than giving one of the greenskins a nasty wound.

           “Did you get one?”

           “Uh…no,” she winced, taking aim once more. “But they have stopped in their tracks to yell at us.” Softly, if one listened closely, the shout of ‘Waagh’ could be heard. “Gonna try again….”

           “Save your ammo,” he advised. “You’ll just waste shots and I can barely see them at this range. Just send the location to Haran and he can zip over to deal with them.”

           “Right!” Pulling on a headset, the Tau mechanic set about contacting the eccentric Eldar, giving him the coordinates before watching through her scope as the Warp Spider popped into view and liquefied the targets. “So lucky….”

           “Quite the killer, aren’t you?” Iggy smirked, lowering his rifle. “Bet you wish you had been born a…what do you call them? Flame Caste?”

           “Fire Caste, and no; I mean his tech. So elegant and compact…I wish I could see how it ticks.”

           Still smiling, but shaking his head now, the human breathed that she had been fortunate to be born into the right caste. “Now let’s see if we can find any more that far away.”

 

           The first couple hours of protecting the mining site were spent simply marking targets through the scope and sending their little ball of wrath their location. In their small numbers, lacking any real protection and carrying only primitive weaponry, Haran was able to safely pop in and butcher the lot before moving on to the next site. Despite the many mobs of Ork Boyz, each standing seven or eight feet tall, the far smaller and considerably more slender Eldar dealt with them with ease.

           Over time they started to become more frequent and in greater numbers, reaching the point where Iggy stopped requiring any assistance in detecting their movement, the tide of green simply being ‘there’.

           “Aw Hell, Fio, let me borrow that headset,” he cursed, snatching it off her head with one hand, trying to keep it from catching on her ponytail as he slipped it off. The device being too small for his head, he human pulled off his helmet and held one earpiece to the side of his head and adjusted the mouthpiece for himself. “Haran, do you read me?”

           A string of cursing and background noise of ‘Waagh’ confirmed the contact. “What’s the state of the cargo bays? Are we getting anywhere close to a worthwhile haul yet?”

           “Damn Orks! I’ll check….” Blinking away from the battlefield and back inside the ship, he looked about then appeared on top of the ship beside the soldier. “Well, we’d have to stay here for days to fill up completely; but it looks like they’re finally getting down to what matters.”

           “In other words, if we leave now, we’ve just wasted our time filtering out the chaff?”

           “Precisely. What they’re throwing at us so far isn’t an issue, but I need to catch my breath…think you can pull your weight for a few minutes?”

           “We can if they get closer, but how about dropping Silas into the fray? Can’t imagine he’ll get much to do when we’re up to our necks in dakka.”

           “Relax; by my estimate, they won’t get here for hour or two yet,” Haran said confidently.

           As if on cue, to show just how much Ork logic defied that of the arrogant Eldar, the ground shook as an earth-shattering WAAGH sounded.

           “W-what? That’s not…”

           “Stormboyz, closing in,” Fio’el announced, rifle pointed skywards. “They’re…yes, their rokkit packs are painted red.”

           “Ceiba-ny-shak!” he screamed. “Why can’t they ever use yellow when we’re stalling for time? Or green? We’d have no problems with fucking green!”

           “Calm the fuck down,” Iggy shouted, tossing the headset back to the mechanic. “I’m taking command! Haran, get inside where you’ll be safe and rest for as long as you can; if we’re too hard-pressed, Fio will contact you. When that happens, protect the drones until you think we have to call it quits. Fio, I’ll try to snipe the stormboyz while you search for any war trukks, warbikes, or battlewagons. If you see any battlewagons or bigger, contact Haran and tell him to pack up everything ASAP!”

           “As the mon-keigh asks,” Haran declared, tapping a fist to his chest before warping away.

           “On it,” the Tau confirmed, raising her rifle. “You weren’t a sergeant, were you?”

           “No ma’am, just your ordinary private; didn’t even get any honours before I ran off. Also, when you can, you have to make more of those things for me; I’m the only one of us without a vox.”

           The Orks soaring through the air, a trail of dark smoke marking their passage, zoomed towards them, the veritable squadron of omnicidal goons being propelled by an equally volatile rocket. Already their sluggas were firing wildly, surely having no reasonable chance of striking anything.

           Conservation of ammunition, like ‘diplomacy’, was a concept foreign to Orks. Well, not entirely true, ‘I’z da biggest and da strongest ya git’ wasn’t an entirely unused phrase in greenskin culture.

           As Fio’el counted the number and type of vehicles heading their way, the human guard pointed his lasgun to the skies and took aim. Seventeen of the huge bastards incoming and were even one of them to crash into their mining drones, it would set them back a fortune. Were enough of them to strike the side of their ship, it could doom every last one of them. Firing a shot, he clicked his tongue as the laser was far off target, his aim against such a distant and fast target being too much for his skill with simple iron sights.

           Results, however, were satisfactory, when three spontaneously exploded within ten seconds of one another.

           “Good shot!”

           “N…no, I…they just…well, they must have forgotten to believe,” he gaped, turning his gun over to the next target. If it happened again, he wouldn’t complain.

           A bittersweet outcome, for there was no more unexpected destruction, though he was able to cause an intentional explosion with an accurate shot. Four more perished after another fourteen shots, but by then they were already far too close for comfort; no matter how accurate Iggy could get, time was too pressing.

           “Forget the vehicles for now, aim skywards!” he ordered, the guardsman cursing quite vocally when a shot blew the top of the head off an Ork, but left the rocket unharmed – even worse than having it operational.

           Two rounds of plasma finished the job he started, both barrels of the mechanic’s pulse rifle now venting heat. Between the marksman and mechanic’s frantic firing, only two more of the squadron were taken out before they had completed their descent. Three landed solidly on the patchy grass, dirt, and rock of the mountain, two on top of the Paragon of Exile, and one that WAAGH’d just over the top of the ship and crashed headlong into the ground some ways away

           “Lookie! Dere’s a Sphess Muhreen ta fight!” one of the Orks on the ground laughed excitedly, firing his slugga towards Silas while charging.

           Many of the shots went wide, while other glanced off his thick armour, and the one or two that didn’t merely left deep dents rather than punch through. Such was the reason Adeptus Astartes were known as the foremost defenders of humanity. Eviscerator held low with its engine purring, Battle Brother Silas charged the enemy before him, ignoring the shots fired by the other two.

           When the distance between the two had closed to a mere step and a half, the Stormboy chopped downwards with his axe-shaped choppa as the equally-sized Silas brought his large chainsword around and up. The servos of his power armour compensated for his weapon’s weight as well as aided with the weight of the Ork that lost the exchange, the many sharp teeth whirring through its ramshackle armour and sternum, its choppa having failed against Silas’ rounded pauldron, glancing off mostly harmlessly.

           Hearing a battle cry behind him and to the left, he stepped forward and away with his right foot before swinging the other around behind him just as fast, whipping Sophia’s ‘knife’ at waist height, letting the first body fall off before he could cut through to its rokkit pack. Close enough to grace the front of his helmet and the Imperialis – the winged skull – emblem on the front of his breastplate was another choppa that soon fell to the wayside as xeno was blasted aside with the force of his swing.

           Before he had the chance to congratulate his deeds, however, Silas felt something was wrong, as the teeth of his weapon came to a halt and no encouraging could get them to start again. Without its motor, the Eviscerator was just an inferior blunt instrument.

           “How does this always happen to me?” he spat as he dodged his next opponent, making due and bashing it with the disabled weapon. The Ork wobbled but didn’t fall, being far too large and bloodthirsty to be inconvenienced by a single blow. “Do it the hard way…” groaned the large man as he continued his efforts to bludgeon the husky Ork Boy to death.

 

           The moment the nearest of the two Stormboyz had touched down, Iggy levelled his lasgun to its face and fired not once, not twice, but thrice, ensuring that not even its lower jaw remained to perchance fire.

           Effective.

           Still, that left time for the other to charge. “‘umie! Blue git!” he laughed, firing at the smaller female. ‘Bigga’z betta’, so clearly the ‘humie’ would put up a better fight than the ‘blue git’ after all.

           “Down!” shouted Iggy as he pushed her to a prone position with his left hand as he swung his rifle to open fire.

           One flash of red light left the guardsman’s barrel as three shots zipped towards the two; one flying harmlessly and another ricocheting off the roof, but failing to strike anyone or anything. The third, however, caught him in the left shoulder, blowing the pauldron off his Cadian-issue flak jacket, taking a sizable chunk of his flesh and bone as well.

           In exchange, the shot had missed Fio’el – it would have struck her head or chest, either one enough to prove fatal – and his own blast caught the Ork in the side of the chest, leaving a large sucking wound that pierced through one of its lungs.

           “Want yer turn now, eh humie?” the greenskin laughed, its powerful thick legs having already carried it into range for its choppa. “C’mere, ya git!”

           Eyes widening, Iggy knew death was inevitable should the xeno’s sword-like choppa land unopposed; or even blocked only half-heartedly. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, time seemed to slow to a crawl once more as he searched for an out; there was no way he’d let himself die on some Emperor-forsaken planet with so much of his life left to live. As miserable as it was, it was his.

           Grasping with his left hand, he adjusted his gun into a makeshift shield over his right arm to brace against the Ork’s attack. Would it be enough? He could only hope.

           Time sped up once more as the blow landed, warping the lasgun’s metal and blasting the human from his feet, the force of the blow easily exceeding that of his full weight and leaving him rolling along the ship’s roof.

           “Heh, humie toss…almost da fun o’ a good face-eating match!” he roared. Raising his slugga, the Ork couldn’t resist making use of his dakka.

           The trigger never pulled, as two rounds from the mechanic’s pulse rifle blew upwards through the greenskin’s ribcage, one exiting through its far shoulder and the other out the side of the neck. Red poured from the creature two new holes as it turned its nasty red eyes downwards.

           “Ya git,” he spit seconds before collapsing. Its fall, however, didn’t keep the Tau from making sure with another shot through its head.

           Panting, she dragged her trusty weapon along behind her as she ran for the battlefield casualty. “Iggy!”

           “Not…dead,” he groaned, aware of the unmitigated torment that was his right arm. “Status?”

           “How bad is it? Should I get Haran to—”

           “Status!” shouted the guard through a pained grimace. “Wartrukks? Battlewagons? What’s incoming?”

           “T-trukks, lots of them; bikes too. But that doesn’t matter, let’s get you back inside and—”

           “How long can we hold out?” Fights couldn’t end just because of an injury; he knew this and had to live by it for so long as he was a soldier.

           Gritting her teeth, the woman from a non-warrior caste raised her rifle to her shoulder and stared out through the scope at the approaching green tide. “Twenty minutes? Maybe only fifteen; they’re red. Then the shooting will start.”

           “Gives us…time,” he coughed. All of his right side was in pain from the recent crushing blow. Slinging his gun over his left shoulder, Iggy made his way to the hatch leading back inside, confident that a descent could be made with only one limb. “Call…call it in at eight minutes…Haran can get us out in that much time.”

           She watched as he slowly made his way down the ladder, into the safety of the vessel. “Ten minutes; we’re not taking our chances for that little ore. And thank you.”

           “Fine; use your own judgement.” Disappearing below the level of the hull, he shouted back: “Don’t; you’re the one who was able to kill him.”

           Looking through her scope once more, Fio’el fired several shots at the approaching army, confident that she couldn’t help but hit something. While true, the act was still a waste of ammunition as she came to realize, and just added to the pain in her shoulder from the recoil. A bruise was undoubtedly growing under the fabric of her shirt.

           Without something much larger, like a Hammerhead railgun or ion cannon, mounted onto their ship, anything they’d do would be akin to a drop of water in a desert. Contacting the pilot, she put in the order to start the engines and recall the drones, giving the impression that the enemy were closer than they really were. Well…perhaps some of them had rokkit launchas handy, making an early retreat all the wiser.

           “Silas, you clear down there?”

           Flogging the third Ork twice more for good measure, he sighed. “Yeah, just finished the last one now; if it weren’t for those damned packs I’d have just crushed it under my boot. Please don’t say more incoming….”

           “Well, yes, but—”

           “Damn it all! My weapon’s busted!”

           “Yeah, Iggy’s out, too, but we’re packing it in; get back in the ship so we can take off the moment the drones are secure.”

           Returning a confirmation, the Battle Brother made his way back into the ship. Once more he hadn’t played much of a role, but was happy to be avoiding further battle.

           With everything secure within the hull of the flying brick of a ship, the aerodynamic nightmare rose into the air and moved skywards, away from the green tide that would not enjoy a Waagh that day. Not until one mentioned Gorka and a fight broke out, that is.

           “How’d we make out?” Silas inquired, removing his helmet to get some fresh air on his glistening ebony skin as he stood in the cargo bay. Looking carefully, he saw that he was alone. To one side of him was the portion of the hold remodelled to hold any cargo they could get their hands on. On the portside was the section quartered off for any ore they could mine.

           Still alone, he used one of the ship’s consoles for to see the ship’s manifest; in five hours work they had been able to get their hands on six tons of ore. With any luck, something valuable was mixed in with it all.

           Moving closer to the front of the ship, following a spotty trail of blood until he was beside the stateroom doors, he shouted a different question. “Everyone on board?”

           Haran was flying; naturally. Sophia had to be present, given she never left the ship. The other two, while it stood to reason they’d be somewhere, had more ambiguity about them, given their role in the battle.

           “Iggy’s in bad shape,” Fio’el yelled back from the portside stateroom, inciting the Marine to pull open the door.

           The room, too crowded for the over seven-foot hulk to enter, allowed him only to pop his head inside to find the bed blood-stained as the pair of women operated on the simple man. Their hands were equally red, the Sister of Battle putting her knowledge to work while using the Tau as an extra set of hands.

           “How bad?” Silas asked with a mix of concern and curiosity.

           “Worse than what would be fixed on the front lines, better than Straken,” the tall woman with the bob cut answered, keeping her attention on the sedated patient. Effectively, her answer had placed him somewhere between serious disease or gaping wounds and missing an arm, shoulder, third of the torso, and a piece of the neck.

           “Can you save him?”

           “I need to concentrate!” she snapped; her usual buoyancy lost as her patience had worn thin in the emergency.

           Glancing away for but a second, Fio’el assured him that they would save his life. “But go spend time with Haran; we need to work.”

           Indeed, the wounds had been quite severe, with his right clavicle and scapula shattered and the wound was bleeding profusely. From having resisted the strike from the Ork choppa, his right arm had become mangled – compound facture of the humerus and a cracked ulna – and riddled with internal bleeding and swelling. Three cracked ribs and one broken from the same blow and ensuing tumble, with his left arm suffering a number of bruises and hairline fractures from the tumble following the strike. Otherwise he had come out mostly unscathed, with one exception.

           On the palm of his left hand, there was a cut only a half a centimetre deep, yet given the likelihood that it was from the jagged edge of the Ork choppa it was a wound of considerable concern. The strongest antibacterials had been added to the laceration at once, and antibiotics administered to the bloodstream to resist whatever had already crept into his bloodstream.

           Greenskins were nefariously unsanitary, and their choppas – a veritable all-purpose tool in their under-developed minds – were disgusting even in comparison. Often times, people that survived the attack itself perished from the ensuing bacteria.

           Hours were spent on the heavily sedated guardsman, with repeated blood transfusions and recycled blood, as bones were set, bleeds cauterized, and flesh knit. With the best tools of the Imperium, Tau Empire, or Eldar Craftworlds, the act of saving the human would have been rendered trivial, yet on the poorly equipped ship, stretches of time were dedicated simply to keeping him from flat lining. At the end of the day, when the doctor and her improvising nurse had to call it quits, the green quilt and white sheets of the bed had both been forever stained red; a considerable supply of human blood exhausted on the man with even more having pooled around the mattress or coating the women and the fronts of their clothes.

           In the end all of it was naught but trivial concerns as Iggy was breathing; his heartbeat stable even though his blood pressure was low. Rest would be his only tasks for days to come, and weeks of recovery until his body could heal and then rehabilitation.

           But to be alive; Iggy couldn’t have been happier.

3: Chapter 3 - Raiders of the Dark

            Stepping up behind the seated pilot, Silas cracked his neck and fingers to work the kinks out of his body while catching glances of the star charts on the multitude of displays. “Crazy Tau and their techno-sorcery,” the Battle Brother thought, “much more proper to have a navigator from the Navis Nobilite sealed away in a tabernacle aboard the ship, their disgusting selves well out of sight.”

            “So where we going this time?” inquired the super soldier, giving up on reading the heretical displays.

            “Our most convenient choice is Uchides II; an agri-world on the border between your people’s territory and Fio’el’s,” the pilot explained, sounding impossibly detached.

            “Loyalist?”

            “Latest records are that the support of the local mon-keigh is favouring the Tau, if that’s what you mean.” At the sound of the displeased grumblings that emanated from the giant, Haran began laughing uncontrollably.

            “Shut your mouth, xeno; I may be working with you and that Tau, but my loyalties lie just as much with the Emperor now as they had during my neophyte days!”

            Through snickers only repressed by virtue of his speaking, the Warp Spider pressed the issue. “Should I take us to further into the Mordant Zone where your kind are more loyal?”

            Without a pause, Silas gave a proud answer at once. “Emperor no, I’d be killed at once if I was found to be working with xenos.” Only after his declaration did silence reign – discounting the Eldar’s chaotic laughter – for a moment or two as it dawned on the Space Marine what he had just said. “So, Uchides II…is it a peaceful place?”

            Entertainment spent, Haran snapped back to utter detachment in the blink of an eye. “Very low feral Ork population, the Imperial Guard hasn’t been called in to keep the world in their hands, and with the exception of a few Fire Caste serving as body guards, the Tau presence is limited to some Water Caste handling negotiations and a number of Earth Caste labourers.”

            “How long to arrival?”

            “Seventy-three hours, provided we have no problems.”

            “Emperor be praised,” the Space Marine declared with a relieved sigh, already in the process of removing the gauntlets of his power armour.

 

            Despite the way the cosmos seemed to conspire to raise a fuss whenever some variation of the phrase ‘if nothing goes wrong’ is uttered, the Paragon of Exile did, in fact, make it to the ideologically contested planet in good time. In fact, the ship touched down in a greatly underwhelming spaceport almost an hour earlier than expected.

            For the duration of the trip, Iggy was restricted to a stateroom bed; a constraint to which he was perfectly content with following. The simple act of lying in place required a mild anaesthetic to mitigate the many wounds he had suffered, so he doubted he’d have any desire to so much as sit up. The human, still early into his recovery, was constantly kept watch over by Fio’el and Sophia – the only ones on board that could be trusted with a patient – each taking turns keeping him company and supplying him with the necessary drugs.

            When not busy with Iggy, the Sister of Battle spent her time playing with her newest pet or fiddling with a data slate; memorizing litanies, reading a story, or playing a mundane game as the mood took her. Unfamiliar with Tyranid biology, least of all rippers specifically, she could only assume that its tendency to drool and periodically roll about when awake was perfectly natural for the creature.

            Fio’el, even when accompanying the patient, was always busily tinkering away with one piece of equipment or another. Most often she laboured on some part of Silas’ treasured suit though would divert her attention to other pieces of equipment when his insistence that she follow rituals to ‘honour the machine spirit’ grew too tiresome. A fair bit of time was dedicated to the guardsman’s lasgun, as she tried to see just what parts of it could be salvaged for parts. Repairing the weapon was out of the question, the body casing having been horribly warped and punctured in places, a bent power pack catch, and the stock’s holding lug had been snapped. Fortunately, she knew the stock itself could be kept along with the screw-on barrel, and while it took some effort to free the power pack from the mangled casing, there was nothing stopping her from ensuring its functionality.

            The Battle Brother, alleviated of his nearly ever-present armour, was free to lounge about in his robes; green and black with gold trim, just like his proud chapter’s colours. The portion of his time not spent performing rites and exercising, was dedicated to sifting through the analysis of the ores mined from the Ork world. Silas discovered they had been lucky and come into a vein of uncommon ores that would fetch a somewhat better price than normally expected, but was hardly a treasure trove the likes of precious metals or gems. One could only hope, really.

            Perhaps being away from his monastic order and living a life too impoverished to adhere to the Adeptus Astartes’ daily rituals had been having a negative effect on him, the Space Marine noted. Such wanton thirst for wealth surely was a sign of impurity, he believed.

            Haran, on the other hand, was far less reserved in his eagerness for profit. The hours not spent ensuring the ship remained free of hazards as they skimmed the surface of the Warp were filled with maniacal wringing of wrists as he contemplated the potential gains from their recent acquisitions. After this, he’d get his hands on some decent food for their excursions. Next haul? Some big money would surely come in next time and then he could get his hands on some better equipment or – and wouldn’t it be nice – a ship with enough staterooms that he could have his own, private place to sleep.

            Be it credits, throne gelds, deks, or any other form of currency, the Warp Spider knew that one day he find himself with enough wealth to own his own planet with a private retinue of several Guardian squads at his beck and call along with ample servants for whatever he might need or desire. Of course, whenever his mind wandered over to the desires, the Eldar found need to vanish to someplace private until his thoughts could be turned to something else by one means or another.

            At their destination, the crew of the small mining vessel was free to stretch their legs on a planet that had no reason to actively try and butcher any of them. Well, true loyalists may have a thing or two to say about the small Tau and tall Eldar while supporters of the Tau regime may likewise be on edge from the Battle Brother or Eldar, but that would be little more than some local rabble. On such a low-density world, not even its PDF would be cause for concern, as if they’d bother with a group of poor Rogue Traders in the first place.

            “Are we going to bring any of these goods with us?” Silas asked, walking about the cargo hold while ensuring the knife that he had tucked away into his robe would go undetected.

            “Leave them here,” the Warp Spider chuckled gaily as he smoothed out his purple mantle. “They’ll be safer and I doubt any would-be buyers would be willing to make the trip only to leave empty-handed.”

            Sticking her hands into her bodyglove’s pockets, Fio’el looked towards the front of the ship. “Should one of us stay with Iggy?”

            “He’ll be perfectly safe here,” Sophia smiled between attempts to properly adjust the fitting of her leather bodice, muttering after the third attempt: “damn thing needs some tailoring….”

            Tapping one hoof against the floor anxiously, the mechanic excused herself just to check up on him. Poking her head into the stateroom, the blue-skinned woman waved a four-fingered hand to catch the human’s attention. “You’re gonna be alone for a bit; need anything?”

            “Nah, the painkillers are still doing the trick,” he answered, rolling his head towards her. Over the past few days, his body had recuperated nicely; not so far as to let him move freely, but if need be he was able to walk through the ship and make nominal use of his left hand. “I’ll be fine.”

            “Anything you want us to get for you?”

            “Some real food for the next time Sophia feels like murdering everything and maybe some good amasec if you can swing it? I’ll settle for grain to distil it myself,” he listed, his caregiver making a mental note of his demands with a nod. “Oh, and some more condoms wouldn’t hurt, either.”

             “Sure thing,” she smiled, flashing him a toothy grin and a thumbs up; habits picked up from such frequent human interaction.

            As she disappeared back out the door, he quickly shouted one more thing after her. “And a gun!”

 

            Out of the ship, the four healthy members of the ship walked along a level and pressed dirt road towards the rest of the local community. Like all agri-worlds, no less than eighty-five percent of its landmass was dedicated towards crop cultivation, leaving its paltry population scattered about in small communities. Great sweeping fields of crops, both native and imported, filled the land as far as the eye could see beyond the structures laid out for a community of no more than a few thousand.

            As the quartet moved past various homes, stores, and facilities, there were many times in which Silas and Sophia felt right at home as they appreciated the gothic architecture in all its splendour. Yet, in the clearly newer sections of the town, Fio’el was also able to get a taste of home whenever she spotted a building with smooth walls and circular design. Even the blockiest of her kind’s architecture featured rounded corners; an aesthetic that none of her companions shared.

            “Let’s see if we can find ourselves an arms dealer,” Silas huffed, puffing out his chest under strong, folded arms; everything about him causing nearby pedestrians to give the unusual team an even greater breadth.

            “You sure? I think we need some money first,” Fio’el reasoned. “Even if there’s a favourable exchange rate, there’s no way we can load up on so little.”

            It was Haran’s turn to make a learned human gesture by pumping both arms up into the air and releasing a loud, enthusiastic hoot. Again, increasing the distance between themselves and any of the locals. “It’s time to fleece some mon-keigh!”

            “You really ought to keep your voice down,” the Tau chastised, reaching up nearly a foot above her head to swat the back of the Warp Spider’s. “Insulting these people isn’t exactly going to help our margins.”

            “Maybe we should find a xeno for you to deal with or a loyal citizen that I might talk to,” the Space Marine proposed, much preferring the latter.

            “Let’s try to find you one of yours first,” she hastily replied. As all of her people were divided into strict castes, the mercantile-oriented Water Caste that they’d be dealing with could likely run circles around her, or any of her companions, in the commercial arena. Not unless she could find herself a young Por’saal still wet behind the ears to do business with.

            Though even a trainee could very well know a trick or two that could cause the focused mechanic to stumble; not that it was terribly difficult feat to be honest.

            From such a small community, one could accurately guess that they didn’t need to look far to find someone in the market for that which they were selling. Of course, it also meant their choices were limited in the sorts of people they could try selling to. An Emperor-worshiping citizen for the raw materials and another for the machine parts; a representative of the planetary governor who was looking to buy the spices for her surprisingly not inbred Lord; and a man who, by his shaved head and robes modeled in the fashion of the local Tau sect, was clearly in favour of the xenos presence desired a look at the ore they had personally mined.

            Likewise, the man seemed interested in the prominent boulders the ship’s Tau possessed but learned to be a bit less overt with his gaze the after Silas cracked his knuckles for the second time and palmed most of his head. How quickly a man’s priorities change when he realizes his cranium is easily contained within the hand of a man at least thrice his weight in raw muscle.

            Between the planet’s reliance on imported processed goods and raw materials, reverence for a member of the Astartes, and other’s love for curvy women – human or alien – Haran had been gleefully dancing at  the sale price of their goods, assuming they had made a killing. Given they had gotten everything for free, it wasn’t an inaccurate assessment, but their earnings hadn’t been quite so far above market value that an informed speculative trader would have become giddy. Especially the spice, which the representative had skilfully negotiated a perfectly fair price.

            Each buyer paid for the goods and made use Silas and his strength to load up their transports. The vagabonds while still far from wealthy now had enough funding to finally begin buying their essentials. Some tanks of promethium for the flamer, an ample stockpile of bolter rounds for Sophia’s ‘gun’, and frag grenades for all to use, but mostly the recovering guardsman. Much like the somewhat dubious means they needed to take to get their hands on their equipment – that is to say, having the trustworthy Silas slip a PDF sergeant a bribe – Fio’el remembered to get a new lasgun for Iggy along with a new battery pack.

            Once the military essentials were dealt with, it came time to worry about the likes of food, fuel, and medicine.  The mechanic, remembering the patient’s requests, spent a bit of time away from the others to do a little shopping of her own, finding him a suitable bottle of wine along with some simple electronic parts for a present she was sure would make him happy.

            Everyone then spent a little more on personal items before putting an end to shopping and settling in at the first bar that didn’t make a fuss over xenos - and likewise didn’t have patrons that incite a cursing tirade from Haran. A meal and a round of drinks were ordered by each of them and they were once more reminded of the benefit of stopping at an agri-world. Parts, gear, and weapons were always overpriced if not outright unavailable, the people were dirty, and everything smelled of grox or other such livestock animals, no matter how far away they seemed to be kept.

            Yet when their meals arrived, they were able to look down at plates covered in authentic food; grains, vegetables, and cuts of meat instead of nutrient slurry. When even the elitist Eldar isn’t fussing over the meal, they knew it was a good one. Ever since they had first met with Fio’el, she hadn’t spoken a word against any of the cuisine, they had, whether they had landed in her people’s territory, the best or worst of Imperial worlds, or even what slop they needed to eat on their ship.

            None thought to ask why she was so agreeable with meals, but when each of them knew it was ‘that’, ‘nothing’ or going back to wherever they were running from, everyone accepted the unspoken explanation, no matter how accurate.

            The much larger Space Marine waved for a second helping as the others finished and settled for nursing their drinks before deciding just where to go next.

            “Find an asteroid somewhere we can mine for ore?” was the suggestion made by the mechanic. “Low-risk, low-cost, and we’ve got all the equipment for it.”

            Haran waved a hand as he swallowed a great mouthful of spirits. “Nah, that’s no good; we’ll never get rich like that. Besides, we should always be doing that alongside our real plans.”

            “And just what are our real plans?” she pressed.

            “That’s what I damn well want to figure out now, isn’t it?” he snapped, slapping down his cup loudly against the tabletop, turning the heads of some of the other, nearer patrons. “Fuck off, all of you! Private conversation here!”

            Pulling his glass away from his mouth, Silas quickly slapped Haran’s head from across the table before turning his head enough to let the other customers know he was addressing them. “Pay no mind, civilians; this one’s just a loud, emotional twat. Harmless, I assure you.”

            Beyond the sobbing of an emotionally hurt Eldar, the bar’s mood returned to normal, leaving them free from unwanted attention.

            “Well, we can buy food from this place cheap enough, can’t we?” the dark-skinned giant commented. “Why don’t we just fill our hold with whatever stock we can get, trek over to the nearest hive world not in this system and profit? The only disadvantages are that only Sophia and Iggy, if he’s well enough, should be seen – I could leave the ship if I had to, but someone might ask questions – and that we can’t possibly hold enough food to make an even juicier…uh, notable profit.”

            “Yes, that’s perfect,” Haran smirked, greedily rubbing his hands together. The slender and elongated qualities common to his race making the gesture look all the more sinister. “First thing tomorrow we’ll hunt down a supplier.”

            Sophia spoke up, having thought of a shortfall. “What about the tithing?”

            Rubbing his chin, Silas did have to concede the, albeit small, possibility. “If this world has a grade of Exactis Extremis, we’d have a bit of a search or price hike to fill our hold, but then again if it were expected of these people I doubt the Imperium would be so abhorrently willing to let this planet fall into the hands of some foul xenos.”

            Both Haran and Fio’el stared at him, the Tau especially.

            With a sigh he added: “Apologies….”

            Wanting to avoid being cooped up in a tiny ship for who knows how long, the petite mechanic spoke up to offer a compromise. “What if we find an overpopulated Tau—?”

            All further speech was halted by the sheer force of the Adeptus’ glower alone. “We’re not selling essential Imperium goods to xenos.”

            “I agree,” Haran nodded, garnering a proud though confused nod from the seated muscle. “Tau worlds never get as densely packed so our margins would be worse off.”

            Not where the large man had wanted to go with matters, but he took whatever support he could find.

            Another round of drinks was ordered before the four considered returning to the ship for the night. Good and tipsy, the field medic and muscle paid were led down the street to a lodge where they got rooms for the night. Small chambers in stone rooms with somewhat stiff mattresses; their stays were all around preferable to the staterooms of the Tau craft with their miniscule metal rooms and worn to the point of being solid beds. Haran accepted the trip back, not wanting to risk staying in a xenophobic town while in any emotional state – without a weapon handy, at least. Walking beside him was an equally buzzed but still rational Fio’el, carrying a bag of takeout for the patient.

 

            Iggy opened his eyes and turned his head at the sound of his door opening, seeing a familiar face shuffle in.

            “Hey, Iggy,” she smiled, a slur to her speech. “Look’it what I gotcha.” Continuing to make her way closer, the Tau held up the small bag with a boxed meal and cheaply sealed drink inside.

            “Is that…real food?” he asked, inching his back up along the wall that served as his headboard until he was sitting upright. A difficult task when even one’s good arm had a bandaged shoulder. Taking the meal from her hands and opening the contents of the box, he let out a satisfied sigh from the sight of it alone: ground grox, noodles covered in melted cheese, some local green vegetable, and buttered bread of the variety that hadn’t been aged beyond a week and preserved with Emperor knows what chemicals. “All for me? No catch?”

            Gingerly touching the top of his head she beamed at him. “S’all yers; gotta keep m’favorite Gue’vesa happy ‘n healthy, right?”

            Though he didn’t consider himself a member of the Tau, with the food and, saints be praised, beer before him, he was almost ready to accept. “This won’t interfere with my meds, will it?”

            Blinking awkwardly, she thought about it. “Uh…hmm…ya know, maybe ya better hold off fer now ‘n just have s’milk.”

            Tearing the sumptuous – at least comparatively – beverage away from his face before he had the chance to partake, Iggy snapped the lid back on and passed it back to her. Well, fresh milk from whatever creature it had come from was still better than drinking tepid water that had been recycled the seventeen times over. “Where are the others?”

            “Haran’s’over in the other room, Soph ‘n Sil are in a hotel someplace,” she explained, fine one second then bursting out laughing. “Oh…oh, can you imagine? If those two were….” Continued laughter cut off any further coherent words as she held her sides and leaned against the wall beside his head.

            Dispassionately, the human shrugged as he drooled over a mouthful of bread. “If that spares me from fixing her whenever her switch flips, I’ve no problems.”

            “Oh, like you don’t like it.”

            “Where are you planning to stay?” he asked, quick to change the subject.

            “Horny ui’t,” she laughed. “It’ll take more ky’husa t’get me to say yes while yer all beat up like that. I’ll just lie back in the pilot’s chair; good enough for one night.”

            Wishing her well, the guardsman focused on his meal, considering it the best part of his week.

 

            Late the following day after everyone had time to recover from their hangovers, however severe, the four healthy shipmates departed once more in search of a vendor for enough foodstuffs to adequately fill the side of their cargo hold not dedicated to mining. Though Silas had been right in assuming the planet had not been given a grade of Exactis Extremis, the markets opened through trade with the neighbouring Tau had allowed the vendors to hold a greater confidence in their goods. It wasn’t until after a half-hour of haggling and restraining the vitriolic Eldar that the crew had been able to acquire the goods at wholesale value.

            Though not a bad price, on an agri-world where produce was seemingly as plentiful as air, the outcome still felt as a loss for the Paragon of Exile. Even then, the crew had still turned an acceptable profit.

            As the goods were delivered to their ship, the four decided to return to last night’s bar once more, deciding to spend another day on the rather agreeable planet before departing. Still an interesting sight to the natives, they had become an accepted occurrence, though periodic outburst of laughter, cursing, or sobbing from Haran still turned many heads.

            How terribly would the opinion of his people be changed by the inhabitants of Uchides II? Naturally, they’d still be feared and hated as per the core doctrine of the Imperial Cult, but rumours of their manic personalities would surely permeate through local records.

            “Why’d we have to take a booth by a window?” Haran asked, shielding his eyes from the evening sun that poured in.

            “Because it’s a nice change from a depressing sea of stars day after day,” Fio’el replied, munching on some deep-fried and salted tubers.

            “I’d prefer it if the ship were more like the interior of a battle barge,” Silas sighed, longing for the high gothic ceilings and tall columns, kept serenely under-exposed to light.

            “If we had a ship like a battle barge, there’s no way the five of us could get it to move; we’d need a fucking lot more people,” the Eldar spat, though the notion of having more space then they could ever hope to fill appealing.

            “You know what I meant,” spat the Space Marine.

            “I like it,” smiled the Sister. “All those soft glowing lights and cheerful yellow and white make me feel happy.”

            “That’s…one way to look at it,” the mechanic hummed, never having considered a mining ship’s interior ‘cheerful’. “I wouldn’t mind seeing the interior of a battle barge some day.

            “Hmph, if you did, you’d either already be dead or executed shortly,” Silas boasted, crossing his arms triumphantly. “There’s no way that…uh, that you….” In short notice, his confident claims to the great security and fortitude of the Astartes’ greatest warships fell silent to the apparent increasingly tear-filled eyes of the small Tau.

            “B-but…but w-what d-di-id I do?” she sniffled, taking another swig of a thick, syrupy brand of amasec.

            “Hey now, what kind of a man makes an innocent girl cry?” Haran snickered wildly, a stupid grin plastered across his face, unable to hide just how much he enjoyed the opportunity to chastise the giant.

            Looking from the weeping – and likely drunk – mechanic to the pilot who had obviously only gotten involved to rub him the wrong way, Silas glanced over to Sophia who had reached around Fio’el’s shoulders to give a comforting hug while looking at him. Disappointed.

            “How did—”

            From somewhere else in the bar one voice loudly interrupted by booing followed quickly by a shout of: “Ukos!”

            When Silas snapped his head around, everyone was busy minding their own business and making no indication as to who the offenders had been. Had he understood any of their language, the Astartes would surely have been more confused than irate as to why someone had just shouted the word ‘spoon’ at him.

            “How did I become the bad guy?” he frowned, reaching across the table to take her drink away from her. “And what in the Emperor’s—”

            “Who?” Sophia chimed in softly.

            “—name possessed you to order this?” Not one to let the outrageously potent drink go to waste, he downed the remaining quarter of the cup’s contents and slammed a hand against the table’s surface. In the seconds that followed, he stared down into the empty glass, wondering if he ought to pull out the last bits of the beverage with a finger.

            “Mm, Haran? Wha’s you guys’ ship look like?”

            Puffing out his chest, the Warp Spider started at once to describe the sheer majesty of the Void Stalker-class battleship of his people, enumerating various acts of great heroism by certain such ships during the Gothic War – alternatively known as the ‘Twelfth Black Crusade’ or ‘Abaddon’s Twelfth Failure’. Before he could finish his promotion of the accomplishments of his people – an act that would likely have consumed the better part of the afternoon rather than the twenty-some minutes already devoted to his ramblings – the engineer raised a different question.

            “Mm, Haran? Wha’s that up there?” she asked, pointing up to the sky.

            Though ordinarily the foolish question of a drunk, this time clear darkening evening skies had taken on a viridian light. This alien light seemed to unfold, spiralling outwards. Having their attention drawn to it, Adeptus Astartes and Adepta Sororitas alike understood something was gravely wrong, though knew not its nature. Haran, however, turned a ghastly white as the light continued to coil, knowing full well what was to soon be upon them.

            Wasting no time to bother with explanations, the Warp Spider slammed down the money due for their meal on the table and started for the exit, grabbing Silas by the back of his robe and dragging to emphasize the urgency. With the matter of the encroaching threat, he would have rather not wasted any money on what was soon – he hoped – to be a corpse, but anything that might interfere with their most urgent departure was best avoided. Already, even were they to run in a straight line, it would be twenty minutes before they could reach their ship, and some time longer before they’d be back in space. Fortunately the drunk was no problem; such a small woman could be carried by the big strong Silas or the smaller and stronger Sophia.

            Perhaps, he thought, if the PDF had noticed and started to mobilize, that would buy them a little time; perhaps even keep any aircraft away from the spaceport as they beat a hasty retreat. Seeing that the viridian light had finished unfolding into a shimmering portal blazing with green flame, revealing that the multidimensional portal was complete, he knew the mon-keigh were either in place to meet their slaughter or would be butchered all the faster while putting up far less of a fight.

            “Mind filling us in?” Silas shouted, keeping his attention focused skywards even as the two women ran into his broad back.

            “Raiders; from Commorragh. The Flaying is going to start any minute!”

            “Iggy!” Sophia shouted, jumping past any further discussion as she bolted towards the ship.

            “C’mon,” Haran screamed at the Astartes, his volume coming from fear rather than anger. “Grab the drunk and move it!”

            Cursing the very existence of the Eldar’s corrupted kin, the Space Marine force the Tau to wrap her slender arms around his trunk-like neck and held her up from behind with his hands. With his fingers woven together, the man’s hands may as well have been a full seat for her. Despite lacking the lithe grace of the pilot or Sister’s head start, his muscular body – lighter than ever without his bulky power armour despite its enhancing properties – accelerated along the road, allowing him to keep pace and even catch up to the Battle Sister.

            With the Webway gate complete, the three hadn’t even a minute before the first ships appeared through its shimmering surface. Ten nefarious black craft, each looking like a small black, armor-plated, short-mast yacht came running soaring through, propelled by anti-grav engines, each overfilled with ten Dark Eldar that were clinging exterior by holes in the dark plates. At the helm of every ship – raiders, as they were called, appropriately enough – stood a gunner guiding the barrel of a dark lance at any target to take his or her fancy. With every blindingly fast ray of darkness that marked a dark lance’s firing, a section of ground exploded from the darklight ammunition, and so too was any person of vehicle in its path vaporised.

            No sooner than the raiders had cleared the Webway did tens more craft come speeding through, passing the larger vessels in a heartbeat. Reavers, as they were known: jetbikes that were little more than a souped-up engine with place enough for the rider and weapons. Though at the front of each ride was likely a mounted splinter rifle, a more notable threat were the impossibly sharp blades affixed to the jetbike in places that would allow the rider a certain ease to sunder the bodies of those to which they come in close proximity.

            “Of all the times to be without my armour,” Silas growled, flexing his hands for a small relief.

            “You honestly think that would help?” Silas asked, keeping his head down in hopes of staying just a touch less noticeable – perhaps more useful when they had actually reached the fields of wheat outside of town. But that was at least a minute away.

            A beam of darkness soared far overhead and a section of building exploded.

            “Well, maybe not from one of those, but the Kabalites, at least!”

            Haran would concede that it would have kept him safe from any splinter rifle. “Just be glad we’re no where between them and the governor’s manor.” Without waiting for someone to ask for an explanation, he went on. “If this is a by-the-book raid, the first wave will be making a run for the Uchides II’s command center. I would assume that’s the governor and wherever the nearest PDF outpost is established.”

            “And the second wave?” Silas pressed, keeping pace with Haran, occasionally slowing so that the Sister wouldn’t fall behind.

            “That depends on just how lucky we are.”

            “That’s it? Luck?”

            “Well, and things I’d consider luck,” Haran explained, grinding his teeth. “Next would be the Mandrakes and Scourges. Scouts and aerial infantry, if you will. If we’re lucky, the PDF is active enough that they’re busy slaughtering those mon-keigh. Otherwise, we should hope they see more ripe targets than the four of us.”

            “The Emperor protects! But…when can we tell if we’re screwed?”

            Haran laughed for a split second before returning to his terrified self. “If we see some Scourges flying overhead, we damn well better hope we can lose them in some tall fields and not get shot. If you feel a chill, then hope the Mandrake doesn’t hit you.”

            Gritting his teeth, Silas continued to run for the space port, fearing the coolness of the slightest breeze and wishing the Imperium of Man hadn’t so many abominations to deal with so that he might memorize all of them.

 

            Smelling the delicious scent of his waiting beer between bites of ration bar, hoping to fool his taste buds into holding the flavour as he ate the bland garbage, Iggy raised his head suddenly. “The hell is going on?” he wondered, swinging his feet over the side of his bed.

            Carefully sealing and setting aside his drink, the wounded guardsman threw the remainder of the ration bar to one side and wearily moved about the ship. Making his way into the sensors room, he looked about the controls, trying to make heads or tails of them. Once, maybe twice, Fio’el had shown him how they worked, but it had been over a year since he last touched any of the controls and now he was on meds. After a minute of staring at the letters that were just as blocky as Tau technology, he made his way to the back of the ship and opened the cargo bay doors.

            It was evening now, as he was well aware, but while squinting out into the evening sky, he could see the bizarre shapes moving out through the air and hear the sound of gunfire. Iggy didn’t know what the flaming green light was in the sky, either, but he knew the clichés of his life well enough to understand none of what was happening was any good.

            Leaving the door open, he rushed off to handle the two things he knew could do while waiting for the other to return. If they were to return.

 

             Only five-odd minutes left before they’d be back at the ship and ready to attempt takeoff. Had  he an Eldar craft, the pilot would have been confident in evading his evil kinsmen’s raiding ships and airborne personnel, of which now the skimmer-riding Hellions were apart. The third wave was in full effect and only one more was to arrive, and yet already the only sounds the four could hear were those of Dark Eldar weaponry, war cries, and the screams of the hunted. Nothing suggesting there was anyone still fighting back could be heard. At least on this part of the world, the enemy had free reign, and it hadn’t even held its ground until the last of the enemies reinforced their allies.

             “How you holding up Haran?” the Space Marine asked, confident in his own physical talents and superhuman physiology, but uncertain of the others.

            “I’d be a lot fucking better were I wearing my Khaine-damned Aspect armour!” he cursed, now into angry territory given there was some distance between him and a rich population of mon-keigh for the enemy to pillage. Sweat was beading on his porcelain skin from exertion, but his step never slowed. “I’d make due with even the jump generator alone. But I’ll make it!”

            “How about you, Sophia?” he shouted over his shoulder. Looking one way, he found the drunk and likely somewhat carsick from his rough strides and so quickly glanced over the other side. At a glance he knew what she was going to say, as though he were a psyker.

            “This top isn’t right for running!” she protested, trying to keep things in place – or at least covered – as she kept pace. Wardrobe aside, she was having no trouble maintaining her personal top speed, showing signs of sweat but was still breathing evenly.

            “Just keep at it,” the Battle Brother encouraged. “Look; even in this light I can see the spaceport!” To be more accurate, he could see an absence of farmland up ahead but not any particular structures or craft, and only because they had just crested a small hill, but that was enough to grant him a confidence boost.

            Even Fio’el let out a triumphant murmur at his declaration! Or perhaps a slurred protest as her seat received another squeeze.

            As beneficial as it was to their morale at that moment, it also posed an immediate risk for the lot. Before they could get that hill behind them, a shout came from behind them. At first they believed – or at least hoped – that it had nothing to do with them, but after a minute had passed, the pilot’s keen senses heard the flapping of wings.

            “Scourge!” he shouted in a panic, his face once more ghostly in pallor.

            Were this one carrying any of its kind’s splinter weapons – the cannon in particular – then they’d surely soon find themselves riddled with shards of potent, crystallized neurotoxin, and there’d be little any of them could hope to do, so far from any form of treatment. Then again, even were they to be hit while in the comfort of their own ship, only Sophia could say whether they had any drugs that could counteract it assuming they had an antidote potent and fast-acting enough.

            What could be said to the three runners and the passenger’s luck, only one of the bird-men – unholy products of sadistic torture technicians taking body modification to the extreme on a willing victim – had broken away from the more populous town to partake of this rare assortment of victims. The first shot, aimed towards the Dark Eldar’s still virtuous – comparatively, at least – kin, while not desired, was at least made against the one best able to react.

            Suspecting, the Scourge would more readily target a formidable and despised genetic relative over a more inept and meaningless human, Haran had kept his focus upon their pursuer as he used his wings to stalk them from above. Recognizing the moment the trigger was about to be pulled through the innate psychic talents of his people, the Warp Spider sidestepped and cut behind the formidable Silas. Having narrowly avoided the impact of the barbed wire net that had been fired and by witnessing the wasted shot, the Eldar knew at once the weapon being used against them. Rather than being poisoned by the smallest cuts, they ran the risk of being trapped within a polymer mesh that would continue to tighten and cut with each of the victim’s movements. In other words, the foe was making use of a shredder.

            In a sense, it was the greater of two evils for were any of them to be struck it would allow them to be taken captive and tortured; perhaps for years. Though as close as they were to their ship – the affront to principles of aerodynamics that it was – perhaps those not captured could take up arms and defeat the solitary foe, reclaiming their still-living comrades.

            Before the flier could take his next shot, this time deciding to get the guaranteed two-for-one, a flash of red light pierced the night, striking him in the shoulder. Somewhat startled by the unanticipated retaliation but no worse for wear thanks to its suit of hardened resins, pockets of lighter-than-air gas, and, most importantly, miniature force field projectors, the enemy now knew it needed to divide its attention between the gunman and its prey. Fortunately for the Scourge, the new enemy wasn’t hard to find, standing in the only well-lit area in sight – just beyond a ship’s bay doors.

            From within the mining vessel, Iggy knew had been spotted and said to hell with accuracy. Drawing the lasgun closer to his body, he began firing as quickly as his finger would allow. It was difficult to aim a long-barrelled rifle with just one arm, and even more so when it wasn’t his dominant one at that, but a steady stream of red light at least gave the xeno reason to stay back as his friends made their way towards and up the ramp into the ship. The moment that the last of them set foot on the access ramp, he pushed his good elbow against the button to seal the ship.

            With how fast they were moving and as close to the entrance as they were, the four made it through with ample time. Yet their expedient pursuer, while dealing with the chaotic suppressing fire, was unable to come close enough to slip his lithe alien body inside. The even more slender Eldar, once inside, wasted no time making his way to the cockpit, starting on the list of procedures to get the ship airborne. Decidedly, the sooner the five of them could be soaring through the bleak sea of stars better.

            “What on Terra is going on out there?” Iggy huffed, propping his lasgun against a nearby wall.

           Only now that the marathon had been seen to its end, did the Battle Brother and Sister begin panting heavily, sucking in deep breaths as they came to relax.

            “Raiders…” Sophia summarized aptly.

            Silas, on the other hand, went on. “Dark Eldar raiding party; Haran knew enough about those abominable Warp gates for us to get a head start out of town before they started. Good thing they operated according to The Flaying or we may not have made it. In case you didn’t know, that’s—”

            “The standard attack pattern of Dark Eldar raids; I know,” Iggy nodded. When he had nothing else to do, he would spend it reading battle reports. If he were to stay alive, he’d need whatever information that could be found.

            “Smart ass,” Silas scoffed as he set down his passenger, slipping in one last squeeze. “Here, have her lay down in a stateroom; damn thing didn’t know to stick to…to the….”

            The Space Marine’s eyes twitched nervously as he felt a chill in his fingertips. When he saw a puff of white as the Adepta Sororitas caught her breath, he had just enough time to shout for everyone to dodge before the room experienced a flash freeze; all moisture crystallizing at once. At least one of them was about to be attacked.

            The wounded Iggy dove away from his gun, for to do otherwise would be to crash shoulder-first into a wall. Sophia wasted no time dropping into a squat as the Battle Brother rolled to his right, pulling the Tau off her feet as he went, unable to rely on her reaction time in such a state of insobriety. Of the three, the one needing to move the most had been Sophia.

            As she dropped, a lean creature with skin of darkest night, emblazoned with a multitude of Eldar runes seemed to appear straight out of her shadow and took a heavy swing at where her head had been a mere instant before. The impossibly sharp blade of the saw-edged sword trimming away the hairs that stood on end as she dropped. As fast as it was, before it could redirect its swing using its other hand, Sophia kicked off against the ground, diving for the opposite side of the room to where Iggy had jumped.

            When the Mandrake took chase, the seemingly mouth-less creature let out a surprised shriek when it found itself blindsided by the burly Silas. Upon the skin where a mouth was expected, a newly formed green image of a mouth pulsed as the Space Marine’s left hand enclosed around its left wrist and slammed it against the bay door in an effort to force it to drop its weapon.

            The tackle failed, however, as the surprisingly strong creature resisted even as it was pounded into the closed metal door, feeling the tremendous full weight of one of the Emperor’s finest. Obviously not him, personally, but an inspiring mantle nonetheless. As his grip tightened and body continued to press the foe, the Astartes waited to hear some crack sound from its unprotected body, completely bare beyond a pant-like garment made of other creatures’ skin and the ghostly white hair that flowed from atop its head.

            A pragmatic killer, the Mandrake twisted its right arm around thrust its sharp claws into the Battle Brother’s gut, piercing the skin but finding itself blocked by the black plastic sheets that were imbedded beneath. Its attack thwarted by the black carapace every Space Marine possessed, it could only try again, believing that it would eventually succeed in either breaking through or inflicting sufficient pain to drive away the brute.

            Neither outcome arose, for as terrible the records Silas possessed, none stemmed from cowardice or physical shortcoming. Toughing out that which he considered only an inconvenience, he watched with glee as the creature alien even to Dark Eldar turned its head away from the wall to better see him and promptly struck it upon the temple with a formidable head butt. A second, third, and fourth followed, successfully breaking the skin and drawing blood. His assault could have continued, but rather than risk giving himself a faint migraine, Silas decided to pursue a different route.

            Opening his mouth, he chose to make use of the oft forgotten Betcher’s gland; projecting a spray of highly corrosive poison into the Mandrake’s left eye the side of its head. At once the fluid began to eat away at the xeno’s skin and for all the enjoyment and nourishment these creatures and their tenuous allies derived from the torment of others, such could not be gained from its own.

            A smile crept across Silas’ face as the blade finally fell from his opponent’s hand, clamouring against the floor. So too did the stabbing of the claws come to a halt, though he was not yet ready to relent with the pressing. Deception was an intrinsic part of their ilk, and the Astartes knew well that this could have been a ruse.

            “Sophia, get its sword and cut off this thing’s head for me, will ya?” he ordered, glancing away to ensure the others were still about.

            Iggy and the lush had made their escape leaving the two combat-ready individuals behind; for the best, he decided, as it could have been troublesome had a drunk or casualty gotten involved. Sophia, on the other hand, was fully prepared to take up the alien weapon, appreciate its fine edge, and adeptly hack off its head as instructed.

            “We should keep this,” the Sister of Battle smiled, once more appreciating the craftsmanship.

            “Sure, whatever; just so long as it’s not tainted by Chaos. C’mon, let’s get this body stuffed in an airlock and jettisoned before it stinks up the place.”

4: Chapter 4 - Dregs of Man (I)

            With Fio’el tucked away ‘comfortably’ in the only other stateroom, Iggy returned to his, ready to settle back down and finish his meal of corpse starch. He didn’t feel any need to worry about his safety any longer, for by the time he had taken the mechanic and fled, he had already seen Silas successfully pin the invader and Sophia gain her bearings. If there was a creature able to overpower those two, he figured it would need a decidedly inhuman form, an inorganic body, or considerably greater stature.

            Sitting down on the bed, he looked about where he had tossed the already open package aside but couldn’t find anything beyond an empty wrapper. Too tired from the stressful evening to care where it had gone – even should there be some breed of rat aboard the ship – the guardsman carefully settled himself down on the hard bed and closed his eyes.

 

            By the time enough hours had passed to permit everyone a decent rest, Uchides II had already become nothing more than an unfortunate memory; though even the rather dispassionate Salamander wished the inhabitants a better fate than fading into history as another victim of the Dark Eldar.

            Though he’d never admit it, Silas would have even preferred the Tau get their four-fingered hands on it rather than fall to those sadists. Of course, it was only because ‘blueies’ keep their planets in better shape for Imperial conquest.

            Finishing his morning prayer, the super soldier rose from his kneel and began moving about through the tiny vessel, deciding Haran was the best conversationalist at the time. Sure, there were proper humans on board but a greater kindred spirit seemed to be felt with the Warp Spider.

            How depressing, he thought.

            Marching up to the cockpit the towering man stood behind the pilot seat, blocking almost all light out of the narrow room that wasn’t coming from the flight controls. “What’s our situation?”

            “As you mon-keigh sometimes say, ‘fuck my life’,” Haran spat, holding his face in his hands as he rubbed his temples with his thumbs.

            “We’re being pursued?” Silas snapped in fear.

            Peals of hysterical laughter erupted from the Eldar’s mouth. “Was that a joke? You know I’d hardly be sitting still if that were the case. Being pursued…you foolish….”

            “Bloody xeno…then what is going on?”

            Yawning fiercely, his eyes fluttered half shut, the sudden onset of oppressive boredom wearing heavy upon him. “This damned destination; it should be one week until we reach Rothea IV – Imperial hive world, perfect for unloading our wares – but wouldn’t you know it, other fucking things have to make us take three weeks to avoid them. That is, unless you’d like to cross paths with a merchant fleet, an apparent space hulk investigation, or fly near a Warp Storm.”

            “There can’t possibly be that many things in this much nothing,” the Space Marine stated incredulously.

            “Oh, there isn’t, but if we’re keeping far enough away from everything so that we’re not worth investigating, we need to keep a fair distance. Also….” Fiddling with the controls, the de facto pilot displayed a map of their small part of the galaxy. “Here’s Uchides II and here’s where we are now,” he began, highlighting them on the screen.”

            The Battle Brother nodded in understanding.

            “And here,” a dot was illuminated far across the map, “is Rothea IV; the closest hive world that doesn’t have an agri-world the same subsystem.”

            “The best market for us….”

            “Yes,” Haran echoed greedily, momentarily forgetting his frustration. “And here’s the Warp Storm – unless we’re fortunate enough that it has ended since it was first reported two years ago….”

            “Unlikely.”

            “Which, given its position means we could go this way to lose the least amount of time but a space hulk was reported in the area – having likely come from that very storm – several months after so an investigation is likely underway or under preparation—”

            “They do take a lot of time to handle properly….”

            “So the best route to avoid all that is this way,” he motioned, showing just how much of a detour it would entail.

            “And what of the merchant fleet?”

            “It’s a clear path from there to the world, only that puts us in the path of a known merchant fleet route way over here, which is due for that area soon.”

            “If we weren’t in a damnable Tau ship, this wouldn’t be so great a problem.”

            “If this were an Eldar ship none of this would pose a theat.”

            “Keep telling yourself that, xeno,” Silas scoffed. “Nonetheless, it’ll be a nuisance to wait that long.”

            “Oh how terribly inconvenient for you,” Haran seethed. “You have to stay on the ship for a whole month before setting food outside? How can you stand it? You know what…hey! Fio’el!” he shouted. “Can you believe how believe how fucking terrible this guy has it?”

            Sitting further back in the ship’s bridge, the Earth Caste Tau raised her head from her assorted tools and miniscule electronic components to give an obviously forced look of sympathy to the large man. “Say it isn’t so; how about after Rothea we head straight to another xenophobic Imperial world so you don’t have to hide in a hidden compartment in case the locals decide to inspect the ship…oh, wait.”

            “Point taken,” Silas huffed, muttering under his breath: “damn uppity xenos.” Giving her project a second thought, he left the Eldar alone to inspect her machinations more closely. Not being a techmarine nor having any connection to the Adeptus Mechanicus, the assortment of electronics meant nothing to him. “What’s this? Practicing some foul techno-sorcery?”

            “It’s a gift for Iggy,” Fio’el replied, keeping her eyes focused on her work; though she had bought replacement parts, she preferred to keep them for when the device broke and not when first piecing it together. “And before you throw a fit, it’s just a vox-bead.”

            Rather than utter an already impotent bit of indignation, the Space Marine quickly coughed to disguise his utterance. “A vox-bead, you say? Yes…that’s good; very good. I’m sure he will…uh…didn’t he have one already?”

            “No, he’s the only one of us without one.”

            “But his helmet—”

            “Didn’t have one built in.”

            “You must not—”

            “I use one that came with the ship; works just fine since I stay on board.”

            “Then it’s about time this was made,” he huffed.

            Shaking her head at how the least effective member of the crew could be so bold as to hold his head so high. “And just because you and your ‘Adeptus Mechanicus’ aren’t clever enough to figure out how it works, that doesn’t make it ‘sorcery’.”

            Were his skin not always a jet black, the super soldier’s face would have gained a noticeable shade of red, the likes of which would match his eyes. “You watch what you say you…you—”

             “You’re an ‘ass’ man, aren’t you?” the mechanic inquired suddenly.

            All at once his rage was replaced by pure confusion with a loud accompaniment of unrepressed laughter from the pilot’s seat. Too many conflicting thoughts were running through the Space Marine’s head to do anything but stare agape. Was this somehow relevant to the conversation? Was she trying to throw him off guard? Distract him? Perhaps it was a cultural thing? Did she determine that because of his personality? Was he really, or were legs or breasts more his focus?

            “After my hangover cleared up I remember that someone had been giving mine a little too many squeezes to have not liked it. Who was it that carried me back to the ship?”

            The laughter continued as Silas’ mouth flapped uselessly. “I…w-who was it, I—”

            “Oh my, is the big Gue’la getting…how do you say…‘all hard up’ for me? Xenophilia is especially heretical, isn’t it?”

            “We were being shot at; if it wasn’t your imagination it was surely an accident,” he argued, growing increasingly annoyed by the Eldar’s continued laughter. “Would you shut up?”

             “Oh, of course, but next time your hands get stickier than a mal’caor’s web, ask first,” she chastised.

            Horribly flustered and able to only deny the allegations vehemently, the Battle Brother stormed from the bridge, grumbling about the blasphemous tongues of all xenos as he stormed off. As bothered as he was, Silas kept his opinion of their squishiness to himself.

 

            “What’s all that noise about?” Iggy grumbled, sitting still on a stool as Sophia hovered over him, changing his bandages or removing them as necessary.

            “Just Silas,” she answered cheerfully, checking his left hand and nodding approvingly at the absence of the wound. “Your right side will need to stay in that cast for a while, but I was able to find some medicine that ought to speed things along a little.”

            “What do you mean by that?” Ordinarily he’d trust the advice of his doctor – this in one in particular – but when it came to special medicines he felt cause for concern. The many varieties of combat drugs the Imperium had developed could do wondrous if not miraculous things – just look at the Eversors – but could also cause one’s body to violently explode – just look at the Eversors.

            Removing a syringe and vial from a case and filling it with a dose of off-brown coloured fluid, she prepared his left arm – the only one not secured in a cast – for the injection. “Well, if we went with a regular treatment you should be back to your old self in ten to twelve days. But seeing as we’ll be playing it safe for now – and we can’t afford to use this for every injury – I’ll reduce the dosage and you should heal in…two to three weeks.”

            Watching the needle push into his arm, Iggy asked his most immediate concern. “Side effects?”

            Finishing the injection, she set the hypodermic aside for sterilization before passing him the slip of paper that had come with the drugs. His eyes were fine so he could do the reading on his own as she inspected his wounded shoulder.

            Carefully inspecting the miniscule text, he was able to keep from frowning at the reasonably mundane potential reactions: nausea, swelling, dizziness, fatigue, increased risk of infection, blurred vision, weight loss, lowered sex drive, and headaches. Given Sophia’s attentiveness, Iggy doubted any infection would go unnoticed and the others didn’t concern him all that much. Conveniently, he noticed, was a list of litanies that patients ought to recite with every treatment to reduce the likelihood of any ill effects.

            “Seems reasonable enough,” the human nodded, holding onto the paper until such time as she was done with his shoulder. “How’s it look?”

            “It was bleeding again,” she sighed, replacing the soiled bandages. “You must have reopened it when you were shooting or getting Fio’el to bed.”

            “Damn good thing lasguns don’t have recoil, then.”

            Sophia smiled but kept silent, thinking to herself that, had he tried the same thing in the same condition with a bolter – not even hers, just the standard gun – she would have been busy setting his shoulder back into place.

            The silence endured between them until Iggy, quite spent on the maintained isolation he had experienced while in the Uchides system, found something to discuss. “So…Sister, just what do you think you’ll be doing once we have earned ourselves enough wealth?”

            Though unable to see her face while she tended to him from behind, he could nonetheless imagine the faint flushness of her face as she spoke. “I…well…just what are you suggesting?”

            Silence wasn’t sounding like such a bad idea, he then realized but decided it was a little late for regrets. “I think you’re imagining something…well, something else than what I mean. Emperor knows—” he began, now imagining her giving him that same confused expression she always somehow made whenever anyone spoke of the saviour of mankind, “—that I can’t return home, or to any other world that may know of my service record. I would be summarily executed, sent to a penal legion, or, worst of all, handed over to Commissar Ardwin for punishment.”

            “Who is Commissar Ardwin?”

            Hearing the name alone was enough to send shivers up his spine. “The most terrifying person I’ve ever met; human or abomination. But instead of that, because I can’t go home – or anywhere even remotely close – I have to consider what to do when we’ve made money enough for me to take my share of the profits and settle down somewhere I can live without having things trying to kill me every other week. Don’t tell Silas, but I’m not sure whether I’d rather try to stay hidden on an Imperial world or make the leap and live among the Tau.”

            “Okay…and how many kids do you want?” she pressed.

            “That…that is really not my concern at moment,” he sighed. Around everyone else she never behaved in such a fashion so why, Iggy wondered, did her mind turn to such things around him? In fact, the human was perplexed as to why Fio’el would sometimes behave equally enamoured.

            After all, by all accounts as far as he could tell, he was an ordinary human lacking any outstanding features beyond having served in the Imperial Guard and not died – a distinction, perhaps, but not among peers who almost all had at least that much credentials. With his faith in the Emperor unshaken, he could at least take solace in that whatever was the source of their fascination, it hadn’t anything to do with the taint of Chaos within him.

            “I’m meaning that I want to find a world that’s peaceful and not need to fight any more. What would you want after you’re rich enough?” One last try; whether he got a satisfying answer or not, he wouldn’t ask again.

            Taping down the fresh dressing, she thought about it for a while. “I…well, it would be nice to see the Sisters at the Order of Our Martyred Lady again but they were awfully angry at me when I first left…. I don’t really want to stop doing what we’re doing and just stay with everyone and you, Iggy,” she smiled rubbing her hand against his scratchy blonde hair.

            “If we could make a living without being shot at…I’d be content with that,” he replied. Sure, the food was usually awful, the conditions were cramped, and the company was manic, but…well, at least they were safe company.

            “Maybe we can,” Sophia smiled optimistically, and not even for a second did he believe her. “Now you get some more rest while I put this all away. Oh, and it’s about time I fed Clicky,” she reminded herself, filling her arms with the medical supplies and carrying them out of the room.

            “Clicky?” he wondered, but said nothing as he laid down to sleep.

 

            Three weeks seemed to drag for the crew of the Paragon of Exile. While there was no danger making the hours and minutes feel particularly long, a constant lack of excitement served to bring about a dreary boredom that could only be alleviated for so long by drinking, gambling, or reading. Among the crew, while Haran had the easiest time in his constant piloting the ship and Fio’el with her tinkering, it was the guardsman who had the most miserable of time of all.

             From reading the list of side effects of his medication, Iggy had assumed that such were the potential outcomes. While true, he hadn’t expected that it was much more likely to experience all of them then it was to go without. In the three weeks it took for his body to heal, for a day after every dose he was left experiencing every effect outside of infection – as Sophia had kept too close an eye on him for one to set in – and, to the best of his knowledge, any impact to his libido.

            Of course, when dealing with headaches, vomiting, swollen joints, overwhelming exhaustion, and eyes that could no longer differentiate the shapes or proximity of objects, any desire for sex would naturally vanish.

            When finally he was off the medicine for good and his body was bones had healed, the former guardsman found himself twenty pounds lighter than before and still in dire need of rehabilitation through whatever exercises could be done aboard the ship.

            But now was a time for Silas and Sophia to perform admirably for the team as a whole. As the only humans in shape enough leave the ship in search of a buyer for their wares, it was their duty to set food onto the pollution-ridden hive and its outrageously overpopulated streets in search of profits while at the same time keeping others oblivious to their treasonous and somewhat heretical ways.

            Long before they could even hope to land, it was up to Silas to tell Fio’el and Haran what messages to send by vox to the planet to keep them from being gunned down by security. After all, they were hardly in the Gothic-style ships the Imperium so loved. But even after being recognized as a craft piloted by the Emperor’s own, they all knew from experience that they’d be treated with suspicion.

            Paying the berthing costs for landing their ship in the hive of Medorhyphos was the first order of business – one could always count on the planetary governor to line his or her pockets any way they could. The money was taken from their hands almost the very moment the ship’s door bay door opened, with the fees ‘graciously accepted’ by members of the hive’s Enforcer Cadre.

            Twelve men and women carrying lasguns with combat knives or shock mauls at their waist, each dressed in leather armour, combat boots, ceramite pauldrons, and matching, fully-enclosed helmets. Hardly threatening compared to the many creatures that inhabited the galaxy, and yet more than adequate to intimidate citizens. Of course, with the ones to have stepped out from the ship being a Sister of Battle dressed in Sororitas Power Armour with an Eviscerator slung over one shoulder and a Salamander Space Marine wearing his Aquila Armour, it was not as though they had the same clout then and there.

            In fact, their behaviour was considerably more civil than any other visitor could expect when receiving payment, their speech full of “mandated fees, Sister” and “sorry for troubling you, Brother”. Once the matter of local currency and its exchange was sorted out, the twelve excused themselves without inspecting the vessel self-assured that whatever business the Adepta and Adeptus had, it was righteous and in the name of the Emperor. Even after being bluntly declared as ‘private matters’. With any luck, that such a remarkably suspicious vessel was occupied by two such outstanding individuals would dissuade further investigation.

            Silas wasn’t so optimistic.

            “Wait out here for a minute, I have to take care of something before we leave,” he instructed his partner before ducking back inside the definitively Tau ship. Sticking his head inside the designated infirmary – and would remain so until the casualty was deemed fit to rejoin the workforce – the Battle Brother called out to the former guardsman as he strained with push-ups.

            “Are we safe?” were the first words out of Iggy’s mouth.

            “If we weren’t, I wouldn’t be speaking to you now would I? Berthing costs have been paid for – how much of it was actually a bribe I’ll never know – but in case anyone else shows….”

            “The usual story?”

            “That’s right,” Silas nodded. “You’re well enough?”

            “Well enough,” he echoed, his arms giving out as he came to lie flat on the cold floor.

            Whenever they had done business on a decidedly loyal Imperial world, the same act would be carried out to justify the crew’s strange composition. Iggy would claim to be a Chapter Serf loyal to the Salamanders, and Brother Silas especially, after having had his life saved by them after his squad had been annihilated in combat. Though that scheme usually involved Iggy being out and about while the big strong Space Marine kept people away from their heretical-looking ship.

            Silas did, at least, remain optimistic that if push came to shove, that ordinary guardsman would find a way to come out on top as he always had a knack for doing. In the meantime he would need to stay focused on the duties he and Sophia held.

            Being on the upperhive portion of the hive – standing among the bureaucrats and other members of the Administratum and yet still below the aristocracy and nobility of the spire that was nestled in the clouds – breathing apparatuses weren’t necessary for the duo as they walked about in search of buyers. The air was breathable where they were should they ever come in contact with the atmosphere, still well above the permanent layer of poisonous smog that enveloped the planet and threatened the lower hive, underhive, and outskirts. While the latter two were shit out of luck on the matter, those of the lower hive – spending their lives toiling in the power plants and manufactorums – could extend their miserable life expectancies by purchasing the drugs needed to tolerate the smog.

            Were they to turn a profit on their visit, it was best that everyone aboard the Paragon of Exile pretend that there was nothing to Rothea IV below the upperhive.

            Using commonsense, the pair knew what which merchants to ignore and with their clearly displayed association with two of the most revered sections of the Imperium, were able to have their questions answered and meetings arranged with the right sort of clients. For when one of the Emperor’s Finest and a representative of the Ecclesiarchy’s military force, one does what is asked lest one wants an inquisitor from the Ordo Hereticus knocking at their door.

            Providing their newly acquired contacts the information on just where they could be reached to hear further news of their business dealings, Silas and Sophia soon found themselves moving about the hive in the early hours of the evening, having spent all day searching for buyers.

            “That should just about do it,” Sophia breathed in relief, slapping her hands together. “We best head back to the ship and wait for when we can make a deal.”

            “We could,” Silas agreed, nodding his head in agreement but showing a modicum of hesitation. “On the other hand, we have been working all this time so I think we deserve a break, wouldn’t you say?”

            Studying him for a moment but not gaining much for his helmet, just like hers, completely encapsulated his head. “Do you mean ‘eat out’ or…well, I don’t think he’s recovered enough for that and usually says no if I’m not b—”

            “Ah, no, the former,” he interrupted, cringing and raising a hand to his face out of habit. “We have money enough and we are high enough up that the restaurants serve appetizing meals.”

            Still too far from the outer edge of the hive to see the sky but the interior’s streets having their illumination winding down for the evening – not that they were ever terribly bright – she knew it was evening but not terribly late. It was better if either of the people with real clout were onboard the ship but on the other hand, she did feel peckish and lacklustre grub warmed on a hotplate inside of a can sounded wholly unappealing.

            “Fine; dinner and no more than three…maybe four drinks and then we head right back to the ship.”

            “But of course,” he laughed heartily, leading them onwards to the first bar that looked serviceable.

            Had the upperhive any establishments that could be considered a ‘sty’ by the standards of the two wanderers, the two hadn’t found one in their search, both taking a seat at a table close to the bar. Their helmets were removed as the food arrived; two plates of greasy, fried something, still-steaming mystery meat, and a pair of mugs just about running over with what smelled like some kind of strong beer.

            Suffice to say, it was more or less just what they had wanted as each went for the alcohol first before picking at the food. A beer and a half later, along with what they were assuming was fatty grox and oil-fried bread, both were sitting back in their chairs feeling happier than they had been in some time, the tavern’s other patrons giving the two ample space. Of course, the odd citizen did come near to bow and honour the pair like good little loyalists, but any true and proper grovelling was to be expected in the lower hive or outskirts.

            “More of whatever this is,” Sophia shouted at the bar, her half-empty glass mug being waved about in the air and within seconds a fresh one was delivered. “Yeah…yeah, four sounds like a good number.”

            “Indeed,” agreed Silas as he slammed his empty cup down on the tabletop and followed it with a slap of the hand, getting the same service as his companion. “Now, this as been irritating me for some time now….”

            “Haran?”

            “Well, yes, but besides that.”

            “How much th’food will go for?”

            “Longer than that. I—”

            “Why you—”

            “Iggy, damn you,” he snapped. “Why in the Warp would you, or anyone not cobbling together a life in the lower hive, see anything in that unimportant wretch?”

            Blinking away the liquored fog that was starting to roll in over her mind, the Sister slurred out the question: “Isn’t he a better shot than you?”

            “Accuracy hasn’t got anything to do with it,” huffed the Salamander. “Your eyes work, yes? Is he not painfully average in appearance? Respectable, but he keeps his hair in a military buzz-cut, average height, average build. The man doesn’t even have any distinguishing marks of valour!”

            Looking at him as he complained, Sophia did think to herself that despite his remarkably broad features the Space Marine was ruggedly handsome. But much like Iggy, he was free of scars beyond scratches that could have just as easily been a bad shaving mishap as a war wound. Still, be it from the spirits, her existing fascination with the human, or the Astartes’ practical uselessness, his arguments didn’t seem all that compelling.

            “I don’t know; there’s just something…special about him. I like it,” she answered, finishing off her one drink before moving over to the new one. “Y’know…he’s kinda nice and…simple? No…plain?”

            “Simple is right,” Silas coughed. “And, what? That ‘something special’ is also enough to catch the eye of that…uh, enginseer of ours?” Internally, the giant both congratulated himself for keeping from declaring they travelled with at least one xeno in the midst of many potential witnesses and demanded that he recite The Emperor’s Prayer and Libation to the Emperor an extra time before resting for his heresy.

            “She does not,” laughed Sophia, taking another gulp. “You’re just mad she remembers your busy hands.”

            “I did not—”

            “Oh, and that she wasn’t too happy about it, either.”

            Once more his deeply ebony skin hid the red that would have otherwise been clear as the Emperor’s divinity. There would be words, he would make damn sure of that, but right then was neither the time nor the place for their discussion.

            “Oh…I was wondering…just what do you want to do after we get enough throne gelds, or anything else?” All the talk of her simple lover had reminded her of his offhanded inquiry; and he never had quite answered the question of how many kids he wanted them to have.

            Opening his mouth to reply, Silas failed to say a word as his eyes moved from her face down to his drink, and there his gaze remained until he had finished nearly every drop. “I have a good idea of what I shall do but I’d rather not answer now.”

            Pouting as she signalled for another drink, the Sister asked: “Why not?”

            Making his own gesture to the bartender to ignore the previous request, the Battle Brother placed both hands flat upon the tabletop and rose to his feet, hoping his intent to leave would be clear. “Consider that there are things those not among our crew should not know.”

            Suddenly aware of the number of citizens milling about at the bar and other tables, she nodded, donned her helmet once more, and rose to her feet; Eviscerator once more in hand.

            Travelling through the halls of Medorhyphos at what were the designated hours of night – presumably set by the nobility far above who could see the sun – the pair made their way past the many Corinthian columns and giant plaques with a bas-relief proudly displaying an Aquila or Iron Skull. Their heavy armoured boots clacked noisily as they struck the scratched and worn stone floor, the high and empty corridor causing the noise to echo loudly, as though there were a full squad on the move. What few other people there were about were either stumbling about in small groups all liquored up, quickly moving to or from bars, or the odd low-level enforcers standing about smoking lho-sticks.

            On occasion such enforcers would shout or harass one or more of the lushes, kicking them around and ‘confiscating’ whatever alcohol they still had on them only to drink it themselves a minute later. Had he still been an honourable member of his Chapter, Silas told himself he’d have never let it stand and would have personally put every last of the unruly enforcers in their place but now, unable and unwilling to stand out any more than necessary, he could do little more than stamp a foot a little harder than usual as he moved past to make them jump.

            Arriving at their ship, tucked away in the far corner of the massive hanger – well out of sight to avoid offending anyone with its heretical design – Silas didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until the ship’s door had closed entirely. There to greet them as Iggy, dressed in an old burlap robe that covered him from head to toe, save for the lower part of his face that was visible from under its oversized cowl.

            “Any troubles while we were away?” Silas asked, removing his helmet and blinking at the superior lighting possessed by the ship over the hive at any time of day.

            “Nothing urgent,” the last of the human crew replied, pulling off the inconvenient robe and slinging it over his cast. “The two of you must have made a good impression, since I didn’t have to speak to anyone or open the door before either of you arrived, though it looks like they’re still a mite suspicious of us.”

            “How many?”

            “Two or three depending on whether they’re in the middle of rotating the watch.”

            “We’ve done worse,” the giant shrugged. “Just rest easy; we’ll have a buyer in a day or two and tomorrow we can find ourselves a supplier for some machine parts, electronics, or weapons. Once we’re full of that we can set course for a primal world and make another killing.”

            “You’d best discuss that with Haran, then,” Iggy replied heading for the front of the ship to return to his stateroom. “So long as there aren’t things needing to be shot at, I’m off duty.”

            Finding herself alone with him, isolated even from their fellow crewmen, Sophia decided to return to her previous question. “So what are you planning to do with—?”

            “Not…not right now, if you please,” he interrupted, following after the former guardsman only with a different destination in mind. “There are more important things than idle fantasy. And you know what idleness breeds.”

            Giving a conformity nod, she let him leave without pushing any further. Feeling a faint buzz from her drinking and anticipating another busy day, Sophia decided a proper night’s rest would be in order.

5: Chapter 5 - Dregs of Man (II)

            A restful night was spent among the crew, with Fio’el and Haran taking turns monitoring the ship’s sensors to ensure those enforcers watching the ship weren’t making any moves.

            Whoever’s orders they were following, they must have not been overly suspicious as the guards never patrolled more than a few feet from where they appeared to station  themselves initially, save for the odd time where one would shirk their duties to interact with a peer. All the better for the Earth Caste Tau who spent her time assembling the vox-bead, testing it, and then adding the finishing touches. Worse for the Eldar who constantly felt the crushing boredom of staring at three stationary blips on a screen far worse than any other could.

            The second day of their stay was spent as planned, with the Adepta and Adeptus taking inventory of what goods they could buy up for when they made their next voyage. As unappealing as primal worlds often were, the cheap goods they could purchase in Medorhyphos would be highly sought after there. With some good fortune, there were more trade goods to be found then they could hope to transport on a ship so small – or afford with still so few funds – but once their present cargo was spent, there’d be no issue finding replacement tonnage.

            Returning to the ship after a day’s wearisome marching passable foodstuffs were purchased by the pair and brought to the ship so that everyone could eat. Their safety remained, with the enforcer’s semi-watchful eyes remaining distant while their prospects improved. A message had arrived by way of servo-skull requested an audience from the Battle Brother and Sister. Given the message was sent by one Cladus Rhees – one of the hive’s nobles – it was less a request than it was an order had it been delivered to a lesser being.

            “It’s working against us,” Iggy frowned, stabbing at one of the items in his bowl that resembled a pickled baby radish – what it really was, he didn’t wish to dwell. “We may be safe from heresy charges for the moment, but word of a Space Marine and Sister of Battle arriving – on a Tau ship, no less – has been getting around quickly.”

            “Is he looking to threaten us?” Silas asked, chewing on his rather poorly cooked grox and washing it down with some homemade amasec.

            The five of them had gathered in the bridge, conversing over their meals, taking advantage of the four chairs the room had.

            Haran sneered derisively. “Even for a Mon-keigh you shouldn’t be that stupid. Had he wanted to threaten us, he’d have used whatever so-called warriors a man of his position would have or get one of his subordinates to use theirs.”

            “I hadn’t the chance to find exactly how important this man is – stuck on this iron duke and all – but from how high on hive he lives, he might even be able to get part of the PDF to move if asked or have an enforcer cadre.”

            “Then what does he want?” the giant asked, growing irritated by the lack of respect.

            “As far as the message explained…just that he wants to do business with us. Tomorrow around nine-hundred hours this planet’s time the servo-skull will arrive to guide you to his home for…well, whatever it is he wants.”

            “Blast it,” he muttered with a sigh, shovelling the rest of his food into his mouth and swallowing. “This can only lead to something unpleasant.”

            Clearing her mouth with a sip of amasec, the one Tau among them looked confused. “I don’t understand why you Gue’la are so weary of your leaders. They lead you to prosperity, don’t they?”

            Sophia nodded in agreement. “That’s right.”

            Before Iggy could get a word in with some of his cynical ‘wisdom’, but not before Haran could start laughing, Silas took over. “You believe whatever insane propaganda your ‘Ethereals’ tell you, but our Inquisition’s Ordo Hereticus does not let even planetary governors out of its grasp. Besides, in my days I have met with enough nobles to know how slimy and incompetent they can be.”

            Even the guardsman was somewhat taken aback by the venomous distaste. “Then perhaps I should—”

            “You stay on the ship,” Silas nonetheless objected. “I’m not incompetent; Sophia and I are fully capable of keeping things from going poorly.”

             

            Another evening came and went, with the number of observers increasing by one during the shift exchanges rather than decreasing. Either the shift manager had realized the weakness of their plans or their crew had somehow raised a warning flag in someone’s eyes. Still, immediate danger seemed distant and nothing stood in the way of Silas and Sophia’s meeting with Cladus.

            Following close behind the hovering servo-skull, the duo made their way up a startling number of floors until they had ascended well into the clouds. On a clear day there would surely have been sunlight pouring in through the numerous stained glass windows placed intermittently instead of ordinary panes as a most assuredly breath-taking sight. Still, even with only occasional flashes of lightning taking place, the ever so brief splattering of coloured patterns on the stone floor were something to behold.

            Being led to a luxurious estate – that is, a sizable penthouse – with a trio of distinguished looking toughs milling about, Silas had to wonder how much trouble it would have been to get inside had it not been for their mechanical guide. As they were stopped at the door and verified that the servo-skull did belong to their master, the Space Marine realized that, while it could have a touch troublesome diplomatically, physically it would have been effortless. At a distance what had seemed like three guards was really a doorman, a servant on break, and one overdressed man with an autopistol at his hip.

            Helmet on, Silas had no doubts he could force his way inside barehanded had it been necessary.

            Fortunately it wasn’t, and once inside the man’s private property they had their senses assaulted by garish tapestries depicting accomplishments that, if even remotely factual, were grossly exaggerated. Not only the tapestries, but the floors were covered with woven rugs of far too many colours, walls with murals or paintings both hideous and self-serving, and small tables overcrowded with vases and decorative bowls, all needlessly rich in taste.

            Upon having been led to the drawing room by the servant who could no longer shirk his duties, the giant remained standing while Sophia, in her less cumbersome armour, took a seat on one of the room’s settees facing the door. Shortly thereafter, arrival of Cladus Rhees was announced and in walked a man who reeked of what one would generally presume was a lethal dose of cologne.

            Unlike many of the nobles Silas had seen before, this one was not disgustingly corpulent, nor was he atrociously oily. Dare he say it, the man almost looked…healthy; perhaps could he see the man’s real hair instead of his powdered wig or his skin instead of the excessive amount of white foundation and red blush the man was wearing, his opinion would have been different.

            “Hello,” he smiled, positively beaming. “How nice to meet you, and you. I’m so glad you answered my summons; it’s not often the Adeptus Astartes or Adepta Sororitas come to this hive, let alone together. And I’ve never even heard tell of them travelling in a xeno craft. I simply must hear the story for that.”

            Not an uncommon question in their time upon the Paragon of Exile; in fact their answer had become somewhat rehearsed.

            “We can’t divulge the full details,” Sophia began, speaking for them both, “but the ship was made to appear to be of Tau make so—”

            “Yes, yes, that’s very fascinating,” Cladus dismissed with a wave, his foppish mannerisms and way of speaking continuing undeterred. “Now, I’m sure you’re eager to learn why I’ve called upon you….”

            “It has crossed our minds,” the stern Salamander replied, already losing patience for their host.

            “Of course it has,” he laughed. “Just as the tales say, you both must be so excited to further the cause of the Imperium and doing the Emperor’s will.”

            “Who?” asked Sophia.

            In a heartbeat the garish fop’s face became mortified; surely he’d have screamed had Silas not quickly intervened. “We are to find someone, yes?”

            At once Caldus calmed, though pressed a hand to his breast as though it could still his pounding heart. “Oh…oh my, how…how incredible…silly of me to think…. But of course those of your positions would be so astute. Yes, well, you both are not doubt aware of what a miserable place the underhive is, no?”

            His hunch had been spot on: this would be unpleasant.

            “Well, an Arbite friend of mine, a very good friend, has been taken by dreadful underhivers. Well, obviously one would expect him to be dead already, having been a couple of days, but whichever gang took him – an arbiter, honestly – hasn’t made a show of it. No head on a spike or newly rent bodies chained to a wall anywhere to be found. Well, not any that could be mistaken for him, that is.”

            Straight-forward enough of a request, nothing more than a search and rescue, but given the horrific network of chaotic passages and rooms that they consisted of, so full of abhumans, mutants, and gangs, it was anything but simple. Even if the Arbite was still being kept alive, in the days he would take to locate could very well be when he would meet his end.

            And yet, being the request of a noble – however foppish – and one to rescue an honourable servant of the Emperor, the imposing Astartes had only two questions: “What is the man’s name and what does he look—?”

            Without reservations Cladus rapidly clapped his hands together like a hyperactive child with a great source of entertainment. “Yes, yes, just as I’d heard. I knew you’d just jump at the chance! You know, I’d have done it myself in my youth, but I’m past those trifling activities.”

            Spyre Hunters – or just Spyrers, for short – were the children of nobles who’d prove their ruthlessness by going into the underhive to hunt the locals. To Silas, nothing of this man suggested he now or ever had the mettle to handle such strife. Especially when he couldn’t answer a single damned simple question.

            “His name,” Silas pressed.

            “Hmm? Didn’t you know? It’s Basilliscus Thorn,” he stated as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, even going so far as to roll his eyes incredulously; further testing the Astartes’ ability to resist throttling the twig of a man. “A lower ranked one, admittedly, but oh what a hard little worker he is. Let’s see…he’s about my height, but broader and muscular, if you could ever believe that!”

            They could; though neither the Astartes nor Sororitas give voice to their belief that a human of the noble’s thin build could swing a shock maul.

            “Hmm…last I saw him he had his hair trimmed nice and short – black with just a touch of grey that he really must have taken care of – and a square jaw…oh…oh my. After all this time I doubt those filthy underhivers have let him shave; he must look ghastly by now.”

            What a relief, then, that Silas hadn’t chosen to show the respect of removing his helmet for the man, lest he receive some unnecessary criticism. Not that he ever had any reason to respect this idle fool.

            “Have one of your servants or a servo-skull show us to where Basilliscus had been taken and we’ll search from there. There’s also a matter of payment for this ‘request’. You see, we have some goods from a nearby agri-world that we’d like to sell in order to acquire the—”

            “Foodstuffs? Is that all? Well, tit for tat, and all that, I suppose. Very well; you rescue my friend and I’ll sort out some payment for your wares. I suppose I could find someone willing to eat whatever it is. I’ll have my servants speak to your servants about the details.”

            Despite Rhees apparent inability to be useful, a servo-skull was arranged to guide the two where they had wanted to go, only after returning to the Paragon of Exile to gather the necessary equipment. The mechanical guide was left outside as they boarded their ship, wary of whether or not the machine was set to record whatever it beheld. Likewise, those waiting for the duo were equally cautious, with only Iggy moving to the cargo hold to meet them.

            “Welcome back, Battle Brother Silas,” the guardsman bowed while discretely looking for guests.

            “All clear, Iggy,” Silas smirked, removing his helmet.

            Letting out a sigh and straightening out, Iggy stood more casually. “That’s a relief. So, what did our inbred petitioner want with us?”

            “A lower ranked arbiter – likely a trooper or enforcer – was taken by an underhive gang; the Screaming Blood Boys.”

            “I want to see if they live up to their name,” Sophia smiled warmly.

            “Holy feth, tell me we’re not getting involved with the Adeptus Arbites. Isn’t being kidnapped a capital offense anyways?” Iggy asked, ignoring the threatening serenity of the Sister of Battle.

            “I haven’t studied the Lex Imperiallis, so I wouldn’t know. What matters most is that we have a noble we can’t afford to have turn against us and if we’re successful the idiot will buy all our cargo.”

            “And he’s an idiot?”

            “Undeniably. So we need you to watch the ship while we’re rooting through the spire’s underbelly trying to find a gang that, supposedly, hasn’t killed its captive yet. Think you can handle it?”

            Moving around his right arm then making several fists with the hand he nodded. “So long as I don’t have to fight seriously against anyone, I should be fine. Just be sure to contact us whenever possible. If you go quiet for a couple weeks ….”

            “I wouldn’t blame you,” Silas nodded, knowing full well where he was going with the sentiment.

            Retrieving their equipment from the ship’s locker, and Silas having Fio’el ensure the functionality of his flamer, the two prepared to leave for the passage closest to the target gang’s territory. Only before leaving did the Battle Brother reconsider his equipment and take along the trophy he had liberated from the Mandrake. With his luck, having something without moving parts would be useful. The final arrangement before they set off was Iggy passing to Sophia a bag of soylent viridians tins and a couple canteens of water. Terrible tasting yet safe food was better than whatever she’d be able to scrounge for below.

            The same preparations hardly needed to be made for Silas; once he ensured his armour’s nutrient reservoir was full, he was set for the duration of the expedition. Even were it to go long, his was a Space Marine’s constitution; no matter how impure his body would find a way for it to be consumed.

            Setting off, armed to the teeth, the pair followed the dutiful servo-skull to the entrance to the underhive, finding the often-barred door to the lower levels of the spire. Apparently it wasn’t kept closed often enough, as there was ample graffiti touting the strength and savagery of the Screaming Blood Boys alongside some tangible proof thereof that had yet to be properly scoured by servitors or less valuable workers. Certainly one trained in the ways of battle could appreciate the ‘efficacy’ of the cuts, but Sophia’s utterance summed up the overall presentation well.

            “Eh, all style with hardly any substance,” the Battle Sister shrugged, stepping over the carcase and brown-stained concrete without another thought.

            The path was opened for the pair by several members of the hive’s Enforcer Cadre, showing a lack of military discipline as the Adepta and Adeptus passed and descended into the unlit underbelly. The door clamoured shut behind them and was soon joined by the klaxon of the exit being electronically barred as they descended down the chipped and worn concrete steps. The darkness, at least, was hardly daunting; the auto-senses in their helmets having switched over to a spectrum that let them see their dingy surroundings awash in green.

            Descending tens of feet to the next floor they could already see a decline in the quality of the environment. While overhead had been the manufactorums with ever-running power to keep production as a constant, down here the lights built into the walls were kept so low that there was no need for their auto-senses to change. While enough time in such conditions would surely allow one’s eyes to adjust, it was already a staunch difference in conditions from a single floor when there remained numerous others before they would reach even the planet’s surface.

            Shanty towns were build in the open halls around the enormous pipes descending from the plants overhead, their heat providing the underhivers one less thing to worry about. The people, many hunched and draped in robes, saluted the approaching pair with the sign of the Aquila as they passed or bowed low in reverence. Those who didn’t either scurried away into their hovels or stood defiant in obvious bravado, trying either to conjure some laughable form of dignity or being a gang member – or perhaps aspiring to be – who couldn’t afford to show weakness.

            Whether one such man – tall for a human but still easily a head shorter than Silas, dressed in patchwork armour that nonetheless revealed his burly chest – was a part of the intended Screaming Blood Boys or not made little difference to the former Salamander.

            Stepping up to the paragon of quiet defiance and staring down into his black eyes, with only the man’s outrageously oiled hair raised into a Mohawk comparing to Silas’ height, he watched as the individual only puffed out his chest further.

            “Ya? Wat d’ye tink yer look’n at?” he sneered, fingering the stub pistol tucked into the front of his burlap pants.

            Without a word, Silas shot his head forward, cracking the thug hard in the forehead and breaking his nose. A trickle of blood had already formed down the man’s brow and was running freely past his cleft lip as he dropped to his knees and then the filth-covered floor; eyes already rolled back into his head.

            Looking to the nearest Imperial citizen – dreg, more accurately – he spoke, paying no mind to the body at his feet or the splatter of red upon his own helmet. “You lot aren’t tapping into the power couplings overhead, are you?”

            Eyes to the ground, heads held low, the robed individual shook their head. “N-nay, weh’d nevah s-steal from da uppahive!”

            Remaining silent as he continued to stare – as far as his helmet could give anyways – at the terrified individual, Silas slowly turned back to his original course, pushing through the rest of the crowd. “Good; doing so could be quite dangerous; you never know when a surge could happen or what a vindictive upperhiver would do if they noticed. As you were, citizens.”

            Leaving the reaches of the shanty town and waiting until they were once more in darkness and free of any onlookers, the Battle Brother spoke. “What do you think?”

            “Honestly? I don’t think you killed him. His face didn’t cave in nearly enough,” she critiqued.

            “I…that wasn’t meant to kill him, though I suppose that could have worked just as well. We need to make sure the dregs down here are talking of our arrival. When the gang gets word of the odd sight of us down here making their way around in their turf, they’re sure to send some of their boys to loot us. From there we just need to take enough of them alive to lead us to where they’re holding Rhees’ pal and then we gun our way back to the surface.”

            “You make it sound so easy,” Sophia replied, her voice chipper. “We’ll be back before Iggy even has a chance to worry.”

            “If the Emperor wills it,” he agreed with a nod. “But I think we can do more than wait for that one event to get around. Before you need to rest I’d like to find at least another five people to make examples of and ask around about whereabouts they gang has been squatting.”

            They’d either find the answers they were looking for or make it clear to the Screaming Blood Boys that the two were looking to make trouble for them. While a cleverer psychotic would stay out of their way were they headed elsewhere, they’d be unwilling to flee such a brazen challenge as this while numbers and knowledge were on their side. After all, there was a reason Space Marine Chapters so frequently used underhive gangs as a source of new recruits.

 

            Over the course of eight hours, the pair assaulted nearly twenty likely thugs while managing to leave almost a quarter of them alive; they served a more convincing threat that way. Likewise, from questioning dozens of the others living in squalor they were able to learn that, while the gang was active where they were, their ‘real’ turf was further down.

            The moment they had learned that the duo found their way to another stairwell, this one missing a number of the heavy metal plates that had once made up the stairs; likely pried off to serve as materials in some patchwork construction. They made their way down only after throwing three more thugs – these ones openly announcing their affiliation with the target gang – down ahead of them. Furthering their goal, of course, as one survived the fall to let out a healthy cry of agony.

            Soon they would encounter those who had been sent by their leader directly instead of no-name chumps who simply flew the right colours and passed along their extorted gains.

            One floor down they learned that they had one more descent to make before reaching the real gangland. But that would need to wait for now it was time for Sophia to rest; superhuman though she may have been in most regards, at her core she was still a human and required food and drink just as any other.

            For their safety, the pair found a room in which the ceiling wasn’t at risk of caving in and lacking any other entrances in which to dine. As the Adepta Sororitas sat down to peel open one of the prepared tins and removing her helmet, Silas stood guard at the entrance, peering out into the corridor now and then to check for any approaching dregs, animals, or mutants.

            Apart from the flamer breaking, he was confident that anything making its way into the room would be coated with a hellish layer of promethium before it could do either of them any harm. Though his greatest achievement in failure nagged at the back of his mind, as the scenario held a troubling degree of similarity; were they in a more traditional city’s spaceport the parallels would have been uncanny. Fortunately the likelihood of running into a gretchin was slim to none.

            Coughing after just the first spoonful, Sophia put her helmet back on to ensure her spoon was clean and that she had indeed taken a bite of the viridians and not some inconveniently passing insect. For better or worse, neither was the problem and she resumed eating, reminding herself that it was better than starving. Well, that and she had water with which to purge the taste.

            “How many days do you think we’ll need?” Sophia called out to the single source of light in the dark – the flame at the end of her partner’s flamer. This far down the spire they couldn’t expect to see another light unless someone had been lucky enough to acquire a fusion generator or a community had built some fires in old barrels.

            “Dunno,” he answered, peering out into the hall once more; a few rodents out there crawling through cracks in the wall but nothing worth getting uppity over. “If we have to wait for them to come get us, could be a week or two. If we find them first: maybe as early as tomorrow. How about you? Do think Basilliscus Thorn is even still alive?”

            Choking down another mouthful of the so-called corpse starch, she nodded. “Oh, I think so. Being able to say that they have an Arbite – even just a trooper – ought to impress people. A trophy like that, they’re probably keeping him alive and just cutting away at him just a little bit each day before putting him out on show.”

            That she was able to describe such an action in a cheerful, sugary voice and, he suspected, a face to match was, for him, equal parts bone-chilling and arousing.

            “Touching a Daughter of the Emperor is okay, right?” he wondered, trying to catch a glimpse of her over one humungous pauldron. “I mean, she settles for the guardsman, doesn’t she? So long as I steal her away from him….”

            His train of thought needed to end when a loud shrill squeal alerted him to the threat at the door. What must have been half meter tall from belly to back and three times that in length, crawling along the ceiling, was a brown tumorous beast that may have once been a rat hundreds of generations ago. Twisted and deformed from exposure to a leaky reactor or the Warp mattered little, as it was a mutant needing death.

            More than that, its gnashing teeth were furiously trying to get at the meat beneath the Space Marine’s helmet and its powerful hind legs were raking away at his ceramite breastplate when not keeping its grip with its forearms.

            “Silas?” Sophia shouted, hearing its terrible noise and the sound of scraping. “What’s happening?”

            “Nothing…to…worry about,” he groaned as she was reaching for her helmet and rising to his feet.

            Removing one hand from the flamer, he seized the wretched thing by the neck and squeezed, waiting for a crack but more interested in simply pulling it off. Wrenching it free, he pitched it down onto the hard artificial floor and levelled his flamer towards it at once. A brief pull of the trigger later and its squeals grew even worse, and yet of no concern to the helmeted pair, their ears protected. The flames of its writhing body lit the room as it quickly burned to death, giving the pair some light in their dingy, looted bare chamber.

            For as long as the light remained, the Sister of Battle was able to enjoy some light as she dined, finding the burning scent no more repugnant than the viridians she consumed.

            Several hours of rest passed without further incident, all the time spent with Silas monitoring the single entrance. Through his Catalepsean Node he rested sections of his mind at a time, a process that would allow him to remain combat ready for a week or more before requiring proper sleep. So long as his ever-progressing fatigue didn’t initiate hallucination or psychosis, that is.

            When it came time to set off once more, Sophia finished the last of the food in her opened tin and joined her partner as they moved back into the hall, paying no mind to the rodent’s picked-clean remains. After all, simply because his armour would inject the necessary nutrients didn’t mean he couldn’t acquire more on his own.

            The better part of their ‘day’ was spent in search of another way to descend, leading to countless caved-in stairs or elevators. The first route they found that was clear was nonetheless not viable; their auto-senses lighting up from the radioactive decay through the entire area. Whatever had contaminated the area it did so quite thoroughly and potently. Though Silas was protected through his Melanochrome – that which helped to protect all Space Marines against radiation and heat and the reason why Salamanders possessed obsidian skin and eyes with a burning red glow – Sophia hadn’t the same benefit and should the contaminated zone not be fortuitously brief, it would prove devastating for her.

            “Well, we haven’t had much luck otherwise,” the platinum blonde offered. “Besides, if we make it back soon enough I can just treat myself back at the ship.”

           He shook his head. “No, the gang has to be getting up here somehow that wouldn’t kill them after a few trips. Besides which, when we return with Thorn – if he’s still alive – then we can’t very well pass through here with him. We’re in no immediate rush; let’s keep looking.”

            Turning away from the once-promising path, the pair resumed their search. As luck would have it, an hour later they found proof of Silas’ claim in the form of a hand-crank elevator, a dozen underhivers in slapdash ‘armour’, and graffiti boldly declaring the area as property of the Screaming Blood Boys.

            “No tactical sense whatsoever,” the Space Marine thought, shaking his head. But what could be expected of people who’d never even seen the Codex Astartes.

            Despite it being a self-aggrandizing thought, it had merit. The room itself was tens of meters wide with a sinkhole in the center. Piles of rocks as well as various metal and ceramic crates were piled about around the edges of hole in what could make rather suitable cover in a firefight, and yet only one person stood anywhere near them, and that was the person smoking near the elevator’s ratchet crank, inside the railed platform itself.

            They weren’t the most attentive bunch either, some drinking, others gambling, some doing both. To top it all off, they had taken the time to light the contents of a few barrels, giving them a source of light; ideal to let enemies see them while being blind to their assailants.

            “It’s as if they’re begging us to kill them,” he smirked.

            After throwing her a hand signal, she nodded and handed him her Eviscerator. Sophia then held her precious gun with both hands to keep it stead before opening fire. The first shot slammed straight into the crank-man’s chest and detonated upon impact, scattering what remained of his torso in all directions. It was then she turned her heavy bolter on the others, firing single round shots instead of the usual burst, blowing through the lot of them with impeccable accuracy. By the time the last of them made it to cover, what had been just over twelve were now three, and even one of them was screaming about shrapnel wounds.

            “Want me to finish them off?” asked Sophia, keeping her gun levelled towards the screams and obscenities.

            “Hmm…no, I doubt any of them have anything to worry about over there, so let’s not waste the ammo.” Handing back her Eviscerator, he drew his saw-edged trophy and marched towards their cover without fear.

            As his footsteps drew near the enemies recognized he was close and popped up to open fire. A moment’s hesitation cost one his forearms, having gone pale – well, more so – at the sight of an Adeptus Astartes towering over him. The spay of buckshot and clatter of bullets that followed meant nothing to the power armour of the superior warrior who casually hooked the single point on the back of the flat-topped blade into the wounded man’s hip.

            Giving it a threatening tug, he activated his helmet’s respirator vox grill and let his amplified voice boom and echo throughout the chamber and as far down the hole as his voice would carry. “Throw down your weapons, or you’ll both suffer the fate befitting of traitors.”

            Being right at the feet of the deafening sound, the wounded man had little choice but to drop his stub rifle to cover his ears. The man whose arms were now mostly severed hadn’t the same benefit whereas the third gunner tossed away her shotgun and raised her hands in surrender.

            Puffing out his chest, Silas declared his intentions and glowered at the three dregs through his helmet. “Your pitiful band of criminal underhivers have someone we want: Arbite Basilliscus Thorn. One of you will deliver us to him.”

            “A-ay know whar ‘e iz!” the man snared by the Salamaner’s sadistic blade screamed. “Da boss ‘as ‘im!”

            “It had to be the wounded one to know,” Silas groaned, feeling as though his misfortune had found him once more.

            “Very well, you’ll be our guide, but if you’re lying…” the Adeptus trailed off, quickly pulling the point free from his leg then cutting down the armless man as much to complete the threat as it was a deserved execution.

            “Ah do, ah do!” he cried, pressing his hands over the seeping wound.

            “What about this one?” Sophia asked, nudging the head of the other thug with the barrel of her gun, much to the butch woman’s distress.

            “Well, we can’t leave her here; she might sabotage our descent,” he contemplated, watching as what little colour she had in her cheeks drained away. “We’ll take her with us; if this one bleeds out we might get some use out of her. In fact…you, it’ll be your responsibility to keep him walking.”

            All four climbed onto the hand-crank elevator and the Space Marine handled the duty of getting it to move while Sophia kept watch over the hostages as they descended deeper into the depths of the underhive.

6: Chapter 6 - Dregs of Man (III)

            Things were quiet aboard the Paragon of Exile, with the three who had remained aboard working in shifts to constantly monitor the sensors for any activity beyond their claustrophobic world. Haran had the worst time of it, knowing that when the job was done, all he would have to look forward to be another number of weeks spent navigating the ship to its next destination. If only he could be allowed to put on his armour and start warping about he could relieve some of his cabin fever.

            Iggy had the easiest time, having plenty of rehabilitation left to do and was simply content to know he wasn’t in the line of fire. One-armed chin-ups, crunches, squats, lifting anything of appropriate weight and size, and any other exercise he could manage within his room or the cargo bay helped to pass the time when he wasn’t on duty, and when he was he kept a data slate handy with detailed accounts of various battles for him to read and study.

            The one to have had the most fun of it, however, was Fio’el, who had completed the vox-bead for the guardsman and needed only wait for the right moment to present the gift. When the tall, thin Eldar had settled down for some sleep and Iggy had already been an hour into his tedious duty of monitoring the scanners, she found it too great an opportunity to pass up. The mechanic put on her cleanest bodysuit – as there wasn’t much difference between them beside that quality – and left the front unfastened enough to showcase the deep valley of her chest, aware that the fascination thereof was something shared between Gue’la and Tau men.

            Double-checking that the Warp Spider was asleep, she slipped into the bridge and locked the door behind her. The plain and simple man looked up briefly to acknowledge her arrival then performed a quick double-take when he realized she had done the equivalent act of leaving a couple extra buttons unfastened. Try as he might to be discrete about it, she caught him sneaking glances to where she had intended to draw his gaze.

            “Do you need something?” asked Iggy, checking the time as both a means to keep from staring and to verify that they weren’t having a shift rotation already.

            “Not really,” Fio’el replied with a shrug that threw her shoulders back. “Haran is asleep and I’ve already finished all the maintenance work I had planned to do today, so I thought I’d pay you a visit.” Taking a seat in the chair next to his along the same console – all the chairs being bolted in place – she smiled. “In also have something to give you which has been long overdue….”

            He watched with a strong sense of curiosity as she fished something out of one of her pockets. No bulge or notable weight had been readily apparent on her right hip before then, so the guardsman assumed it was something small and light, and his inability to see it when her hand came back out meant it was something that could easily be palmed. Had he a better grasp of Tau gadgets or customs he may have been able to hazard a guess, but right now all it did was serving as a welcome distraction from the other two things.

            Leaning closer and taking his good wrist in hand, she placed the gift in his open palm. When her hand moved away she watched as he held the device up closer to his eye, as much to get a clear look at the small ear and mouth-piece as to make sure it really was what he believed.

            “A micro-bead?” he asked in apparent disbelief.

            “That’s right.”

            “How—”

            “I made it myself; it’s set to use the same frequency as the rest of us, so no more being deaf on the field for you. Do you like it?” A redundant question; Fio’el knew there was no way he’d be anything but elated, and when he was overjoyed she would push for a reward.

            “You made this just for me?” he replied enthusiastically, having already set it in place in his ear and checking that the microphone came close enough to his mouth. “I didn’t think I’d ever have something like this; I love it!”

            Before she had the chance to even feel pride from his response or to then ask for something in return, the larger human swung out his left arm and hooked it around her shoulders. For a moment the Tau was surprised by the usually reserved Gue’vesa but didn’t forget her ulterior motive. Having two good arms, she returned the hug as well as turned her head towards his neck, planting an obvious kiss just below his jaw line.

            She thought he would comment, object, or otherwise question the display of affection but he didn’t say a word as he drew back into his seat. Yet his arm didn’t move away from her back, instead pulling her out of her seat. The engineer would have been left sprawled awkwardly forward had she not stepped quickly and come to sit upon his lap, straddling both Iggy and the chair upon which they both now sat.

            Though his right arm remained stuck in its cast, he found use for the damaged limb by placing it behind her back to keep her held close as he let his other hand wander. In response, she began planting more kisses upon his neck and cheek while slowly wiggling back and forth upon his lap, feeling something beneath her growing notably harder and larger.

            Bringing her lips close to his ear, she whispered: “I didn’t expect you to be so eager.”

            “Why’s that?” he replied, breathing hotly upon her neck.

            “For one, don’t Gue’la hate xenos?”

            “Isn’t that why you call me a Gue’vesa? And as far as I’m concerned, you’re one of the good xenos.”

            “My favourite Gue’vesa,” Fio’el corrected, letting out a short, quiet moan as his good hand reached her backside and gave a gentle squeeze. “You’re also always so…you act like you hate this sort of thing.”

            He let out a half-hearted chuckled, watching as she leaned back enough to stare him in the eyes. “Unlike some people, escaping with my life doesn’t get me hot, and I’d rather not distract myself just before doing something that could also get me killed. After that, there’s also what Commissar Ardwin did to us.”

            Recognizing the name as someone the ex-guardsman had mentioned in the past, the Tau cocked an eye and asked: “What did they do?”

            “The Commissar always knew the worst possible time to pull one of us aside and ride us until we broke; I’ve even seen Kasrkin cry from the Commissar’s discipline. Ardwin would even bend people over a table in the trenches and—”

            Noticing the look of abject terror in his eyes and he recounted the tale and feeling his ardour weaken, she decided hearing about this part of his past wasn’t what she wanted at this time. In the hopes of comforting him, she held his face between her hands with her thumbs gently stroking his cheeks and, despite the rough, leathery texture of her skin, Iggy did settle down in the way she had intended.

            Fio’el smiled as he stared into her red eyes and leaned in to kiss her of his own initiative. As he pushed the terrible memories from his mind, his earlier vigour returned and their hands grew even more adventurous than before. Her four-digit hands slid up under the front of his shirt, feeling his abdominals he was working to restore, admiring by touch the strength of his human body, having never met one of her own that could compare.

            Not to say there weren’t any Fire Caste who weren’t as or more fit, but she had yet to encounter one. Something that drew her interest even more than the hardness of his physique was the comparable softness of his flesh. While hers, much like all Tau, was similar to leather, his was smooth and supple, making his body feel wonderful to touch.

            His fingers found their way to the front of her outfit, unfastening it even further until her great breasts were on the verge of spilling out and the feel of her gyrations left him wanting to take things much further than heavy petting. But he was something of a romantic in his own mind and she wanted it to last, so neither was willing to simply cut to the chase. They both had a more steady progression in mind than quickly stripping and going at it like wild beasts in heat, even if it were to only delay the passionate act by a few short yet enjoyable minutes.

            After many long moments their mouths parted and she sucked in a deep breath before rapaciously diving in for more. Her hands made their way out from his shirt and down the front of his trousers to the excitable organ that had been pressing eagerly against her through their clothes. But mere moments after her three fingers and thumb started to grip it a klaxon from the consoles caused them both to jump.

            When they realized it was an attempt to contact them, Fio’el turned on her almost-lover’s micro-bead for him.

            “—as to ship, Silas to ship; can you hear me?” the familiar voice asked in an even voice though laden with static.

            “Iggy here; is everything alright? There’s a bit of interference so please speak clearly,” the dull human answered with unintentionally heavy breaths.

            “The Emperor protects us even down here, guardsman,” the proud Battle Brother claimed. “We are making our way to the Screaming Blood Boys HQ at present; it so happens we found ourselves a guide.”

            “Can you trust them?”

            “Oh, given the circumstances I think he knows he ought to be telling the truth. Besides which, if he doesn’t take us to the rest of the gang, there won’t be anyone down here to rescue him from us.”

            “So it’s like that,” Iggy smirked, still panting faintly.

            Unable to hear the conversation, the Earth Caste worker kept the hand down his pants and looked at him to silently question whether they’d be continuing or not, even giving her hand a slide to encourage a response.

            “Is there something wrong? You sound odd,” Silas commented.

            “Oh, yeah, I’ve…I’m still trying to get back the muscle I lost.” Reaching to her wrist, he held her just tightly enough signal for her to stop.

            Having what had been working out to be such a promising time come to a premature end, Fio’el dishearteningly removed her hand and adjusted her clothes until they were being properly worn. With the briefest of glances made before leaving she could see that he was looking just as regretful and mouthed what she believed to be an apology.

            “Ah, very good; don’t give in to idleness just because you’re not with us on this mission. Though how are our little pests behaving?”

            Turning to face the sensors, he confirmed that they were still present and slightly more numerous, though not distressingly so. At present there were five people shown to be outside, but one was in the process of leaving.

            “Keeping their distance, but growing in number.”

            “You’d think helping a noble to retrieve one of their own would make us less suspicious in their eyes,” the Salamander grumbled. “Well, we’ll be attacking the gang’s HQ after we’ve rested and then we’ll either be transporting an injured man or a cadaver back to the upper floors, so do you think you’ll be able to…one second…”

            Iggy listened as muffled cries sounded through the vox. “What was that?”

            “Just disposing of our guides; it’s no power blade, but this Mandrake sword is effective, I’ll give it that. As I was saying: do you think you’ll be able to prevent any heresy charges for another forty-four hours?”

            “So long as the Emperor protects,” he answered, hoping the observers wouldn’t do anything more than they already were by that time.

 

            “The Emperor protects us all,” Silas replied, ending communication with the ship, bringing about nearly complete silence, disturbed only by the sound of his partner eating some soylent viridians from a tin and occasionally drinking water from a canteen, and the faint dripping of blood dripping against a ruined dirt-caked floor. The Space Marine glanced from the direction in which the Screaming Blood Boys’ base was located to the Sister of Battle and spoke once more. “How should we attack tomorrow?”

            Washing the taste of corpse starch from her mouth as best she could, Sophia gave her head a shake and her heavy bolter a pat. “With just the two of us, I don’t think we need to worry about ‘plans’.”

            Though he nodded, in the back of his mind he was beset with doubt.

            Before he had the chance to be burdened by second-guessing, the Adepta Sororitas sought conversation. “Are you ready to talk about your plans now?”

            “What plans?” he asked, not spending any time trying to recall to which single prior conversation of so many she was referring.”

            “When we’re wealthy enough to quit; those plans.”

            “Yes…that….” Letting out a sigh, he looked about to once again verify that there weren’t any mutated horrors, abhumans, or underhivers looking to ambush them. Speaking in an unhappy and sombre voice, Silas explained that which his most solemn wish was: “More than anything in this life, even greater than to kneel before the Emperor as he sits upon the Golden Throne, I wish to return to my Chapter and serve dutifully until the end of my days. But I know that will never be; it is an impossible dream to ever return without being dubbed a traitor. Instead, when we have wealth enough to go our separate ways, I’ll take my share, pull together my own army – whether I’ll lead mercenaries or simply dutiful citizens, I don’t care – and guide them against the enemies of the Imperium.”

            “Your chapter will be a worse place without you,” she smiled, looking up at him from across the room by the light of some luminescent fungus while admiring his dedication to his people.

            “Thank you, Sister. In doing this, perhaps I’ll achieve my latest dream: to die serving the Imperium, having atoned for my crimes in the eyes of the Emperor, if no one else’s.”

            Twice he had spouted off that title but in deference for his selfless and grave ambition, she didn’t spoil the moment by asking about him. “Why think only of dying? Why not try to live?”

            “One does not redeem oneself by living a peaceful life; it is only by struggling and shedding blood – one’s own and that of one’s enemies – that redemption is found.”

            Emptying what water she had left in one canteen, Sophia frowned as she screwed the cap back on and put it away. “If you think that’s what you want. But I’d rather you not dedicate yourself to dying,” was all she had to say before leaning back against some finer rubble to use as a pillow.

            While Silas had hardened his heart against any ideas to the contrary of accepting a noble death, her preference for his survival reached him on another level. Feeling motivated, he relied on his Catalesean Node once more to stand watch that evening while also contemplating dealing with tomorrow’s battle.

 

            By the time the resting period had reached its end, he had devised a couple plans for extracting the Arbite, though ones that were likely to end with a psychotic Sophia were mentally set to the ‘last resort’ pile. Stealth wasn’t much of an option for either of them, and the only permutations were both forcing their way inside, and one or the other drawing attention outside while the other moved in through a resulting defensive gap.

            Although his armour was superior to hers, making him the preferred candidate were either of them to be shot at, her skill with the heavy bolter over his made her the better candidate for digging in and firing from relative safety. The same could not be said about his flamer.

            Rising to her feet and performing a few stretches to ease what aches and pains she had gained from sleeping in her armour yet again, the Sister of Battle was as ready as she could be for the fighting ahead. “Ready to storm the base?” she asked, double-checking her gun to make sure the belt was feeding into it properly.

            “I’ve been thinking and I believe there’s something we can do. Do you think you’d be fine drawing their attention to you? And do you think you have enough ammo for this?”

            Checking her supplies – just below five hundred rounds – she nodded. “Just don’t take too long, and let me find a good spot before we start. Oh, and I can kill them too, right? It would be a nuisance to leave them alive.”

            Giving a pleased chuckle and thinking her a woman after his own heart, he nodded. “Go ahead and kill anyone that isn’t me or the Aribte.”

            “I don’t know what he looks like.”

            “Anyone near me; don’t shoot anyone following me unless they’re shooting at me.”

            Giving him a nod, the two of them made their way through the large spacious section of the underhive. What was likely to have once been a plaza back when this level had been respectably occupied and maintained, had grown even larger from the collapse and destruction of the buildings that had once surrounded the wide-open space. Now it was home to the makeshift base belonging to the Screaming Blood Boys of construction more befitting a clan of Orks than humans, having been cobbled together out of sheet metal and apparently whatever rocks and boards they could get their hands on.

            The sight of the base amidst a sprawling area of various piles of dull grey rubble, remnants of the once mighty halls of the spire and more than a little of the ceiling that had collapsed upon the walls destruction, betrayed the strength of the meddlesome gang. Until then, the dregs had been viewed by the Adepta and Adeptus as little more than armed goons lording over some downtrodden underhivers. Seeing the jury-rigged wall and towers with buildings within numerous and large enough to house scores, if not hundreds, of people, they finally understood that these criminals weren’t just some thugs who had grabbed an Arbite so as to make a name for themselves, they really were a band large enough to so such things on a whim.

            Even more troubling than even the size of the base was what a keen eye could find on almost every other tower or rooftop. Heavy stubbers – effectively the poor man’s autocannon or heavy bolter – were mounted sporadically in high places, giving the scum within access to gun nests that could be used to easily thwart charges by infantry. Even guardsmen lacking any armoured support would find themselves at the mercy of such defences, and here there were just the two of them to find a way through.

            “This isn’t worth the trouble,” Silas groaned as he followed Sophia around mounds of rubble while she searched for a position that would grant her suitable cover.

            “Are we pulling back, then?” she asked.

            “No, I don’t think we have that luxury.”

            “I didn’t think so.” Quite liking the look of the ramshackle remains of some second storey room in which a promising amount of rebar was exposed from its walls, she went inside and set up her gun in a hole in the wall. With just a little set up, she was mostly behind heavy cover and ready to open fire upon the base from a distance of less than a hundred meters.

            Their greatest advantage was the miserable conditions of the underhive; while their enemy may have greater experience fighting in darkness and low-light, their vision wouldn’t be any better for it, and so the lack of lighting would make so few targets that much more unlikely to be found and hit. Meanwhile, Sophia and the Battle Brother could fire with impunity, needing not worry about friendly fire, while also having on their heads helmets that would let them see as clear as day.

            “Are you ready?” he asked, triple-checking his flamer for faults and finding none.

            “Ready when you are; just send the vox when you’re in position,” she affirmed, setting the heavy bolter to single fire.

            It had been decided that once he was in place next to the wall and a means of entry had been found, he would message her to begin. The Sister would start by sniping those closest to the heavy stubbers as best she could before switching to full-auto and giving the enemy something to worry about as he slipped in to find the Arbite – hopefully still alive.

            Using the detritus that filled the once impressive plaza for cover, the Battle Brother prayed to the Emperor that the clamour of his massive armour wouldn’t attract any attention to himself, softly reciting litanies of silence until he had a shoulder pressed to the wall. For his best efforts, it couldn’t be said that he’d done a scout company proud and atop or just beyond the wall he could hear voices calling out ‘what was that noise’. Fearing he’d become the center of attention, the Space Marine gave the signal and waited with bated breath for the first shot to ring out. Shouts of a man’s torso exploding exemplified Sophia’s accuracy before several more shots rang out. Soon, there was an almost deafening roar of gunfire as his partner switched to full-auto and gang started shooting back with autoguns, stub rifles, and even the booming of a heavy stubber or two.

            Rather than worrying about whether they were firing blind or had already detected the Sister of Battle, Silas warmed up his flamer and hurried for the nearest entrance. It was closed, as was to be expected, but some coercion with a pauldron opened the way. The surprise of the pair on the other side of the gate gave him time enough to spray them in flaming promethium, leaving his way clear to rampage through the base interior. On several occasions enemies ran straight past him, oblivious to his presence because of the threat of the gunner on the south side. Though it would have been trivial to ignite the miserable bastards, he stayed his trigger finger, knowing how few blasts he could make and the danger of making him presence known.

            Judging the slapdash buildings by their shape, placement, and decoration, Silas disregarded a number of structures he assumed were simple housing or armouries, and instead moved for a wide, single-storey building with flags painted to bear the gang’s emblem upon it hanging above the most visible entrance. If these underhiver outlaws were as great of psychotic degenerates as they tried to make those above believe, the Battle Brother reasoned their leader would want to keep any prisoners close at hand their amusement.

            Between the open space between the door and the other buildings and the guards posted, his covertness had met its end and so, giving up any pretence of being stealthy, he ran straight for the entrance. From the door and several gaps in the walls shots rang out but missed or glanced harmlessly off the thick ceramite he wore. Moving forward like a charging juggernaut, he reached the entrance which split immediately left and right, revealing all the men and women who had been firing at him from the relative safety of cover. With a shot down each hall, the building filled with the screams of people dying in a manner most painful as the attacker moved mercilessly inward, setting ablaze several more groups of people before his dreaded curse kicked in and the spray mechanism of his flamer faltered. As much of a nuisance as it was, however, he expected as much and shouldered the now-useless weapon and drew his reliable mono-molecular blade and split in half everyone to come within arm’s reach as he moved through the uneven rooms and halls in search for the target.

            Barging through another door whose lock meant nothing to his size, Silas burst into a relative large room with a floor possessing an incline that put the far end a couple feet higher than where he stood. The moment he entered he saw a flash of light and felt a burning in his left shoulder while also hearing a clatter of something heavy and hard hitting the floor. It was an instant later that he noticed the scraggly looking ganger standing in front of a throne that had to have been the nicest piece of furniture in the underhive – but still hardly impressive – with a lascannon in hand. Setting aside how he had gotten his hands on a heavy weapon of such power and the handful of other thugs with stub rifles and shotguns, the Battle Brother spied a rebar cage sitting beside the throne with something relatively human in shape within.

            As the gang leader busily tried to replace the charge pack of the lascannon – perhaps the greatest weakness of the weapon when it wasn’t attached to an external power source was its single-shot nature – Silas charged forward. Ignoring the burns on his left shoulder and the sizable damage to its pauldron, the trained warrior closed the distance between him and the leader in an instant and cleaved his head from his shoulders with one effortless swing, only then turning his attention to the entourage who all-too-eagerly scattered like the spineless traitors they were.

            Letting them flee, having no time to kill every enemy of the Emperor this day, Silas turned his attention to the cage, finding a man inside; beaten, filthy, and missing parts. Notably half of one leg and an arm were absent, marking the man as useless in a fight and needing aid in the simple act of walking.

            “Basilliscus Thorn?” he asked as he cut open the cage; whether it was him or not, releasing the prisoner was of no consequence to the Salamander.

            Half delirious, the man nodded and looked up at the giant. Perhaps were his face not so swollen and bruised a deep purple, he might have looked as originally presented, but for now Silas could only hope his response to the name was sufficient confirmation.

            Unwilling to let the lascannon be left behind, the Battle Brother quickly pilfered it from the corpse before scooping up the presumed Arbiter under one arm and heading out from the way he had entered.

            “Sister, I have Basilliscus Thorn and will withdraw through the western wall,” he messaged, running while paying any gangers no mind beyond shielding the hostage with his own body.

            “I had to abandon my nest; they wore down my wall, but I’m still drawing fire from a nearby location,” she answered, breathing heavily, more from stress and mental exhaustion than physical pressure. That she hadn’t switched over to a berserker state yet was the best thing keeping her from annihilation. “Ammo is running very low, so I’ve switched back to single fire to keep them interested longer.”

             “How long we have?”

            “Three minutes, I’m afraid.”

            “That will do; three minutes then retreat to our last resting spot; I’ll meet you there.”

 

            A sudden eruption of cheering from the bridge startlingly awoke Fio’el and the guardsman from their respective sleep and the two groggily hurried to where Haran was busy celebrating like he had single-handedly vanquished Slaanesh and closed the Eye of Terror.

            “What’s the good word?” the Tau asked, approaching the excitable Warp Spider as he repeatedly pumped his fists up into the air.

            “They did it! They fucking did it!” he roared. “They got the other mon-keigh alive and they’re making their way back as we speak! Only tens more hours and we’ll be free to leave this ceiba-ny-shak planet!”

            “Thank the Emperor,” Iggy yawned, really quite pleased. “I’d rather we get someplace a little less suspicious; it’s our good fortune no one from the Ordo Hereticus has come to conflagrate the lot of us. Speaking of, how are we doing for observers?”

            “The miserable cock-suckers haven’t changed,” the Eldar snapped, his elation replaced by unfettered spite. “Give me thirty seconds and I could have the whole damned bunch dead and oozing along the ground.”

            “Let’s not make trouble when we’re this close to being done here, alright?” Fio’el sighed, leaning on the Eldar’s shoulder.

            “That’s right,” he said happily. “What should we trade all this food for? Where will we be going next? I’ll make a killing fleecing these mon-keigh, so…hmm…what’s not too far away that we can exploit?”

            Happy to have heard the news of the pair’s success, the two on break returned to rest until it was their turn to keep watch as Haran greedily planned possible routes for future trade and profit dependent on just what the locals would sell them and for what price.

            Two shift later, when Fio’el was the one sitting at the controls while doing some maintenance work on a piece of one of their mining drones that their fears came to light. Not the Inquisition – their luck wasn’t that horrifyingly bad – but the enforcers were making their move, with a team of six of them were closing in on the ship. Dropping everything, she ran to the one most qualified for dealing with Gue’la.

            “Iggy!” she shouted, opening the door to the stateroom he had been using. “They’re coming!”

            Looking up at her from his back, his face close to her hoofed feet from where he was performing crunches, he cursed before curling up and rising to his feet. “We have to hurry. Get Haran onto the bridge and have him seal himself inside, not letting anyone inside for any reason until after we’re the only ones still aboard the ship. Once you’ve done that, take the robe I use when I play Silas’ chapter serf and keep the hood pulled as low as you can get it.”

            Accepting the orders but uncertain as to what it would accomplish, she ran off to do as instructed while Iggy struggled to get as much of his battle dress on as possible before the banging started from the ship’s entrance. Unable to keep from glancing at his lasgun, propped against the wall for easy access, the Cadian sighed knowing he ought not to bring it with him despite the comfort it would provide.

            Much to the Earth Caste’s woman’s surprise, rather than be made to hide, she was intentionally brought along to meet the enforcers, being once more reminded to not speak if possible, to keep her face as obscured as possible, and to use the length of the sleeves to hide her hands.

            Just before the pounding on the ship turned violent, Iggy answered, opening the entrance for their unwanted guests. Keeping his head held high with the pride of someone who serves the Astartes but not so proud as to anger those to whom he spoke, Iggy greeted the four men and two women, each as thuggish as the rest. “May I help you?”

            “We’re ‘ere ta inspect your ship,” the largest of the bunch – both in height and build – declared, folding his arms across his chest to make his size even more pronounced.

            “On what grounds?” he retorted, placing his good hand upon his hip with an air of command. He knew he couldn’t match the larger man in stature, but hoped by moving his left arm, it would draw some attention away from the woman to his right. “This vessel is under the command of my master, who is presently aiding Sir Cladus Rhees with matters of some importance alongside an Adepta Sororitas.”

            “Just look at this piece of xeno garbage you’re standin’ in; I’d say that’s reason enough ta warrant a search.”

            “This, sir, is a ship under the command of one of the Emperor’s own from the Salamanders Chapter partnered with a Sister from the Order of Our Martyred Lady, serving the Imperium under matters of great importance. What sort of serf would I be if I let anyone on board to rummage through classified materials?”

            “Anyone? Now see ‘ere, ya damned mutant, I—”

            “Martinus!” one of the women barked, glowering at the speaker of the group alongside the other five.

            Humbled by the opinion of his peers, the brute cleared his throat and started over. “Uh, apologies, Cadian, I didn’t mean to, ah….”

            “Quite alright, so long as you’re aware the Imperium recognizes us as fully human. Now, I cannot permit you to come aboard the ship, but we who stand before you are the entire crew.”

            “Is that so?” the enforcer scowled, his moment of humility having passed.

            “Only the Navigator of the Navis Nobilite does not stand before you now; I swear it on the Golden Throne. I assume you accept not meeting him face to face?”

            All six enforcers reeled or retched in their own way at the very notion of meeting the mutant that was begrudgingly necessary for navigation.

            “I serve as Brother Silas’ personal Chapter Serf, Iggy, and this is Fio, the Adepta responsible for menial chores aboard the ship and responsible for attending to the Navigator.”

            “And just what business do ya ‘ave on this ‘eretical ship?” he asked, his eyes now focused on the woman rather than the speaker. That he wasn’t disgusted or drawing a weapon was evidence enough that he couldn’t see her skin or distinguish her race, but the attention she was given by the four men of the group were nonetheless disconcerting.

            “All I may divulge is that, given the prominence of Tau in this sector and our destination, and the size of my master’s team, a vessel that would attract less attention was decided the wised choice.”

            “Alright, alright, keep yer secrets, damn you,” Martinus huffed.

            “Hey, I think we ought’a question this one a little more,” one of the other men insisted, reaching a hand out to grab Fio’el. Though his grasp was moving too high to be intended for her wrist and too low to be meant for her cowl.

            She seized up, uncertain as to whether she ought to draw away or accept the embarrassment, uninformed on what would be expected in the role that was thrust upon her. The answer came when the reaching hand was quickly grasped by the guardsman.

            “That’s quite enough,” he snapped, throwing the man’s hand away before putting himself between his ally and the enforcers.

            “And that’s enough outta you,” Martinus growled, stepping forward and throwing a hard right into Iggy’s face, violently blowing his head to one side and knocking the smaller man from his feet, down onto one knee.

            His left hand briefly touched ground to keep from falling completely and rose briefly to blindly protect himself from a second blow when Iggy felt the painful jolt of a shock maul as one of the group struck him in the shoulder with a downwards swing.

            Watching him lie on the floor, twitching from debilitating effect of the weapon, Martinus spat onto his face before ordering the other five to follow along as he left. Though the man who had incited the fight protested, the leader of the team reminded him: “Big tits or not, the Adepta’s probably a mutant, too.”

            Waiting until the strong-arms had all turned their backs and moved at least twenty meters away, Fio’el pressed the controls to seal the ship before kneeling beside the incapacitated guardsman. Having just made it out of the encounter alive, she’d have hated to have ruined everything because of a thoughtless slip.

            “I can’t feel my arm,” he replied in a slurred voice, his body still numb from the shock. “I’m going to have to lay here…for a while.”

            “Want some company?”

            “That’d be nice.”

            Crouching down beside him, close to his face, she hummed for a moment while contemplating what to talk about. “Why did that be’gel-brained Gue’la call you a mutant?”

            “See my eyes?”

            The Tau looked into his eyes and didn’t notice anything outright peculiar. Not that she could particularly distinguish what was out of place on humans in the first place.

            “Oh, right…it’s their colour. People from Cadia have purple irises; other humans don’t. There are other – minor – differences, but the Imperium of Man still considers us perfectly human; possibly because of our dedication to the Imperial Guard, who knows?”

            “Well, I like them that colour,” Fio’el smiled.

            “Thanks; me too.”

            “I also wanted to ask: was stopping the one man from touching me part of your role?”

            Lying on the floor, the cogs that were his mind slowly turned as he tried to decide just how to answer but little by way of justification was coming to him. “In hindsight, it would’ve been bad if he’d have done anything that would have exposed you…but no, at the time, I just didn’t want him touching you.”

            “And that’s why you’re my favourite Gue’vesa,” she smiled, rubbing his short, prickly hair with one hand. “If there hadn’t been so many of them and your arm wasn’t broken, you’d have beaten that dumb grox.”

            “No, I’d be in the same shape had I been at my best.” Testing his extremities, Iggy found that he could start to move his fingers and toes once more, but decided to wait a bit longer until standing wouldn’t carry the likely risk of flopping back to the ground. “I’m not that good.”

            “What are you talking about? You fight off Tyranids, Orks, and the other horrible things out there that try to kill us all the time.”

            “With a lasgun,” he argued, making that his most prominent objection to her claim. “I wasn’t anything special among my fellow guardsman, and I’m the second weakest person among the five of us.”

            “I think you’re stronger than Haran, too.”

            “If he weren’t a psyker, sure.” Finding the strength to sit up, he tested his strength by pushing against the floor and slowly made his way to his feet.

            “Well, you may not be the strongest, but you’re the best shot and most even-tempered. Whether you could have won or not, thank you for having stopped him. Now let’s get you someplace more comfortable.”

 

            “Faster!” Sophia growled, the corner of her mouth twitching beneath the faceplate of her Sabbat pattern helm as she looked nearly straight up, down the barrel of her gun. “Faster, damn you!”

            “If I work any harder I’ll break this shoddy winch!” the Astartes yelled back. Adjusting his stance, he towered his body over the small fleshy man that they had rescued, wanting as much of his body to be hidden beneath his own.

            “Emperor save us!” Basilliscus cried out, covering his head as best he could as he quivered in the foetal position, unarmed and unprotected against the hail of stub gun fire that rained down upon the three of them from the underhivers standing around the floor above them.

            Their bullets had no effect against the Salamander, his Aquila armour being well-suited to deflect the crude firearms, while Sophia’s held up well enough, though some direct hits from a few rifles were almost certainly going to leave her body bruised. When a bullet sent sparks flying as it punched a hole through the floor barely an inch from the Arbite’s face, his wails grew only more terrified. Whatever courage he may have had serving the upperhive, having been captured, tortured, and deprived of his gear had stolen it all away, perhaps forever.

            “Keep it together, Sophia; we can’t have you flipping out here and now!” Silas ordered, keeping his hands working the crank as fast as he believed it could handle. “Just shoot them down as best you can!”

            “Easy for you to say, I’m almost empty! I could throw a frag—”

            “We can’t risk having it break the cable!”

            “No shit!” Sophia snapped, firing off an aimed shot, blowing apart one thug’s torso; good for her shots-to-kills ratio, but even after firing until her supply was empty, there were more enemies raining lead down upon them.

            Fortunately for the three the underhivers were equally unwilling to destroy the elevator. Had they chosen to simply cut the cables or carelessly toss explosives down at them, at their present height, the fall would have been enough to kill at least the humans, and hobble the Space Marine, if nothing else. As they rose higher from Silas’ continued effort, the enemies started stepping back, overcome by fear – as traitors were known for – that the Adepta and Adeptus would reach the top before their frantic sustained fire would achieve any discernable effect. When they were high enough that the Sister of Battle could have climbed up had she wanted to, several men and women fled, being joined by more the closer she came, Eviscerator in hand.

            When the time came that she stepped from the platform and charged the remaining gangers, there were so few who had remained that the slaughter was swift and effortless. Finally having a lull in combat, the pair having needed to fight at seemingly ever turn since they had left their campsite, Sophia’s stressed mind had the chance to return to that of sanity as Silas scooped up the brutalized prisoner and stepped from the platform, human cradled to his chest and a weapon slung over each shoulder.

            “We’re not going back down, right?” Sophia asked, standing close to the makeshift elevator and staring down into the inky darkness of the depths from which they had just returned.

            “Certainly not,” he balked.

            “That’s good,” she nodded, swinging her ‘knife’ and cutting the cables keeping the platform in place, letting it come crashing down to the lower levels. “Maybe now they’ll stop following us.”

            Nodding approvingly, Silas let her lead the way as they continued to flee the underhive. From there the advance grew far simpler and yet pushed them further than ever before. On the upper levels of the underhive, cut off from the bulk of their gang, the enemies were far fewer but however they were keeping in touch with those below they were gathering on the pair-plus-one’s position like a converging hive-minded swarm. With the more common presence of shanty towns of the squatters leaving the group moving through populated areas of the uninvolved, it became impossible to cut down everyone they met. While other Astarte Chapters may have had no problem massacring the lot of the disfigured masses the Salamander who genuinely cared for even the downtrodden dregs could not bring himself to carelessly draw his weapon.

            Sophia kept her wild swings in check as they moved, keeping her victims to those proudly flying the Screaming Blood Boys colours but with every shot that ricochet’s off her armour, she felt her switch coming closer to flipping. The further gone she became the more primal attacks became, degrading until she swung at anyone with a weapon in hand. Given this was the underhive and a great many people had found ways to defend themselves, the potential targets were many and the dregs who drew their stub pistols in a panic found themselves messily bisected for it.

            Breaking through a crowd and nearing the exit of a very familiar shanty town – one of the first they’d found since the mission had begun – they felt assured that within the hour they’d be back at the security door leading to civilization. Hope was met with misfortune as a sash fell mere feet in front of them, thrown by a tactically savvy ganger up on the roof of one shack and weighted by a few handmade frag grenades.

            Silas turned quickly, exposing his back only to shelter his passenger while the Sister instinctively braced her eviscerator in front of her body, keeping the flat of the weapon between the bombs and her vitals. When the grenades detonated, launching a spherical hail of scrap metal, nails, and metal beads, the pair felt it; Sophia’s armour having already been damaged enough that there were places for the impact to pierce, and Silas being harmed through the spaces between his heavy plates, notably in the lower back and the backs of his knees. Yet when the blast had ended, the pair continued undaunted, ignoring the sting of fresh wounds for the sake of completing their mission for only in doing so would they be saved.

            “We’re almost out,” Silas shouted, keeping his own morale up as much as the others, finally putting an end to the simpering of the broken Arbite. “Are you still with us Sister?”

            A terrible snarl came as a reply followed by an enraged swing at a nearby metal pipe, gouging out a part of it, releasing a flash of sparks from the wires now left exposed.

            “C’mon, don’t snap now! We can’t get you to Iggy and the ship from here if you break!”

            He liked to believe that the appeal for rationality had been what eased her furious mind from the absolute breaking point, but the truth of the matter was it was the mention of the plain guardsman. Keeping herself in check, Sophia maintained her pace a few steps ahead of the Battle Brother, turning off to take the stairs up to the door that had first brought them to the rotting underbelly of the spire.

            Banging a fist against the heavy reinforced door, Silas wasted no time sending a vox demanding their release before any gangers were to compromise security. Minutes later, as quick as one could honestly hope for, the door was opened long enough for the three to step through before being sealed once more.

            Back under the glow of functioning artificial lighting, the three felt safe once more, although more than the lighting it would have been the lack of aberrant humans trying to kill them that instilled the sense of safety. Although the pair judged that the best thing to do for Basilliscus Thorn was to be taken to a doctor, they quickly learned the standing order upon their return was to let their patron be reunited with his friend.

            Guided by a servo-skull once more, Adepta and Adeptus tiredly made their way to the upperhive wishing for the day to end. Having been expected, they were let into the gaudy over-decorated home without delay and brought to the same drawing room where they were told to await the powdered fop, though not in those words.

            “Oh, it’s so good to have you return successfully – you were successful, yes?” Cladus rambled, strolling into the room with a tray of sweets being held close at hand by a servant from which he gingerly and frequently plucked a treat and greedily ate. “I trust it was not great challenge for the likes of you?”

            “The—”

            “My goodness! Look at him, he looks positively horrendous!” he rambled in shock, though not to appalled as to keep him from popping another bonbon into his open mouth, not minding that he yet again cut off a Space Marine. “Really, Basilliscus, how could you let yourself become so…so…plebeian?”

            “He had been locked in a cage in the underhive,” Sophia reminded him.

            “Ugh, that’s no excuse,” Cladus scoffed, waving the servant away because he’d lost his appetite, though still took another chocolate from the tray as she left. “Oh my, those dreadful underhivers did a number on you, poor boy.”

            Weakly, the Arbite nodded and spoke for himself. “Yes, Lord Rhees.”

            “Well now, it’s a good thing you have such a generous friend?” he laughed, pinching the man’s cheek. “Some bionics will take care of those…pieces you’ve misplaced.”

            “If I may, Lord Rhees, is there someplace I can set this man down?” Silas asked, losing the patience to maintain a respectful tone. “There is also the matter of our agreement….”

            “What? Oh, yes, very well, uh…this settee here; I’ve been thinking of replacing it anyways. I’ll have someone sent to your ship to work out a payment in the morning. Now, if that’s all—”

            “We’d also like to purchase some—”

            “Discuss it tomorrow! Can’t you see this poor man needs to be taken care of?” the fop huffed with trepidation, shooing the pair from his home.

            Too eager to leave for any feelings of indignation to be had, the pair trudged back to the Paragon of Exile. The door was opened and left waiting for them after a simple vox and once inside they both dragged their feet towards the nearest stateroom. Silas went left and Sophia went right, stopping when she found the room empty. Contemplating her aching muscles, the Sister of Battle turned away from the door and went further to the front of the ship until she found the three crewmen sitting in the bridge playing cards to pass the time.

            Their words of greeting fell on deaf ears as she grabbed Iggy by the back of his shirt and dragged him back to her room. Ignored was the mad laughter of the Eldar, the look of indignation of the Tau, and the perplexed human who gripped her wrist to keep from being choked by his own collar. She tossed him onto the bed before stripping out of her armour, feeling great relief to once again feel cool air upon her skin. She paid her aches and pain little mind as she crawled into bed and under the sheets, and wrapped her arms around the ex-guardsman.

            Closing her eyes, she further remained ignorant of the man’s confusion that she lightly squeezed from behind, having opted to do no more than spoon her favourite companion as she nodded off.

7: Chapter 7 - According to Plan (I)

           Her sleep had been a restful one; the muscular woman’s exhausted and beaten body had desperately needed a proper respite. Even the hard mattress was like sleeping on a cloud compared to the combined unpleasantness of her armour and the trodden debris that was the underhive. Slowly opening her eyes she found that Iggy had remained in her arms throughout her slumber, lying on his side with his head resting upon her right arm and snuggled up close to her front. Giving him a gentle squeeze she elicited a soft mumble but not waking him. Smiling, she continued by passing her left hand over his body under the sheets.

           Slowly the fog that had overtaken her some twelve hours prior cleared and she remembered the details of her return. Such as how she had taken the military man away as her teddy bear. It soon dawned on the Sister that, at the time of his seizure, with how close she had come to losing it, it would have seemed as though it had been her intent to bed him like the other times she’d gone berserk. Keeping that in mind, it came as no surprise that he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing as far as she could feel by hand or leg. Though she had honestly not considered the deed at the time of her return, it was now all that occupied her thoughts as she chose to slide her free hand over his bare lap as she followed her urges. The week with Silas had sated any desire she had for violence and dry conversation but left her starved for the nectar that was heartfelt human contact. Feeling his back pressed against her chest and breathing in his scent – as pleasant as one could really hope for under the circumstances – she felt genuinely happy and at ease.

           But feeling his bolt pistol slowly grow into a heavy bolter from her caress made her want to experience a heart pounding experience of a different kind. It wasn’t until he was almost fully erect that her uncharacteristically delicate touch roused him to wakefulness. The Cadian must have been feeling quite at peace lying in her arms, for instead of leaping to action out of fear of immanent attack he slowly opened his eyes and took a few seconds to collect his thoughts before twisting enough to look her in the eyes through the darkness of room, unlit save for the faint glow of the some of the ship’s electronics.

           Staring for a few seconds, the plain man in need of a trim stifled a yawn before speaking. “Mornin’ Sophia; slept well?”

           “Best since Uchides II,” she smiled, moving her hand a bit faster now that she didn’t need to be subtle. “Before everything got wrecked.”

           “Of course…say, aren’t you still sore from your mission?”

           “Not really.” It was a barefaced lie; seemingly every joint was aching and would be for some time to come, and a quick check under the covers would have revealed a number of sizable bruises from where the enemy fire had greatly strained and tested her body armour.

           Keeping his thoughts that she was a physical monster to himself, Iggy welcomed her touch, and brought his left hand back. His fingers blindly followed the curve of her thighs inwards until he had found her hot core. Rubbing her petals as best he could between her muscular legs from that angle and while they were pressed together, he felt her shiver and gradually moisten.

           The pair of humans continued with the mutual petting; Iggy needing to do nothing to enjoy the feel of her strong hand treating him more gently than everything else to have ever met her clenched fist, while she raised her left leg and rested its knee upon his thigh to grant him a little more space to work his fingers. The platinum and black-haired woman kept him aroused but not over stimulated until her body was wet enough to receive him, at which time she softly whispered into his ear just what she wanted, knowing it would make him happy.

           Climbing out of bed, the soldier made sure to put on a prophylactic and turned the lights on to a faint but manageable glow before turning back to Sophia, rolling her onto her back then pulling away the sheets. With a full view of her many bruises, he once more felt obligated to ask: “You’re sure you’re fine?”

           “You’re not stopping now,” she insisted, pulling the sheets back over her upper body to keep him from focusing on them. Call it vanity or a means to keep his attention off the unpleasantness; the Adepta didn’t want him staring at the minor injuries.

           Hooking one leg around his waist, she let him raise the other up the height of his body and to one shoulder as brought his manhood to her body, pushing slowly and carefully inside of her. Joined at the pelvis, he slowly made love to her, mindful of the rhythm and angle of his thrusts. Rubbing his left hand down along her straightened leg, Iggy took a pillow and placed it under Sophia’s back to change her posture before letting his fingertips brush against her pelvis once more.

           There his fingers remained for the duration of their love-making, his body filling her from within as his touch stimulated her from without. Their bodies grew hot and beaded with sweat as the minutes passed until he fell upon her body, muscles tight and bodies heaving with heavy, laboured breathing.

           Rolling off of her to keep from upsetting his right arm as well as her bruises, Iggy sucked in a deep breath as he stared up at the ceiling.

           “That was wonderful, Honey,” she smiled, speaking while exhaling hotly as one hand slid across her abs to rest at the top of her pelvis.

           “It was,” he agreed, her spontaneous pet name being paid no mind. “What do you think you’ll do now?”

           “Sleep…” Sophia answered, already taking to closing her eyes and wrapping herself in the loose sheets.

           “Alright, you take it easy,” he breathed, sitting up and giving her a friendly pat on the hip before rising to his feet. Wiping some sweat from his chest, he decided without needing to smell that it was as good a time as any for a sponge bath. Though being able to leave the ship long enough for a bath or shower would have been ever better, his cast aside.

           Pulling on his pants and fastening them enough for them to stay up, he stumbled out of the room to get cleaned up. It was as he was walking down the hall towards the ship’s locker that he came face to face with the tall, intimidating figure of Silas and put immediately at the mercy of the giant’s intimidating red-eyed stare.

           “Finally awake?” the Salamander greeted. “I’d heard you’d been dragged off last night.”

           Scratching his stomach, now realizing he could do with something to eat as well, Iggy nodded. “I’m a stuffed toy, it seems.”

           “Oh? Is that all?” smiled Silas, his teeth providing a great contrast to the rest of his face. “Is she up yet?”

           “She was until a moment ago, but went back to sleep. Why? Has something happened?”

           “Nothing particularly important; it’s just been so long that I’d become concerned. While the two of you were sleeping I’d already met Rhees’ toady, sold our old stock, resupplied our ordinance, and bought the goods for our next trip. In fact, Haran is taking us there as we speak.”

           “We were asleep that long? Well, what merchandise are we carrying now?”

           “Weapons.”

           “I see, and where are we headed?”

           “Eistrosie I: the only habitable planet in a system of dead worlds.”

           “And you both agree we’ll get a good deal there because….” The ordinary man could readily conceive of two reasons and neither was favourable.

           “It seems to be a death world; not unlike Catachan although not as merciless.”

           “Holy feth, you’ll kill us all,” Iggy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shut his eyes tightly. “I’m…just not going to worry about this now. I’ll have plenty of time to get sick with worry after I’ve cleaned myself up.”

           His claim was all too true, for after giving himself a much needed scrubbing and choking down a meal, the guardsman made the mistake of walking into the cargo bay to look at the merchandise. Finding the area to be astonishingly under-stocked, he shouted angrily for the Space Marine.

           “That’s it? What the feth, Silas?”

           “These are good, manufactorum-made weapons; it’s all we could afford,” he stated simply, folding his arms over his barrel chest.

           “What do you mean ‘all we could afford’? You don’t mean you—”

           “We used nearly every geld on this, yes. We’re going to a death world, for Emperor’s sake; the investment will turn a great profit,” Silas insisted. “While Sophia and I were doing the mission, Haran made all sorts of plans – as those damned Eldar are so keen to do – and this was one of them. If nothing else, have faith in his kind’s treachery to come out ahead.”

           “Alright, alright, fine. But if this goes badly we’ll be on the verge of bankruptcy, if not completely ruined.”

           “Have faith; we’ll be even richer for it.”

           “Funny, we were just discussing the same subject,” the Eldar’s confident voice smoothly boasted, his footsteps making nary a sound as he strolled gracefully beside the mechanic and her clopping. “I reviewed my plans countless times; this will work. Or do you doubt there’ll be a demand for this many of your primitive mon-keigh weapons?”

           “You’re assuming they’re not privately supplied,” Fio’el argued, still unconvinced by the points thus far raised. “I doubt anyone would set up shop on a death world without a reliable supplier.”

           “That’s a possibility,” Silas conceded, drawing the Warp Spider’s ire immediately. “But even should that happen we should come out ahead.”

           “—sucking back-stabbing—yes, Eistrosie I is presently being exploited for its rich metal deposits. Whether we sell the weapons or not we’ll set down someplace the mon-keighs won’t be up in arms over and let the drones get to work until either we’re topped up or can’t stand the local fauna.”

           Scratching at the top of his head in frustration, Iggy nodded and agreed with the profiteers’ plan. “Orks?”

           “Not in numbers worth mentioning,” Silas answered. “Killer creatures and poisonous plants seem to be all the miners are reporting problems with.”

           “We land, try to unload the weaponry, sit around for a few days or weeks to fill up on good metals, and then hightail it out of there…you promise?”

           “I swear on the Golden Throne.”

           With the majority already being in favour of the plan, Fio’el withheld any further objections and shifted her focus on how they could do thing well. As Iggy was still recovering and Haran needed to keep an eye on the piloting of the ship, the mechanic put the ship’s designated muscle to work, helping to set more of the cargo bay to hold raw ore.

 

           Days were spent in transit as everyone went about their usual preparations for another dangerous encounter. Haran kept them safe from debris and undetected from potential threats. Silas concentrated on his rites and exercises, ensuring that his body would serve as a honed weapon even if everything else should fail him. The ex-guardsman was relieved when Sophia was finally able to remove the cast, allowing him to see to his rehabilitation in full and once more carry out his duties as part of the meagre crew. Along with keeping the rest of her compatriots healthy, the Adepta took the time to maintain her weapons on her own as well as spend time training her precious little pet.

           Clicky wasn’t exactly a quick study – having learned all of zero commands or tricks thus far – but the vacuous stare of its beady eyes combined with its delightful rolling about made her forgive its every error. She did notice that the little feller was starting to put on weight. Since it wasn’t much for exercise beyond rolling and crawling about like an incompetent there was nothing else to do beyond feeding it a little less.

           As usual, the busiest of them all was Fio’el, working herself to the bone to keep the ship operating smoothly while maintaining the majority of the equipment on her own. Although the weapons brought back by the Battle Brother and Sister of Battle had seen their share of wear and tear, the damage didn’t extend much beyond the need of a good cleaning and oiling. The armour got the worst of it, with Sophia’s suit needing some mending to keep it useful but would soon be in need of replacement. Silas’ suit was in better shape overall, but the best she could do for the left pauldron was patch the hole with salvaged pieces of ceramite and scrap metal. It would need to be replaced as soon as possible; fortunately she knew from her time maintaining it that they could be swapped out without affecting the rest of the suit’s functionality.

           After weeks of travel and routine duties stuck within the small ship, when Haran announced they had achieved visual of the jungle death world, even the fearful Iggy found relief at the prospect of leaving the stuffy vessel. It didn’t matter what the woman said about the efficacy of the ship’s filtration system, he could tell the difference between fresh air and the scent of oxygen perpetually bombarded by their odours.

           “Have you found where the mining operation is yet?” Silas asked, squeezing into the cockpit, standing right behind the pilot’s chair.

           “Gee, thank you Haran for getting us from one solar system to another without being savaged by asteroids, military patrols, pirates, raiders, or xeno horrors,” the Eldar grumbled while sarcastically imitating the Space Marine’s voice then switching back to his own while maintaining the same embittered tone. “No problem mon-keigh who sits on his fat ass when there aren’t hefty crates that need lifting or fools of the Imperium to suck his cock; thank you for not immediately telling me to do even more work.”

           As the Astartes, who was now also in a foul mood, exchanged a venomous glare with the tall slender Eldar who looked up at him from over his shoulder, he tried to keep calm and remind himself of the proper way of dealing with the sometimes infuriating and often troublesome xeno. Not the traditional way of exterminating the pest, mind you. Very slowly he spoke with carefully chosen words: “The sooner we find their orbital ship or planetary position, the sooner we get rich.”

           “Long-range scans haven’t revealed any orbital craft,” Haran answered excitedly, his long thin fingers a blur as they busily hammered away at the console to fetch all the information he could hope for. “Planetary scans will take some time and we’ll need to get closer to perform a more thorough, reliable search with short-range sensors and optics. Without there being any ships, they’ve either abandoned the system, are relying on a ground crew, or have already met an unfortunate end.”

           Before Silas could even reach the count of ‘one’, he could tell the pilot was starting to sob uncontrollably. Had the proposed death been his or any of the other three, the Salamander believed, with some degree of comfort, that the tears would have been at the genuine distress of having lost some companions the Eldar had grown fond of. But he knew better of the source of this mourning.

           “If they’re dead, then we get to keep the weapons, loot their campsite for machine parts, equipment, and any ore they’ve dug up for us.”

           “You magnificent bastard!” the Warp Spider applauded with great admiration. “This will be an exemplary no-lose situation for us!”

           The giant held his tongue, not wanting to experience yet another mood swing from the emotionally unstable Eldar. It would have meant some Imperium citizens had been lost if that were the case. On the other hand, what better way to honour their sacrifice than for the fruits of their labour to aid an honourable member of the Adeptus Astartes?

 

           It was three hours later before they were able to identify the worksite of the miners and bring the Paragon of Exile in for a landing. Knowing better than to drop down without first warning their hosts of the sort of ship to expect, Iggy contacted whoever answered below to be granted permission for their arrival. Although a Space Marine would have certainly garnered more respect, the air of authority one had might just push the likely already tense encampment even further to the breaking point. Instead, Haran advised they let the mediocre, subordinate soldier speak on their level and put them at ease; he would introduce them merely as merchants looking to sell a product, not a commanding presence come to make demands.

           Given the clear to land, the blocky mining craft made touch-down in a vacant patch of scorched earth off to one side of the encampment. Only a few dozen meters and a line of T-walls separated them from the terrifying wilderness of the muggy verdant planet. When the ship’s bay doors opened the first any nearby workers saw was the nervous Cadian dressed in his combat fatigues and flak armour, though more casual by having left his helmet behind, and the Sister beside him dressed in her black leather bodice, shirt, pants, and boots.

           He saluted the men and women whose eyes were upon him with the sign of the Aquila and breathed a sigh of relief when they responded in kind instead of drawing weapons.

           “Just the two of ya on that brick?” one observing lady asked as she cut into the top of a tin of rations with a combat knife.

           “No, there are others,” answered Sophia frankly as she approached and offered a hand in greeting along with her name.

           “Cadwell,” the woman answered bluntly before eating a knife’s scoop worth of the meal made of stuff best not thought about, never accepting the hand.

           Turning his head this way and that to take in the reaction the workers and guards had to the small Tau vessel, the guardsman found himself burdened with a point of curiosity. “If you don’t mind my asking, why do none of you seem concerned with a clearly xeno ship showing up in your camp?”

           The butch woman raised an eyebrow as she spat out a piece of something tough and unpleasant before answering. “The two of ya aren’t those…what’cha call them…? Que’pasa? Y’know, traitors who sided with the Tau.”

           “Not…as such,” he answered.

           Sophia gave a supportive and enthusiastic nod in agreement. “We’re not traitors at all. We just finished helping a noble over on Rothea IV. But you don’t even seem like you’d mind if we were.”

           “Nah; we’re all Imperials here, through and through, but when you’ve been a rogue trader as long as me, ya find profits and opportunity where ya can find them, even if it means dealing with the Blues. So if you’ve stowed away any of them in there, tell them not to worry; I won’t tell the boys to shoot unless any of ya give me reason to.” Reaching into her mouth and picking at some foot stuck in her molars she flicked her finger clean and smirked knowingly. “In case ya haven’t figured it out, I’m the one in charge of this here operation and the one who cleared ya to land.”

           “You sounded different over the vox,” the Adepta remarked.

           “I can’t tell if you’re cracking a lame joke or just dumb,” Cadwell retorted then raised her knife-turned-eating utensil defensively as the bob cut woman took a sudden and fast step towards her. “Easy there. Why don’t we get down to business and ya tell me just why you’re here.”

           “Iggy, you should get—”

           “Way ahead of you,” he replied, raising a hand to his ear and turning on his micro-bead. “Silas? Mind coming out here with a bit of merchandise? Hmm? Yeah, the woman in charge was waiting for us…. No, she seems fine to deal with the Tau and…just for business, yeah. Fio might be fine to, no you don’t need to—hi Fio….”

           The two watched, unimpressed, as he fumbled with the vox like a child dealing with chatty parents who always had just one more question needing immediate answering. The rogue trader listened with some interest as to what was being said while trying to surmise the other end of the conversation until she was met with the surprise of a fully-armoured Battle Brother stepping out with an armful of metal cases.

           “I just can’t make heads or tails of what’ll step out of you’re ship next. Wait, don’t tell me…one of those scheming Eldar?” she laughed, garnering the laughter of the others if only out of nervousness from how scarily accurate she was. “No, wait, I take it back, there’ll be one of those Necron, eh? Now, what have ya got in those cases for me?”

           Rather than make the weapons look small in his hands, Silas waved Sophia over to showcase the firearms. There was also the benefit of not exposing the new weapons to his apparent jinx. If he were to sell arms to loyalists, he wanted them to work.

           From one trunk she pulled out a bolter and chambered a single round after showing it to the customer first. As Silas, their acting product promoter, lauded the weapon’s specs, she took aim at a tree past the campsite’s perimeter and, on command, blew off one of its thicker branches. Their demonstration went on to include a lascarbine, lascannon, meltagun, and grenade launcher although their potential customer didn’t need a firing of each, having been familiar with most.

           “What do you say?” Silas grinned confidently from behind his helmet. “Being left on a dangerous world with only those small shuttles? You must want some extra firepower in your pocket.”

           “Our merchantman comes ‘round every now and then to pick up cargo and replenish supplies, manpower, and such,” Cadwell declared, stone-faced.

           “Tarask-class?”

           “Yeah, and?”

           “Just curious. I suppose this ship of your – or of your business partners – is always right on time, if not early?”

           Narrowing her eyes, she knew she couldn’t read the man whose face was covered and the other two seemed to be uninvolved with the negotiations. Having put her at a disadvantage, she would need to use other guile to secure a reasonable bargain. Something that would call for more time.

           “How much are ya packing in that ship of yours?”

           Waving her over, Silas walked her into the cargo bay and showed her the full pile of weaponry they had accrued, organized by weapon and its corresponding ordinance. “Better than just calling it a quarter ton of firepower, no?”

           “I’d like some time to think this over; ya fine with that?” she asked as he ushered her out of the ship. “Won’t take more’n a day; you and your crew can wander around the camp until then. Just don’t go past the tree line; there’s some nasty shit out there.”

           “Very well,” the marine agreed, making the sign of the Aquila out of respect. “Until tomorrow.”

           Business now on hold, the team’s muscle informed the others of state of the transaction and their permission to explore the worksite. Although Cadwell had expressed the tolerance they had for the likes of the Tau, it was agreed that Fio’el shouldn’t go anywhere without an escort to ensure the forewoman’s words weren’t an exaggeration or trap, and that Haran’s existence would be best left a secret for a few reasons. Least of all was their unwillingness to push their luck.

           With the Eldar left not sulking but rubbing his hands in anticipation of the profits the others gathered outside the ship and closed the bay doors. It wasn’t as though the encampment had any attractions or sites to see, but after an extended period stuck inside a ship too small for so many, even the sticky humidity of the jungle was a welcome change as they stretched their legs and looked up at the open skies.

           The camp itself consisted of an area where light flight craft had been parked, rows of tents, a couple pavilions, and the rocky hill to the western face in which they had started their mines. Dozens of men frequently went in and out of the mine pushing carts filled with rock and earth that would later be fed into a machine for comminution, sizing, and then extractive metallurgy. Those who were breaking their backs in the mines were whatever desperate labourers Cadwell and her associates had been able to hire on the cheap, and surely some of the larger tents housed similarly able-bodied men resting for their next gruelling shift. The others, consisting of men and women, seemed mixed between those who would maintain the far more precious machinery – making repairs and appeasing the machine spirit – and those who would protect the camp, either from the terrible beasts of the world or insurrection from ungrateful workers.

           As they had suspected not all of the reactions to seeing a xeno among them were at all welcoming or polite, with some being outright hostile, though no actions beyond shouts encouraging the Adeptus to ‘purge the alien’. Despite the aggression of some – the workforce in particular – many simply didn’t care or just gave a nod as they walked past, more interested in the sight of a Space Marine and a woman with the styling of an Adepta Sororitas. For those loyal to the Emperor of Mankind, it was as warm a welcome as could be hoped for.

           Every so often shots would ring out from some area of the perimeter and be soon followed by a shout consisting of a name and a number. By the names – belching frigatebird, green dog, coiling snapper – they guessed that it was a simple matter of reporting the local fauna to have tried to take back the campsite as death worlds were want to do. On occasion, some such beast could be seen carried into the camp where off duty workers would proceed to butcher the creatures for food. The four from the Paragon of Exile couldn’t help but wonder how many poisonous animals had been sampled before the edible ones had been found.

           While there was nothing anyone could say or do to convince the guardsman to step anywhere near the walls, Silas’ curiosity got the better of him and broke off from the group to chat with the sentries. His inquiring mind asked about the more troublesome creatures on the planet and having them compared to the infamous critters found on Catachan. In the time spent conversing he was able to see a few of them shot by the nervous guards, witnessing the acidic large throated birds that would splash the area around them with corrosive fluids when shot. He saw something one mercenary called a ‘protelyx’, a six meter long beast with a muscular build and a thin coat and weighting in at close to five hundred kilograms, lurking among the trees get shot in the shoulder with a lasgun. The large dour-looking thing that resembled a mix of the hyenas and wolves of Terra simply hissed from the shot and moved along, showing no sign of even a limp from the shot.

           “Shouldn’t you kill it before it attacks?”

           “Nah, it’s not worth the effort. The one good thing about those huge bastards is that they’re opportunistic and waits for some of us to step out from our fortifications or for a whole lot more of these critters to make trouble before dragging one or two of us off,” the shooter sighed as she lit a lho-stick. She sucked in a deep breath before letting out the smoke in a thick haze.

           Furrowing his brow, he asked: “then wouldn’t it make the most sense to kill it now?”

           “Haul over a gun that can and you can blow its head off. We’re not wasting melta bombs to kill one that isn’t fighting. If it’s dumb enough to step in front of one of the heavy bolters then we’ll knock it off.”

           Thinking on it, the Salamander wandered back to the ship and returned a few minutes later with his newly acquired lascannon in tow and helmet on his head. Some jaws went slack as the large man hefted the equally impressive weapon upon his shoulder and strutted along the perimeter to find the beast from before. As the sentries got the idea, they called out to Silas so that he could take his shot. Standing tall and looking out over the T-wall as the lesser men and women would only stare out through the spaces in between, he took aim at the creature which looked back at him with its lips slowly pulling back into a snarl.

           Lined up, with his targeting systems giving the go-ahead, he squeezed the trigger and the weapon lit up the surroundings with a beam that seared a generous hole through everything that it touched. Of which the protelyx had been just below, with the shot having gone high.

           The laughter of the guards spread like wildfire and filled the air. It was mere minutes before the news had spread to even the miserable mine workers who suddenly had something worth chuckling about. Even a man who had recently been splashed by one of the frigatebirds enjoyed a good guffaw before the caustic fluid corroded clear through the walls of his heart.

           Although the beam did frighten off the animal, the failure was too great for Silas and he placed a hand over the wall to steady himself in his disbelief before he could properly walk off in disgrace. As the fingers of his gauntlets passed over the metal wall, he felt the burns from the belcher’s bile and then a curious other indent he knew quite well. Leaning out past the walls he confirmed his suspicion before retreating to the ship. Important discovery or no, he couldn’t bear to show his face in public.

8: Chapter 8 - According to Plan (II)

           After a day of stretching their legs while touring Cadwell’s operation, the three returned to their ship half-regretting their decision. It felt as though they could top off their ship’s water reserves from how much of the region’s humidity clung to their bodies. Now sticky and sweaty from their respite, the ship smelled worse than ever and there was little to be done about it other than turn up the ship’s internal filtration systems and hope for the best. The “best” not being good enough for anyone’s likings.

           “You mon-keigh fucking reek,” Haran hollered from the bridge, having sealed the avionics door to keep from having to breathe in their odours. Well worth the price of exasperating his cabin fever. “It’s bad enough you Ceiba-ny-shak get to leave this Yngir-forsaken ship without you grox-fuckers having to foul it up for me in here!”

           Breaking out some large bowls and halfway clean cloths, the two humans and Tau were about ready to return to some semblance of clean when their favourite giant called a meeting. Haran refused in the most colourful way that he could think of but agreed to listen in over the comms. Gathered in the hold the Brother stood as the others chose to sit around their pots, repeatedly soaking and squeezing out their cloths before wiping down another portion of skin.

           “Can’t that wait?” Silas frowned, finding disrespect in their actions.

           “Not if I wanted to breathe again,” clicked the Warp Spider by vox.

           Being a sword and shield of the Emperor, although wayward, he believed himself worth their full attention. They certainly had his, particularly the muscular curves of the Daughter of the Emperor. Purely the physical perfection of a warrior was his only reason to stare, he told himself, not for any sort of heretical reasons. On such a cramped vessel, seeing one-another like this was nothing new, so there was no shame in his gaze lingering. When finally he looked away – pure coincidence that it so happened to be as she was turning her attention to him for a moment, of course – his eyes focused on the blue-skinned alien instead.

           Foul xeno that she was her body was utterly repulsive to the devout member of the Imperial Cult. A creature to abhor, as one must any of the numerous xenos, he was repulsed by her vast round breasts, disgusted by her petite body with its hourglass figure, reviled her body that was gently toned without being particularly muscled, and aghast at her round ass that would make a man want to grab hold and just—

           “—ted to say?”

           “Ah, hmm?” he asked, snapping to attention once more.

           “I said: ‘what was it you wanted to say’,” Sophia repeated.

           “Oh, right, of course.” Clearing his throat, he focused his attention on the wall behind the three to keep from being caught up in his appreciation and disgust of their respective bodies. “It seems the reports from Cadwell or her associates haven’t been those of good, honest citizens.”

           “What do you mean?” inquired Iggy through his hands while splashing water upon his face. Whatever pooled on the floor would be collected by the air filters eventually.

           “While the three of you were off wasting time, I bothered to inspect the perimeter—”

           The speakers crackled with high-pitched frenzied laughter as the pilot was caught up in an absolute fit, dying down only when it sounded as though he would suffocate with mirth. “Oh, I heard all about that! Thirty meters! With…with…ah-ha-ha!”

           “If you would just ignore that, you damnable Eldar, I noticed that the walls’ exteriors had some signs of damage that certainly came from bolter fire.”

           That caught their attention, at least of the human portion of the crew. Haran still hadn’t finished laughing and Fio’el, unaware or perhaps simply more interested in scrubbing the guardsman’s back as requested, seemed unphased.

           “Chaos?” Iggy breathed worriedly.

           “Undoubtedly,” Silas nodded.

           “But only cultists, right?” Sophia reasoned, remaining optimistic and speaking with less gravitas than the others. “Chaos Marines would have rolled over a small place like this with ease.”

           “I believe you’re right.”

           “So the problem is other gue’la, right?” asked Fio’el. “Are these those ‘Chaos God’ worshipping people you’ve talked about? Or a competing business?”

           “She might have a point,” Iggy agreed, her proposal lighting a bulb over his head. “Even if they are just cultists, maybe Cadwell hasn’t said anything because she thinks it is or was just a scheming, rival bunch of rogue traders. Who knows, maybe that’s exactly what you found. Who’s to say what they’d do for the bottom line.”

           “I would like it if that were true,” Silas agreed. His attention focused on the three once more and saw how it came to be the plain soldier’s turn to help with another’s cleaning. “I suppose that is all for now; we can confront Cadwell with this tomorrow. And I suppose I ought to join you three…for cleanliness sake.”

 

           The following day, early in the morning – so early, in fact, that the sun had yet to appear over the thick canopy of trees – the rogue trader sent for the visiting merchants and was answered by Silas who was accompanied by Iggy and Fio’el. The meeting took place within a pavilion set up in nearly the heart of the campsite and adjacent to what was noted as the boss’ tent. Within were a few folding stools set up around a similarly easily moveable table littered with various papers heavily covered in scrawl and rough sketches, a data slate, a steaming pot of recaf, and a half-empty cup.

           Stepping around the table, Cadwell greeted the alien with neither a smile nor a frown and made a hand gesture that had been shown to her by the last group of Tau she had dealt with. In turn, Cadwell was met with the sigh of the Aquila. “Had I done it wrong? Or is it more regional?”

           “You had it right; I’ve simply gotten used to…local customs.” Fio’el replied, feeling a little odd.

           Nodding, the boss looked about and cocked an eye at the lack of one new face but said nothing. Though the team wouldn’t say so, the Sister had been left behind, armed and ready, in case there was some nefarious reason for the evidence of bolter-fire. All at Iggy’s insistence despite the opposing rationale that Sophia – even armed to the teeth – wouldn’t matter one whit if their host did mean them harm.

           “After sleepin’ on it I’ve decided to accept your offer,” she stated calmly while heading back to the table to retrieve her slate. “But I haven’t any currency to give ya for them, so how does trading in goods and services sound instead?”

           After momentarily exchanging looks with the Earth Caste lady the giant folded his arms and lowered his chin just enough to give the impression of a nod. “What do you propose?”

           “That depends; just how long do ya plan on staying on this world? And for what purpose?”

           “Since we hear this was a mineral rich planet, however long it takes us to fill our hold with its bounty.”

           For the first time that meeting Cadwell gave a smile and only Fio’el, lacking a lifelong familiarity with the nuances of human facial expressions, was spared a sudden chill. To the often cautious Iggy, thinking a stranger to be dangerous was second-nature. But for the man who could easily end this woman by reaching out with one hand, had been trained by a Chapter with an unsettling intimacy with fire, and had been conditioned to rush headlong into the most horrible monstrosities of the Warp to feel his hackles rise raised alarms in the back of his mind.

           “Well, this site has been claimed by my company, Honourable Salamander. Given the time, effort, and blood paid to ready and keep these grounds, I’m not about to let even you to take that away from us.”

           Tightening his obscured hand into a fist, knowing that if he had still been with the Chapter this disrespect would not have been permitted, Silas could only concede. “That is a service not rendered, so then what will you offer?”

           “This is a death world and I doubt your team is keen on braving it for however many days it takes to fill your hold while avoiding the dangers. As a small portion of the exchange, you can set down that ship of yours in my camp as you need, all sanctuary-like.”

           “Should you not offer that as a mere courtesy?” he argued loudly.

           Without a hint of intimidation she retorted: “Does your Chapter house those who don’t work? Perhaps I should move there instead; out here those who don’t work aren’t welcomed. You’ll have indefinite protection from the wilds for the price of what really amounts to a lasgun or two and their charge packs. A generous bargain if’n I say so.”

           “And what for the rest of it?”

           “How’s some of the crystals and gems that have been excavated and processed? A ton and a half of ‘em, yours for the taking.”

           Looking to the Tau, he waited until she picked up on the hint that she was needed to decide if this was a good deal or not. Though it took her some time to recognize the meaning of his silence, she accepted on the task trying to think of the things she had seen merchant of the Water Caste do in the past. While not much better than Silas in knowing the value of the trade and even less about the worth of crude, cumbersome Gue’la weaponry, she did recall that any offer the other side was making would be well below their real worth.

           “Three tons,” was her counter-offer; perhaps an outrageous demand, perhaps still undercutting their worth.

           “One-and-a-half.”

           “Two, and we get to choose which stones to take ourselves.”

           Agreeing, Cadwell scheduled a meeting later that day for when the selection process could be made. Before their present conference could be called to an end, there was one more matter that the Adeptus dared broach.

           “Why do your barricades show signs of having been shot by bolters?” he bluntly asked, throwing as powerful a piercing glare as he could her way. Given even the faithful found the combined onyx-black skin and red eyes of the Salamanders to be intimidating at the very least he believed it to be of no small effect.

           “H…oh, it’s simple: the T-walls were scavenged from old battlefields; an effective cost-cutting measure against flora and fauna, no?”

           “The Imperial Navy wasn’t likely to retrieve any barricades that were put to use and I don’t believe the Militarum Ordinatus were ever largely concerned,” Iggy agreed.

           “I would not doubt that you snatched them up like vultures, but what would I find if I took a walk around the outside?” Silas pressed, towering over this keeper of secrets. “What would your claims be should I find scratches on burns interrupted by bolters and not the other way around?”

           With his question posed, the two fell into a prolonged stare-down as both stubbornly refused to concede that their claims were wrong. Just as the situation felt like it was most uncomfortable for Silas’ entourage Cadwell threw up her hands and confessed the truth.

           “I’ll drop the charade, just step back,” she insisted in a frustrated huff. “There’s some…people out there, but whether they’re savages or cultists, I couldn’t say. Yeah, they’ve got some lasguns and bolters but they’re nothing that my guards can’t handle.”

           “It should be apparent when the scourge of Heresy is near,” Silas growled, angered more now that his suspicions of her dubious nature had been revealed. “Your reports of the planet had been questionably silent with regards to those savages. Perhaps the Inquisition ought to be alerted.”

           “So that the Ordo Hereticus could pick through the history of every last man and woman here to here an’ condemn the lot of us to the fires of righteousness?” Cadwell scoffed, her brazen attitude in the face of an Adeptus stemming from a confidence that there was something about this one that made turning to any authority impossible. “Besides, we got a Warrant of Trade permitting us to explore this world and deal with its inhabitants as we like. Should an agent come to inspect our operations they would find that whenever we find spot those people I pull together a team ta chase and kill the lot of ‘em; even though it means sending precious bodies into that Emperor-forsaken jungle.”

           Before the super soldier could find the words to reply, the rogue trader’s fingers deftly moved about the surface of her data slate and recalled a lengthy document. Thrusting it into his face, she smirked confidently as he read the first few entries. Each one detailed an encounter with the quarrelsome locals, who went after them, how many returned, and how many of the locals had been dealt with and by whom.

           Swallowing loudly as if suppressing his pride, Silas bowed his head. “I apologize, citizen; you are doing everything that is required of you.”

           With a magnanimous smile, she patted his one good pauldron with a gloved hand. “A suspicious mind is a healthy mind.”

           “It is as you say,” he agreed. “I accept your bargain. Fio’el, take Iggy with you when it comes time to choose our payment. I’ll get our other plans set in motion.”

           Everyone offered up the sign of the Aquila before parting ways. With all matters settled, it was just another business transaction for the Paragon of Exile crew.

 

           Over the next twenty-four hours, the mechanic made her selection of the crystals with the help of one of the drones while the weapons were unloaded from the ship to whichever pavilions Cadwell wanted them kept. Meanwhile, Haran used the ship’s scanners to locate acceptable mining locations in the vicinity, although to be truly effective they would need to do fly-bys.

           Once there was no more need for them to stay grounded, the crew took to the skies and proceeded to follow up on the sites the Eldar pilot had discovered, ruling out any that were in the thick of the jungle. Without any reliable means of clearing the landscape such deposits were beyond them. The better part of two days were spent in search of a multitude of spaces in which they could safely set down and in time they found themselves a few choice locations and two sites of great interest. Relatively close to one-another was the wreckages of what they presumed to be two different ships.

           One, a mostly intact Dauntless-class light cruiser, had seemed to have run through another ship of perhaps equal size, though one which had fared far worse in landing. While the Dauntless had crashed and left a trench nearly twelve kilometres long before sliding to a stop, the other had been broken in half length-wise and struck the planet like man-made meteors, blowing over the trees in all directions and sending whatever beams and panels that had been jostled loose flying about in a metal hail. Though what could be seen of the second spacecraft meant nothing to the Tau, to Haran and the three humans they recognized the emblem defiantly emblazed upon its stern as the eight-pointed star of Chaos at the center of which was a skull; the left half painted white and the right black.

           “So the planet has the taint of Chaos after all,” Silas frowned, staring at the wreckage through the ship’s display. “That used to be a Hellbringer-class planetary assault ship. The raiders to have survived the crash must be what are harrying the dig site.”

           “And thirty to fifty years,” Haran proposed. “See how much growth has taken up on the hulls? Even accounting for the aggressive growth of death world flora these ships have been here for quite some time.”

           “So some violent pirates crashed here half a century ago?” Fio’el asked. “What’s it matter? Even the youngest of them would be old by now and if no one has come to rescue them then they’ve been dealing with that much attrition.”

           “Then the ones that have survived are that much more dangerous,” Silas argued.

           As the three bickered over how much a threat the heretics posed and, at the Warp Spider’s insistence whether they ought to partake of some scavenging of their own, Iggy stared intently at the Chaos Star. Much to his distress, however furiously he dwelled on the emblem he was coming no closer to the answer he sought.

           Ultimately giving up he dared to ask: “Whose mark is that?”

           “What do you mean ‘whose’?” Sohpia asked. “It’s the Chaos Star.”

           “I know, but…look, between the star and the mark beside it I can’t tell which it belongs to. If you ignore the colouring, the star could be Slaanesh’s but the mark isn’t that of its purple orb and crescent moons. It’s as though they just used the Chaos Star twice.”

           Looking at it more closely, Sophia agreed. “Can’t be Khorne either; the star’s skull doesn’t have horns and the mark isn’t that red…stamp…thing.” Unsure of how to describe it, she quickly drew it out with her finger in the air; what looked like an ‘X’ with a horizontal bar through it and underlined.

           “It’s not Tzeentch, I can guarantee that,” Haran stated flatly. “His is the eye, not a skull.”

           “Nurgle then,” Silas reasoned but quickly slammed his hands on the console and leaned in closer to the screen as he realized his own mistake.

           The mark wasn’t the three green circles divided by arrows and the mark had a skull, something the Plague Lord’s was decidedly without. Thinking back to Slaanesh, to which the guardsman had proposed it had the greatest resemblance, was still a poor match. Depraved heretics though they may be, they weren’t about to slight their own god in such a way as to mistake the sign twice over, and the star itself was far too rough and barbed to belong to that Dark Prince of Pleasure. The only other option that came to mind was the cult of Chaos Undivided but they often chose to forgo the skull at the heart of the star well.

           “I don’t like this one bit,” Silas muttered.

           “It’s none of them, right?” the guardsman sought to confirm.

           “Maybe they were just a band of pirates pretending to be a Chaos warship?” Sophia suggested.

           “A fake…yes…yes, that must be it,” the Space Marine nodded. “They were a mere bunch of degenerate bandits who tried to cause fear and confusion in those who saw them coming.”

           To the four who knew and accepted the reality of the Chaos Gods, they chose to accept the explanation but there still lurked some doubt in the matter. They would simply choose to stay vigilant should matters be worse than expected.

           “So what do we do with what we’ve found?” asked the guardsman.

           “What we do best,” Silas grinned. “We go in and we loot. What better thing can we do for the Emperor—”

           Sophia opened her mouth to ask who that was but was pre-emptively shushed by the others.

           “—than to deprive the enemies of the Imperium of their bounties?”

           It was the Tau to question his plan but not for reasons of motive or loyalty. “Aren’t we supposed to be mining instead? There’s hardly any space in the cargo bay for loot as it is.”

           “Why not do both?” It was an unusually greedy proposal that Sophia had made and one of dividing the ship’s meagre manpower while on such a dangerous world was not one that was altogether appealing. As if aware of the pending objection, she went on to argue on behalf of her suggestion: “Iggy, Silas, and I go into derelict ships on our own anyways and we have a good idea of what could possibly be found on this one. Why don’t the three of us check it out while you have the drones do some digging someplace close?”

           “That’s crazy,” Iggy objected. “What if we need a rapid extraction like last time? The ship wouldn’t be waiting for us at an airlock.”

           “You think of cowardice and defeat before a fight even arises, little man?” Silas sneered confidently, his eyes darting over to see the ladies’ reactions to the golden boy’s evident weakness

           “And yet I was never found wanting at the front line,” Iggy retorted, curious if the euphemisms of the Imperial Guard would be lost on the Adeptus.

           Fio’el, part of an entirely separate culture, never had a chance to understand from the very start. Haran was too busy fiddling with the ship’s computer to care while the remaining pair was either familiar or pretending to understand.

           The Sister of Battle’s façade crumbled first when she covered her mouth with a hand and whispered into his ear: “You mean a commissar didn’t execute you for cowardice, right?”

           Happy someone caught the slang, he nodded.

           When the manic cackling of their mad Eldar filled the bridge all heads turned to stare at the screen. “The mon-keigh’s idea is perfect. One of the sites we considered is within comms range of here. If the three of you went in and didn’t immediately doom yourselves, we could easily touch down right here,” he gestured, guiding a finger along the map from their current position to the clearing, “and get to work. If trouble comes up, send a vox and we could be packed and here to haul your sorry asses away in under ten minutes. Unlike in space, you can run outside if you so need.”

9: Chapter 9 - According to Plan (III)

            “And a plan supported by an Eldar no less,” Silas boasted cheerfully. “You heard the alien, Guardsman: fetch your gear and let’s get exploring!”

            The Imperial trio suited up and set out from the ship, being dropped off on the side of the largest chunk of the Hellbringer. From there they found their way down to ground level and chose a floor to step onto first. Entering through the lowest visible floor, they found it overgrown with vines, roots, and moss that had crept in over the years. With the crashed vessel listing at nearly a forty-five-degree angle, wherever they stepped needed to be done with a measure of care. For a change debris came as a welcome thing; the way it gathered on the starboard-side of the rooms formed slightly more even ground along which they could tread.

            The first closed security door they came across had been further barricaded by the vegetation to have grown over its surface. Had anyone come or gone from the ship, it hadn’t been along this path. To access the door controls and clear the way through, Silas sprayed the wall with lit promethium then stood back to wait for the intense flames to do their work.

            “How do things look down there?” Haran’s voice crackled in all their ears. It gave the guardsman an awful fright until he reminded himself that it was all thanks to Fio’el’s gift, and not the voice of a demonic presence speaking into his mind, looking to corrupt his very soul.

            At least not yet.

            “Can we get to digging up riches or does it look like things will get messy?”

            “All clear so far,” Iggy replied, happy to be able to try his micro-bead for the first time while on the job. “I doubt this place sees much use any more.”

            “Good. Try not to die now,” laughed the Eldar before grunting curiously.

            “Don’t listen to him,” the blue-skinned woman requested, having just pushed the manic pilot from the controls. “At the first sign of trouble send a vox and keep sending them until you hear a confirmation. When you decide you’re done exploring, send a call. We’ll do the same if we’ve mined all we can before hearing from you.”

            “Sounds like a plan,” Sophia replied. “I’ll say hi every hour to make sure we can still hear each other.”

            “Good idea. Stay safe, you three,” she wished before terminating the vox.

            When the fire finished consuming the plants and died down to faint embers, the Space Marine reached out and activated the door controls and smiled with relief behind his helmet when the door shuddered and slid open. The last thing he needed was to learn the power was out and everything needed to be pried open by hand; a task which would have surely fallen upon him time after time. Beyond the door they found another room overtaken by the planet’s greenery, though in lesser amounts. Surely if they were to delve deep enough into the heart of the ship structure, they would reach a place where the outside world had been unable to intrude.

            “Do you hear something?” Iggy asked, looking around as much to see what had alerted his hearing as trying to turn an ear towards the source.

It was faint and whether it came from beyond the door they had just opened or behind them in the short hall that ended prematurely, he knew not. All he knew for certain was that if it was at their backs it was either around the corner or doing an impeccable job blending in with the scenery, and if it was on the path that lay ahead, it knew how to use the darkness well.

            Identifying the source of the noise as coming from behind, Sophia swung her gun around and looked for the enemy. When at first she saw nothing the Adepta activated her helmet’s photolenses and spied a large wolf-like creature creeping towards them, already within ten meters. Squeezing off a single round into the animal that had believed itself beyond detection it exploded as the bolt’s payload detonated, splattering the walls with its no longer invisible remains.

            “What the feth was that?” Iggy reacted loudly, swinging his lasgun around and trying to line up his sights with whatever had been coming towards them.

            “I killed the invisible wolf,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Few more steps at it would have been ready to pounce.”

            “Cadwell’s lot call them ‘green dogs’,” explained Silas. “Damn things have tremendous adaptive camouflage and you need to be trained to know how to spot them or use infra-red.”

            “I see…any pointers you can give?” the guardsman asked.

            “I didn’t ask for any; I don’t need them,” he replied, tapping the glowing green lenses of his helmet with a finger. “And the sentries just made use of those with bionics, an auspex, or infra-red goggles anyways.”

            “So you’re saying I get to be a free meal to those things?”

            “Would it kill you to just once show no fear? Unlike most manners of creatures on this world, the worst you have to worry about is spotting one, and you’re with two people who make them as stealthy as an Ork Waagh.”

            Matters of cowardice and safety momentarily resolved, the three pushed into the darkness, making uses of photolenses and old fashioned flashlights to proceed. The skittering of whatever animals claimed these early rooms and halls their own were met with lasgun fire when sufficiently large or a brief, threatening spray from the flamer for those too small to pay any greater mind. As much as they could they stuck to a straight path, wanting to avoid descending to the buried sections of the wreckage at all costs and begrudgingly ascending towards the left when the way ahead was barred by collapsed sections of hull. Each and every blocked route led to smug comment from the Astartes who couldn’t help but remark the inferiority of a Chaos vessel; citing their lax policy on maintenance and irreverence towards the Machine Spirit and The Emperor. As though a lack of worship somehow caused a weakening of structural stability or that the inverse was true.

            Of course, Iggy had performed the Litanies of Restoration during his recuperation and avoided most of the medicine’s ill effects. Something also might be said about the Battle Brother’s poor luck around his equipment given he shifted the duty of reciting the Litany of Durability upon the disbelieving mechanic. To say nothing of the fact he had never bothered reciting the Litany of Unjamming when his weapon had failed him.

            Ascending several times and coming back down nearly as often, the group found their way to their first locked bulkhead and took it as a good sign. Whatever lay beyond was unlikely to have been touched by the outside world and that much more likely to have things worth taking or Chaos relics to destroy. The problem, of course, was that it had been locked and it would take time to find a way through. Fortunately, with what few critters there were and no contingent of Chaos harrying their position, they had all the time they needed. Being the most ill-suited for standing guard in the dreary ship with only a small light to guide him, it was the Cadian who was put to work at the door’s controls while the Adepta and Adeptus kept watch. The security door at which they stood was the only sealed path along an intersection, leaving them three entrances for two people to watch.

            Prowling green dogs easily became sport for Sophia while other game, thus far unnamed by the world’s residents, met with the heavy boot of the Salamander, splattering vermin and twenty-inch-long centipedes. The way the floor sizzled after crushing a few of the insects, Silas found a pipe to pry from the wall and crush them with instead, fearing for his sole.

            Twenty minutes into the effort, the ordinary man breathed a sigh of relief when the lights on the door finally changed colour and the barrier shuddered before it started to slide open. But the triumph of leaving the way unbarred was almost immediately tempered by the foul presence of the Imperium’s most hated foe. No sooner than the door had opened a foot did a purple light streak through the crack and strike the upper back of Silas’ head.

 

            The ship had touched down safely, the drones had been deployed and had begun their labour, and the remaining crew settled in to their respective duties. The Earth Caste Tau sat on the bridge, leaning back while trying to get comfortable as she kept her eyes on the monitor showing the camera feed of the drones at work and the display showing the short-range scanners’ results. Keeping mindful of the time, she would sometimes grow fearful that the next vox would come through only to feel relief upon hearing the other woman message her to say nothing more than the promised “hi”.

            Despite the dangers inherent in the world’s great outdoors, the Warp Spider was all too eager to step outside and wait quietly atop the ship. Clad in his Aspect armour and with death spinner in hand, he kept his eyes peeled for any creatures that might approach their precious diggers. Whenever one entered his field of vision or his partner alerted him to one’s arrival, he quickly stepped into the Warp and emerged just as quickly to appear within range of the threat only to liquefy it with the monofilament wires of his gun. As soon as the offending creature died he hopped back to the top of the Paragon of Exile to take up the vigil once more.

            The belching frigatebird seemed like the worst of the bunch, as no matter how quickly a cloud of Wraithbone monofilament wire turned them into a collection of gore, the acid within their breasts would nonetheless rain down on everything below. After a few troublesome encounters with them, the Eldar learned to hunt the avians by first luring their attention away from the ship and drones, firing the cloud, and then immediately jumping through the Warp.

            The creature that did prove to be the most difficult was the outrageously thick-skinned protelyx. Even though spinner-fire could sometimes slip through the gaps of the defences of foes clad in power armour, the predatory animal’s fur and hide seemed able to resist the impossibly sharp filament such that Haran was unwilling to contest his supply of ammunition against its body to see which would come out victorious. With their ship being devoid of all mounted weaponry and the two mon-keigh able to lift the heavier guns absent for the time-being, he instead chose to make use of the first half of his frigatebird strategy by leading the massive quadruped away.

            It was, while leading the one somewhat persistent animal away – one of several times – that Haran came to appreciate the viciousness of the planet’s flora. On several occasions he had needed to make liberal use of his jump generator to hop away from a large flower or grasping vines.

            After a couple hours of performing his duty, the Eldar found himself curled into the foetal position between concerns because of repeated exposure to the visions of the Warp and the sensation of She Who Thirsts tugging at his spirit. Never before did he so greatly wish to have a Ranger long rifle, crafted personally by a Bonesinger, with which to snipe the creatures from afar. He was even so desperate to keep from using his jump generator again that the Aspect Warrior that he was willing to exchange his elegant death spinner for the far cruder pulse rifle of the Tau.

 

            Had it not been for the sheer difference in quality between a guardsman’s lasgun – traitor or otherwise – and the defence granted by Adeptus power armour, the Salamander may have very well died that day. Had it been a bolter that had struck true fate would have been far less kind. But the God-Emperor protects and he was left unharmed with only a trace of damage upon his helmet as he went for cover.

            As Iggy did little more than press his body against the wall opposite to the direction in which the door was sliding open, Silas moved to the far wall, enjoying the greater cover it provided until such time as way had opened completely. Sophia, instead, chose to stay directly behind the sliding barrier with only the barrel of her heavy bolter exposed. Stepping in time with the gate’s movement, she observed where the traitors were positioned then opened fire.

            Needing to stay light enough on her feet to shuffle to her right and carrying the outrageously heavy weapon in her left hand – something Silas wouldn’t even dream of attempting, not while firing at least – the Sister of Battle could neither fire full bore nor with much accuracy. Still, her suppressive fire was not without purpose. The wild shots were enough to get the enemy to keep their heads down and the odd stray shot did kill the odd man while also rupturing some pipes, spilling smoke and steam out into the faintly lit room. Cowards that they were – so it was said of those unwilling to run headlong into a spray of explosive .75 calibre gunfire – they kept back while shots of their own did little more than create a laser light show.

            “Iggy, get to work,” Sophia shouted at the guardsman without turning her head.

            Understanding all too well what was required of him Iggy sucked in a deep breath, raised the gunstock to his shoulder, and then swung the weapon around the corner while marking targets as quickly as he could. With appreciable frequency he would blow a hole in a self-mutilating raider’s head or chest, but just as often he alerted them to something else of which they needed be weary.

            As steam continued to fill the room the guardsman signalled Silas to lob a grenade anywhere there seemed to be more than one or two enemies. Having no objections to the order, the Salamander pulled the pin and pitched it to the far corner of the room. When there was no ‘boom’ to be heard of even ten seconds later, he cursed his luck and threw another to the same location and was relieved to hear the desired explosion then surprised to hear it immediately followed by a second.

            While unsure whether to be grateful that the first frag grenade had been useful or upset that he had used two when one would have sufficed, Silas forged ahead, leaving his flamer to hang from his body by its strap while drawing the sword he had taken from the Mandrake. There was no reason for him to give up the benefit of the cover the smoke and steam provided by revealing his position with the flamethrower, nor risking his gun failing him yet again. Shortly after disappearing into the room, he heard the sound of the motor on Sophia’s Eviscerator revving and knew she had joined in on the slaughter. As such he decided to remain on the far side of the room lest she forget to activate the proper photolenses.

            Surprising the raiders and cutting them down until the last had fallen or fled, the heavily armoured duo stood victorious in the blood-stained room as the mist settled enough to obscure the floor and their ankles, and little else. With the room cleared Iggy joined them while remaining ever vigilant; during the flight of what enemies hadn’t remained to be skilfully cut down without mercy, some had tried making it out the way they’d come and he had needed to put them down before they noticed the vulnerable human.

            The discovered enemies vanquished the Cadian soldier rubbed his chin and breathed slowly before joining the pair inside the conquered room. Taking a better look at his surroundings he noticed that the entryway was on the same level as the hall but a few meters in there was a short staircase to either side of a half-wall made up of pipes and plates serving as a makeshift wall. If the room had been intended as a security checkpoint against boarders, its defences were shoddily chosen but as anything else it wasn’t half bad for a holdout. After climbing the stairs and looking at the room from another angle, he could see barrels, crates, and extra pipes stacked and fastened together; even the plates he had once believed to be defences had really just been sheets lying against walls and inclines. He entertained the idea of it being a repair station: a place meant for housing spare parts to repair any worn or damaged sections of the ship.

            With all the smoke lingering on the floor it was hard to keep from being surprised to find oneself stepping through a pool of blood or some hunks of flesh except for where the bodies were crumpled while sufficiently in tact to eerily rest just above the greyish mist.

            “How many do you figure were in here?” Iggy asked as he nudged a cadaver with his foot to check that it had gone to whatever accursed Hell it was meant for.

            “A dozen? Two?” Sophia guessed with an indifferent shrug. How many there had been was of less consequence to her than how many remained. So long as the answer at any given moment was ‘none’, there would be no problems.

            “What does a handful of traitor guardsmen matter?” Silas laughed as he flattened what was presumably a man’s head into pulp under his heel. “That headshot was a surprise; too bad for the heretic that he missed my eye.”

            Wanting a better look at his foes, the human soldier grabbed one visible wrist and raised the half of a torso to which it was attached. Mere scraps of leather clung to the arm from under the tattered remains of the shirt she had been wearing. Even the foolish Orks were better able to armour themselves and they were still better at surviving normally mortal blows. Whether she had once been a guardsman, member of a PDF, or just some citizen gone mad, it was laughable to think ones calling themselves the enemies of the Imperium of Man would be no better equipped – if not worse off – than members of a Penal Legion.

            Releasing his grip he calmly wiped his hand clean on his khakis and looked to the others. “What’ll it be? Satisfied by what you’ve seen of this villainous nest or do we keep poking around?”

            “Doesn’t seem like there’s much of value in here,” Silas replied with a lingering sigh. “But then again, this is the first room we’ve come across with anyone still within. Let’s give it one more hour then head out.”

            “You do know the most valuable things we might find are Chaos artefacts, right?”

            “And if we do, it would be our duty to destroy or confiscate them. C’mon now, let’s press on.”

            “One second, I’m going to close the door behind us. It doesn’t look like nature has reached this far in yet and the last thing I want is for it to keep sneaking up behind us.”

            For the better part of an hour they wandered the hellish ruined vessel’s halls, finding numerous desiccated corpses and adding a few fresh ones during their excursion. Unlike the rabble they had first come across, the others were carrying mere combat knives, spiked clubs, and a laughable collection of slug-throwers and the occasional auto-gun. Even Iggy felt little fear facing down the traitors as they returned fire given how guns of their calibre had little effect against his flak vest and helmet. Still, it paid to take cover wherever possible than rely on the Emperor’s Protection too much.

            Before their self-imposed limit was up they came to a room of vile icons and banners that seemed to fill the room with an ill, oppressive energy. Within the room there were also tomes and scrolls made and bound with human skin. There was little doubt that this room, with its profane splendour, served as the ship’s heretical chapel. Thinking this might be the chance to learn the favoured god of the crew, the trio looked at each other in pondering who would be the best choice to dare read the dangerous scriptures. The guardsman certainly didn’t want himself exposed to anything likely overflowing with Warp energies and the Salamander, so far away from his chapter’s chaplains, was weary of the corrupting influence it might have on his mind. Both knew, however, that the one who understood not the benediction or glory of their God-Emperor could not be allowed to gaze upon its passages.

            “This is strange,” Sophia mused, having taken advantage of the others’ pause to examine the largest of the books. “Listen to this: ‘Let bleed the hearts of all things. Quench the fires of life and sunder their machines’.”

            “Sounds like the worship of Khorne, to me,” Silas stated, growing more alarmed at the notion of her being influenced by the Lord of Rage.

            “‘Destroy their homes, their temples, their fortresses. Tear down the faith of those who hail the Rotting Corpse, the Barbarian, the Bloated Beast, the Schemer, and the Whore. Spill the blood in the name of the The Outcast, ours who is the Hierarch of Anarchy and Terror’.”

            “So they’re worshipers who have spurned all of Chaos?” Iggy asked, frustrated at the futility of their investigation. “Some sort of antithetical cult to Chaos Undivided?”

            “I haven’t heard of anything like this before,” Sophia commented.

            “This has all been a confusing waste of time,” Silas growled. “And I’m sick of seeing all these black and white effigies. Clear out, I’m burning all of this to ashes and we’re leaving.”

            Meeting no objections to the purging with holy fire – anything being holy in comparison – the Space Marine went about the room covering everything in lit promethium before they started on the long trek back to the outside, sending a request for pickup once they had come near the exit. He did so enjoy seeing the flames dance as they worked but it was time to depart.

10: Chapter 10 - According to Plan (IV)

            After their successful retrieval, the flying brick returned to their reserved space at the campsite for the night. After a both physically and mentally exhaustive day of guarding the drones Haran had sequestered himself away in one of the private rooms and fallen into a deep sleep where he had remained since the very moment the drones had returned to the safety of their holding back. For having had only few chances experiencing the role of “pilot” and born into the wrong caste for such work, Fio’el did a passable job getting the ship to and from each destination without much struggle, though it paid to have a ship of a utilitarian design that wasn’t so bothered by somewhat heavy landings.

            Considering their find important enough to report it to Cadwell, Silas – in the company of the Sister – left the ship leaving Iggy to settle down with the xeno in the bridge. He had taken some basic supplies from the ship’s locker and still stared down at the unopened collection of unappealing foodstuffs. He had taken some bars made of processed grain that made his mouth dry just thinking about them and a tin of some form of meat or fish – maybe both – that was undoubtedly soggy enough to compensate for the bars and had flakes of something green he chose to believe was meant as a vegetable. But since the goods had come with vitamin supplements he couldn’t be sure, not that he wanted to dwell on this “food”.

            “So? Are you going to tell me how the exploration went or do you want to stare at your rations some more?” Fio’el asked cheerfully, spinning in her chair on crossed legs and nearly falling off.

            Hungry though not quite ready to fill his body with the foodstuffs he set them atop the console and rubbed his face; getting scratchy, about time for a shave. “It was almost a complete waste of time and effort. Ammunition, too.”

            Leaning forward in her seat, she looked up at him with a piqued interest. “Just a bunch of animal pests?”

            “Plenty of those, but more so there were some cultists aboard that we had a number of skirmishes with. I think the three of us together probably purged fifty or sixty of them.”

            “More ‘Chaos’ stuff, eh?” she smirked.

            “Looked that way,” he confirmed, ignoring her sarcasm. “Silas was happy to destroy a room full of their idols and texts, but the bothersome thing is that we still can’t figure out who they’re worshipping.”

            “Does it really matter?”

            “I…no, I guess not. It’s not like we’ll be able to do anything about it beyond shooting any we see; which has worked well so far. Unless they have some daemons summoned we should be fine and even then we can just take off. How about your end? And what happened to Haran?”

            “Pretty good; we hit a vein of uncommon ore and collected nearly ten tons of the stuff. A couple more days and we’ll have a full hold,” she grinned. At least, she was pretty sure she was doing what Gue’la would call a grin. He seemed to take it as such by the friendly smile he returned. “But our Spider? I don’t know. He didn’t say anything about being hurt but after a while of jumping around he started getting twitchy, even for him, then curled into a ball and started whimpering about ‘She Who Thirsts’.”

            He considered it to be something perhaps worth asking the Eldar about later but that was a conversation for any other time. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait until we’re at our next destination.”

            “This place isn’t so bad,” she replied, watching as he decidedly avoided starting on the meal. “There’s no one actively trying to kill us or beating on our door.”

            “If you don’t count the wildlife,” he grimaced, “though I’ll take some animals over an organized firing team any day…except a Catachan Barking Toad, if the stories are true.”

            Watching him cast hesitant, agonized glances towards the packaged meal and feeling a tad hungry herself, the mechanic decided it was as good a time as any to act. Letting her cloven hooves touch the floor, she leaned over and picked up the meat tin and read the label for all its ambiguous details. “Why don’t you cook a real meal instead of this preserved garbage?”

            “I can’t do that; I need to save it for when Sophia’s switch flips.” Taking one of the bars in hand, he opened the wrapper but only continued to stare.

            “She doesn’t calm down unless you feed her?” Looking up from the tin, Fio’el found she had become curious by the strange ritual that was needed to bring the powerful woman back to her senses. “I thought the sex was what fixed her.”

            From hearing it phrased thusly he reddened a touch. “Well, yes, you’re right; that is what gets her to settle down. The meal is more just the wining and dining to set a mood.”

“Wine and—”
”It’s an expression. It’s…what’s the word…?”

“ Courtship?”

“That’s it.”

            Scoffing and placing the tin back atop the console, the Tau looked at him with a clear expression of scepticism. “Are you sure she hasn’t been putting on an act? A woman acting like an angry Krootox is making a fuss and you not only have to have sex, you have to set the mood for her first?”

            “What? No, that’s crazy!” Iggy dismissed while being stared down by a look of peerless incredulity. “It’s for me; I need it. Any situation that was bad enough to turn Sophia into a frothing monster isn’t going to have me looking to take anyone to bed. So…I cook something better than this,” he explained, waving the opened but untouched bar, “pretend it’s a romantic evening, and then I can perform.”

            She started to question what he meant but quickly came to understand the turn-a-phrase from its context. There was still much she had to learn about the finer points of Low Gothic speech. “Then the good foods are meant for you.”

            “That’s right, that’s why…oh…huh.”

            As the logic dawned on her companion, Fio’el had to remind herself to not rub her hands together greedily. Since her last attempt hadn’t panned out, she though now that she could could ask him to invite her to the meal under the pretence of returning the favour for having made the vox-bead. If nothing else she would be getting a fine dinner for her effort.

            He let her keep that debt in her pocket, however, when he made his decision. “Feth these rations, I’m making something edible. If you haven’t eaten yet I’ll feed this bar to Clicky and get set up in the free stateroom.”

            Gladly taking him up on the offer, she hopped to her feet and made her way to the unoccupied sleeping quarters while only briefly pausing to wonder who, and what, “Clicky” was. Her curiosity on the mysterious pet would have to wait as the first thing to be said upon his entry into the room was for her to take a seat on the bed as he set down the foodstuffs and tools for what he was about to do.

            Setting up the tiny cooker he started by boiling beans on one of the device’s heaters and some rice on the other. Once the rice was ready he removed the pot and warmed a dribble of oil and some cheap spices in a shallow pan. On a small slate of metal he diced some vegetables into small chunks then threw it into the pan.

            As he cut the grox into thin strips while keeping an eye on the other parts of the meal, Iggy took in a quick sniff and began watering at the mouth at the scent of proper sustenance. “How’s this smell to you?” he asked, keeping mention of her being an alien to himself.

            “I’ve been swallowing the same foods you have since Uchides II,” Fio’el remarked, leaning back until her shoulders touched the wall. “You could have stopped with the beans and rice and thrown that spice on top and I’d have been impressed. Now you’re just showing off.”

            “When you’re busy holding the line and being shelled by Emperor only knows, knowing how to make shitty food almost appetizing counts a lot for one’s morale. Once my infantry squad lost the last man who knew how to do it, I had to decide between learning to do this and being part of a squad where people were often found wanting.”

            “And that means…?”

            “It’s what we call it when a Commissar performs a field execution.” His explanation earned a wince from his Tau friend. “Others tried but they were terrible at it, soon died, or both. Honestly, it was worst when they were bad, stuck around, and kept wanting to make a go of it.”

            “So, was that ‘Ardwin’ the person in charge of—?”

            The din of metal scraping metal that made one’s skin crawl filled the private room as the chef tensed up while preparing the meat. “N-no, Commissar Ardwin was the proper Commissar in charge of the regiment. It was a junior who oversaw the squad; ours and a couple others. But, uh, A-Ardwin was quite hands on with the men and quick to discipline, and those known to cook were often brought before the Commissar to prepare meals.”

            When he fell silent, she pressed for more: “How did it go?”

            “Never good enough, of course, and…no one ever walked or sat properly the day after.” He shivered. “Called on so often….”

            “Uh, Iggy, the greens,” she shouted to snap him out of it. Given his terror, whatever the cause of the difficulty walking she didn’t want to press.

            Coming back to his senses, he quickly gave them a stir then added the strips of meat followed by the rice and beans. The heavy silence remained until he passed her a plate containing her share of the result.

            After the first bite the tension from the previous topic seemed to melt away and Iggy felt a need for further conversation. “So, what’s your plan when we’re finally through with all of this?”

            Busy chewing her food, Fio’el stared at him until she could speak once more. “What do you mean, ‘finally through with all this’?”

            “When we don’t have to be on the run any more…have enough to stay in one place, away from what we’re all running from.”

            “Oh…huh, well, I suppose I’d want to open a machine shop somewhere. It would have to be someplace other than space controlled by the Sept of D’yanoi. Next time around, I’ll take precautions against…accidental discharges…into an Ethereal’s ass….” Clearing her throat, she returned the question.

            “I’ll be happy if I can find a place to settle down anyplace there aren’t things trying to kill me every other week.”

            “Anyplace?” she pressed with a smile.

            “Imperial world or, yes, among the Tau. I’d even live among the Eldar if it was peaceful.” Turning his head and looking about the room, he let out a dreary sigh as though nothing in his life was going well. “But sometime soon I’d like to take a bit of my share of the earnings to spruce up the ship a little; one of the bedrooms at least.”

            “Why not? Next civilized world we reach, let’s set aside a little something for just that cause,” encouraged the mechanic.

            “Good; I can count on Sophia to agree which means we have the numbers even if the others object,” the guardsman chuckled to himself. “Of course, since those two went and put us in this situation without asking, they owe us one anyways.”

             “And just what things were you planning on buying?”

            Chewing on a fatty piece of grox, he thought about it and tapped the floor to give a hint until he was finished. “For starters, a rug would be nice. Some new sheets on the bed – good ones – are also on my list.”

            “A new mattress, while you’re at it?” she laughed, noticing a pattern.

            “That’s a good idea,” he nodded, making a mental note of it then pausing to confirm that it was a smirk she wore. “Aren’t I supposed to be the ship’s guard, not gigolo? Anyways, I could also do with some hand weights, new military reports to study, and maybe something to put on the walls.”

            Setting aside her empty plate and licking her lips, Fio’el laid down on the bed while keeping her head turned to face him. “Maybe I should leave the ship with you three to get meals like that.”

            “I wouldn’t believe you had a violent mode if you tried,” he retorted, filling his plate with the leftovers and setting it aside; perhaps a snack for later or a meal for one of the others.

            It was her turn to let out a long dejected sigh. “Be’it…I guess your excursion today put a lot of stress on you.”

            Scratching at his budding beard, the human shook his head. “Not really. I expected it to be terrible but after the first group, they weren’t shooting anything even a flak vest wasn’t reasonably able to stop. If these cultists were all I’d ever have to worry about, I’d be able to relax far more.”

            “Really?” Her head perked up at the revelation, rising from the pillow.

            “Well, maybe if I had Kasrkin or Arbitrator carapace armour…” he trailed off as she crossed the room – only a journey of two steps, admittedly – and grabbed the collar of his fatigues. As she leaned forward to seize him, his eyes were drawn to her ampleness and though he couldn’t be certain the bodyglove hadn’t been unfastened so much the whole time, he doubted it would have escaped his notice until then.

            With only slight prompting, he rose to his feet and moved to the bed. Instead of being pulled on top of her as he had been expecting, she moved him to lay down first. She then softly gave him instructions on how to sit, keeping his body mostly upright with his hands straightened behind him for support and his shoulders and head pressed to the wall while his right arm came close to touching another; as a cramped room it was something that had to be accepted. The Tau had him sit with his legs loosely crossed and giving her ample room in which she soon sat, straddling him as she knelt upon his lap.

            “Here we are again,” the Cadian chuckled, trying hard to stare into her red eyes but having great difficulty wresting his gaze away from her cleavage made all the more abundant from how she leaned into his chest.

            “Not as roomy as the bridge, but maybe now we won’t be interrupted by messages,” she replied.

            “I’ll be able to grab a contraceptive, too.”

            “Always cautious, this Gue’vesa,” she teased, placing her hands on his shoulders and kissing his jaw line.

            Getting a feel for where her prize lay, she slowly wiggled her full hips back and forth to entice a greater reaction from the desired appendage. Moving her upper body away from his for a moment, she unbuttoned his top and lifted the bottom of his undershirt to get another feel of his fairly hard yet smooth form. When she leaned in once more to feel her lips be delightfully prickled by his stubble – facial hair, something else she’d never heard of her own kind possessing – her arms slid into his open clothes and wrapped around his figure. Her open palms further explored his strong back, warm sensuous flesh, and, as the mood struck, started feeling for the top of his firm buttocks.

            Two functioning arms and a wall seemed like more support than his body needed, Iggy carefully hooked his arm around her as well, brushing against the ends of her long blue hair, still held together in a high-tied ponytail, he moved below and clutched at the fabric of her bodyglove. As more fabric was pulled into his grip, he felt as the snaps pop one by one and so too did the zipper slide down, unable to accommodate her figure along with the extra stress.

            As her chest became exposed from his eager pawing she felt the warmth of his excited body pour into hers through her breasts. As his ardour swelled Fio’el wondered just when he would propose taking things further or if she would be the one to press for more. Not a competition but a fun game to play in her mind, she suspected the reserved and fearful human from a xenophobic culture would be the more strong-willed between them. A greater smile came to her lips as she nibbled upon the funny-looking things Gue’la called “ears”; if everything was decided by the mechanic’s will, it was she who had control over the pacing of the evening.

            When finally the tightening of his drawers ceased, it came as a relief to the Tau who had been starting to question the bizarre anatomy of these humans. Slipping one hand out of his fatigues to place a four-fingered hand upon the right side of his face, Fio’el leaned in and kissed him properly, remaining close for countless seconds before breaking away for air.

            Gasping, as much his own racing heartbeat as the present need for oxygen, the man looked into her clear red eyes and uttered words that came as a surprise in more ways than one. “Before we…go any further,” he panted while bringing one arm back so that the other could reach for the simply block of a nightstand, “can I ask why?”

            “You do want to keep going, right?”

            “Emperor, yes,” he confirmed, feeling a twinge of self-loathing from the indoctrination meant to put him at odds with all xenos. “I just want to know: why me? Curiosity? Best of a bad lot?”

            Flicking his forehead, leaving a red dot where her nail struck, she shook her head. “I am, and you are, but there’s more. You’re practical, truthful, open to the Tau’va, and put yourself in harms way for others.” Slapping his hand away from the drawer and fishing out one of his condoms on her own, she held it up to his face and added: “If that’s not enough for you then how about: ‘it feels good and I want you’?”

            “I-I meant no offence,” exclaimed the surprised guardsman as he took the rubber from her. “And I, uh, would say the same of you.”

            Climbing off of him so that she could shed her clothes and allow him to do the same, she shook her head and smiled. “Always cautious, this Gue’vesa; we’re having fun, not performing the Ta’lissera.”

            Quiet enough and while he was focused on the meaning of the alien word, she further muttered: “At least not yet.”

            He seemed to understand her by context and not specifically what “Ta’lissera” itself was. At once she could see his face clear itself of worry and he removed the last of his worn out clothes. Being the first natural male of the species she had encountered this way, she might have had reason to expect that he was perfectly average in this respect as well, but having seen the larger in stature Silas bathing and the candid talk of the Sister she knew it to be the exception rather than the rule.

            Once the condom has been rolled on with well-practiced ease, the voluptuous woman prodded him to sit as he had once more. Seeing him seated there with his member upturned and waiting for her to do as she wished, Fio’el couldn’t help but chuckle. When her partner asked what had amused her, she insisted it was nothing before taking a straddling position once more before experiencing a moment of hesitation. It was not a matter of whether or not to proceed, as she hoped to communicate with her prolonged focused both upon his penis and into his eyes. Rather, she held doubts that she was yet ready for the undertaking.

            Lacking the powers of a psyker, her worried yet desirous gaze was not enough to communicate her underlying dilemma to the guardsman. As he waited for her to make some sort of move, whether the decision to call everything off, further teasing, or whatever it was her race did in the bedroom, it was a rather human utterance of confusion that enlightened him to her plight.

            To keep from alarming her, Iggy placed his left hand upon her knee first and slowly slid it up along her thigh towards her womanhood. With a touch he confirmed the issue and nodded, giving her as much of a clue as to his thoughts as she had provided him. Bracing his shoulders against the wall behind him, he reached forward and hooked a hand around her shoulders and waist and shimmied her body closer to his then pushing her over so that she was quickly left flat on her back, much to her surprise. It was a relief that his first adjustment had been enough to keep her head from reaching the opposite wall.

            She cried out at him, asking what he thought he was doing but all was answered by his next action that elicited a knowing and loving purr from the mechanic’s lips. Though she could have done without the stubble, her tough skin wasn’t irritated by his early beard as he pressed his face between her thighs and put his lips against her feminine sheath. While not inexperienced with sex, Fio’el hadn’t experienced a partner prepared to entice and excite her with the clever work of their tongue. Twitching as every lick and swirl brought her closer to rapture she placed her hands on the back of his head and squeezed the guardsman’s head betwixt her thighs.

            Though pleasantly nestled between her supple legs and feeling her fingers stroking his short hair, once he tasted her love and thought her body ready, the Cadian strained to extract himself to ask if she still intended to mount him. She answered with a half-hearted slap to the top of his head and a playfully aggressive demand that he take up the position for the third time, staunchly refusing the idea of letting her remain the one beneath. This time at least.

            Her concern resolved, the Tau went through with the act, joining with her partner and feeling his heat radiate through her core. Much like before, she wiggled and swayed upon his lap, angling her hips so that he pressed against the best parts of her wall as she chewed her lower lip and let her head roll from shoulder to shoulder. Wanting to feel his pleasant warmth even further, she pressed her body flat against his, pressing his back harder against the wall as she brought her mouth to his jaw and ear. Hotly, she whispered to him the things she wanted him to do, encouraging him to move his hips as best he could given how he was seated, even if it only by flexing, guiding his timing, and telling him how to press his five fingers to her back.

            That last request came as a curious non-sequitur to the man until his partner let her body curl away from his, her hands hooked behind his neck and pulling his head and body forward until she had his face, ticklish beard and all, nestled between her pliant pillows he found so alluring. Intertwined as they were, their bodies moving rhythmically as they grew warmer and started to sweat, both felt the pleasure building in its intensity. Breathing grew laboured and passionate as they moved towards what had fast become an inevitable climax; not even a ravenous horde of Tyranids could convince them to stop.

            In his lustful haze, the Cadian raised his head from his lover’s bosom and pressed his lips to hers, one-another exploring the other’s mouth with their tongues until at long last they could hold back the tide no longer. Bodies tightening as they climaxed together, the two stopped and remained seated and in each other’s arms for tens of minutes before they would think of separating and cleaning themselves up.

            Wriggling up closer to his chest, though laboured breaths she purred into his ear: “Mm, what will our parents say?”

 

            “Sorry ‘bout the wait,” greeted the head of the mining operation, holding open the flap of her pavilion for the Adepta and Adeptus. “Those damned raiders were more on edge than they usually are. Miserable psychos hit faster an’ harder than they usually do; tossed a few frags – dunno where they’d been hidin’ ‘em – and killed a couple of my boys. Course, I took nine volunteers and sent ‘em into the jungle right after ‘em. Hope that changes things for the better.”

            “We’ve been able to confirm they’re cultists,” Silas informed her, removing his helmet and tucking it under one arm, “though not to which god they hail.”

            Once they were both inside, the fit but not quite butch woman took a seat behind her work table and fished out a can of fruit preserves. “How can ya be sure?”

            “We found the wreckage of two ships: one Imperial and one Choas; it stands to reason that heretics would be the ones attacking your campsite, not loyalists.”

            “If they were once loyal, they aren’t now, huh?” commented Cadwell as she peeled off the tin’s lid and fished out a wedge of fruit soaked in sugar water. “I’ll get their location off you later but a fat lot of good that’ll do; given they’re trouble enough takin’ shots as us while we’re hiding behind T-walls, rushing into an old frigate or cruiser they’re nesting in sounds like a good way to die.”

            “”They’re actually really weak,” Sophia remarked cheerfully, earning a double-take from the trader who nearly choked on her preserves as she asked for an elaboration. “Well, I suppose they did have some halfway decent guns—”

            “Lasguns,” stated Cadwell, intending more so to fill in the details and not to interrupt.

            “—But most of them shot at us with slug-throwers or tried fighting us off with clubs and knives.”

            This came as a shock and detail of great interest to the rogue trader who smiled broadly at the information. “You don’t say…then all that bolter-fire and lasgun shots we’ve been dealing with is them putting on airs…. Wait, so you’re telling me the lot of you actually went into a Chaos ship?”

            “The two of us and that Cadian of ours,” the Space Marine confirmed. “We spent some hours exploring the ship to purge the heretics, stopping only after we had been able to destroy a room full of their blasphemous artefacts.”

            “An’ that bland-looking guy died, huh? So I suppose ya’d like a rep—”

            Holding up a hand to stop her, the Sister shook her head. “Iggy’s fine; he wanted to rest back in the ship. None of us were even wounded.”

            “Not even…?” Cadwell gasped, letting the peach slip from her thin lips but catching it in her hand before it fell to the dirt. “Ya must be good to make it through that just fine. Funny that ya travel with one of them Tau.”

            “Circumstances are unusual. Say, you wouldn’t by any chance know which cult these fools belong to, would you?” Silas asked, choosing a pen left casually on the table and quickly sketching out the confounding emblem on a blank piece of paper.

            The merchant’s brow furrowed at the sight of the emblem, and after several seconds of study shook her head, disavowing any knowledge of the cult. “I ain’t seen the likes of that before, neither. But ya don’t think a new one has popped up, right?”

            “No, that would be foolishness,” Silas replied with a scornful laugh. “It must either be the delirious minds of a mad bunch who’ve worshiped a false god in the truest sense, or that they’re worshipping some other, lesser entity.”

            “Yeah, you’re right; it’s crazy to think there’s a fifth one,” she agreed, holding out the tin to offer each of her guests a piece, to which they both accepted. “Thanks to ya, I might be able to throw together a couple o’ teams to raid the crash site. Looks like I can be glad the lot of ya came to my corner of space.”

            Closing with some formalities, the pair left to relax within their ship for the evening. But before they had reached the cargo bay doors, amidst the sporadic flashes of lasgun fire and cracks of gunfire, the Adepta uttered some words that made the Salamander’s heart skip a beat.

            “Cadwell is hiding something.”

            “What did—?”

            “I don’t know,” she laughed, not taking even her own warning too seriously. “There’s no way I could, isn’t there?”

            Setting his helmet back into place, he let out a lengthy sigh of relief. “Don’t scare me like that! The last thing we need is to be at odds with people I had just finished arming; with lascannons, no less.”

            “She’s just acting the way people who drew the attention of the Ecclesiarchy behaved. Right before the Inquisition would come.”

            “How? By eating peaches?” he doubted, traversing the final stretch of well-trodden mud to their ship and entering the Paragon of Exile.

            “Of course not,” she laughed, smacking the button to close the door. “This is just guessing, but it’s the way she waited the same amount of time before answering anything, a look in her eyes, where she was looking, and…well, things like that.”

            “I won’t doubt a Sister’s claims that someone is a cunning shrew, but since neither of us seems to have any proper training or insight into this, we should simply be a bit more tight-lipped and cautious but not ready to condemn. Deceptive, self-serving behaviour and rogue traders do go hand-in-hand, after all.”

            Approving, Sophia said that it was time for her to get some sleep and moved first to the ship’s locker to check up on her pet, still mindlessly rolling about and drooling. “My, aren’t you getting chubby, Clicky,” she giggled, poking its chitin-free underbelly. Seeing a note left from her lover that he’d already been fed, she decided to keep from feeding it twice.

            “Did the news go well?” she heard a strained monotone voice ask, finding the tall, red-headed Eldar standing behind her with bags under his eyes.

            “Haran? You look awful,” she exclaimed, noticing the clear exhaustion that had been carved into his face as well as his posture and mannerisms that revealed how almost bereft of life he was.

            “I warped too many times…I can’t do that again tomorrow…She Who Thirsts would claim me for sure. The horror….” Even as he spoke of being afraid his voice remained in its unsettling monotone and his vacant, unblinking stare further removed him from his usual unrestrained nature.

            While even regular, proper Eldar had enough emotional breadth to make his behaviour an oddity this was just too much of a discrepancy for one of his acquaintances to stomach. “Do you need some uppers? Or maybe something to help you to sleep?”

            “Not tired, mon-keigh…I’d do better studying the star charts and planning our next move after we’re through on this miserable world. Then we can turn an even larger profit,” he smirked. It was undoubtedly meant to be a wide, devious grin but in his state it was little more than the faintest curling of each side and a dull glint in his eye.

            Bidding him a goodnight, she went over to the starboard-side door to lay down for a rest when Haran called out to let her know that he had been using the port-side room until then so it would be free. Thanking him, she turned her back on the first door to slip into the other for a much-needed rest.

11: Chapter 11 - According to Plan (V)

           By morning the physically and psychologically drained Warp Spider was on his way to being back to his unrepressed self but his complexion had yet to return to a healthy pallor. The rest had been able to enjoy a fair reprise with Fio’el and the human cleaning up and giving their bed to Silas without anyone being any the wiser to their romp.

           Over a pot of recaf the eclectic mix of races decided to get an early start before the unfathomable muscle and bad luck charm awoke to get the ship flying back towards the wreckages. With the cultists and traitors now revealed to be vulnerable targets to their self-serving hostess they could instead turn their attention to the former loyalist vessel. Having fared much better in the crash, they could reasonably hope there was more to be found; perhaps some reliquary carrying lost items of importance, forgotten gear, or even parts that could be salvaged for their own use. So long as it hadn’t spoiled, even canned goods and other preserved foodstuffs would be a welcome find for the industrious team.

           Landing the their mining ship atop the ship’s hull, the usual three readied themselves and stepped out onto the light cruiser’s hull and found their way inside. To their relief, unlike the Hellbringer, the Dauntless’ interior was unsullied by foreign life. Not to say it was clean by any stretch of the imagination, as dust, debris, clutter, corpses, and abundant smears of blood, now dried to a deep brown, adorned the rooms, service ways, and halls of the once proud vessel.

           Searching through the halls in an orderly fashion, they found many bunk rooms left in disarray from the crash and whatever may have had a hand in the ship’s ruination. Much of the things they found in these places were damaged, of no value, or of more trouble then they were worth to remember so as to take them at a latter date. Although, as had been noted over the vox channel by an increasingly more upbeat Haran, so long as the vessel was at least reasonably safe, all five of them could make a day out of scavenging freely.

           The more of the light cruiser they explored, the more signs of something terrible they found: security doors breached by some powerful explosion, bodies eviscerated or who had their heads seemingly burst from the inside out, hallways filled with long desiccated carcases, and the odd graffiti depicting the common iconography of Chaos worship. At least some of the destruction could be chalked up traitors going wild and incursions from the survivors of the other crash, and yet the grounded ship was, in an odd sense of the word, serene.

           Further investigation, as they slowly made their way down, shared mess halls once fully stocked with food now with nearly bare shelves and armouries that rested somewhere between having been picked clean and materials intentionally destroyed. Many computer systems they found seemed to be in nominal condition from years of neglect, but still functioned well enough to allow them to open doors and activate what lights hadn’t been broken. Even some logs and supply manifests were found in their exploration but even a glance could see that they were woefully inadequate to the true contents of the wreckage.

           “Any trouble?” Fio’el messaged the Sister of Battle, relaxing in the bridge next to her recovering companion.

           “A little; Silas wants to leave Iggy behind.”

           Lurching forward in her seat, the Tau angrily asked why.

           “We found a supply closet for the ship’s garrison and he found some shelves of spare fatigues that aren’t all beat up. He’s refusing to go any deeper until he’s found a few in his size.”

           As the explanation sunk in, she returned to slouching on her seat and rubbed her eyes. “Don’t scare me like that. Have you found anything useful?”

           “Not really. Unless you count some simple jewellery – rings, pendants, and rosaries – and drugs, there isn’t much good in the bunkrooms. A lot of the textiles are mouldy, books and magazines have all faded, and the lasguns we’ve found have missing parts.”

           “Oh? What’s missing from them?”

           “The usual; barrels, power nodes, battery packs, and some had their body casing opened with bits missing from inside.”

           “Always the same parts?”

           “No, different bits here and there.”

           Squealing in delight, the mechanic informed her that this had been very good news, saying she could then piece together fully functional ones from them with ease. Further instruction was given to keep an eye open for armour that could be made piecemeal as well.

           “If you’re so eager to pick through broken and half-used gear, why not just come down yourself?” Silas snapped, tired of listening to the banter as the guardsman went through fatigues like a lady shopping at a boutique. “The worst threat I’ve detected down here is its stale air.”

           There was radio silence as the two xenos discussed such action and replied with a demand that they give directions to their position and remain there until the pair had caught up. Once the whole group had assembled, with Fio’el lugging her pulse rifle for protection and a knapsack for looting, the team resumed their exploration. It was the first time in Imperial-standard months that they had all left the ship together, and even longer since they did so for work.

           Having also had the foresight to bring along a notepad, the mechanic scrawled notes of where things of interest – namely pieces of Imperial arms and armour – lay so that she could sift through them later, while throwing into her bag any semi-precious items from bodies or narcotics when they found their first sick bay. Tins of food were considered, but when the guardsman opened one of the tins and felt his stomach turn at the contents. That the lid had become convex was already a bad sign, but the foodstuff inside had turned brown with large black spots which had nearly overtaken the surface of the product.

           He gave the expiry date a glance and was surprised to see that it was still a couple years off. “The facility must have had a defective production line,” Iggy thought to himself, while also figuring the heat of the planet played no small part in its advanced rate of decay.

           Descending further into the once valiant vessel, its walls still proudly displaying the various bas-reliefs of the Aquila, the winged skull of the Astra Militarum, the insignia of the fleet to which the ship belonged, and traditional Imperial ‘I’ with a pointed ship’s wheel set within. Metal walls that remained steadfast and daunting long after the ship’s ruination. Yet, several floors down, there came a faint, almost inaudible sound of movement further in that would have been lost if it were not for the auto-senses of Astartes and Soritas’ helmets.

           “Looks like something made its way inside after all,” Silas stated, his voice expressing relief instead of dread. “You four stay here; I’ll take care of it.”

           “Really? You?” Iggy grimaced.

           “You’re right, you are the ship’s soldier, after all; I’m only the loader. Now go do your job, Guardsman.”

           His jaw went slack as the human silently chastised himself for not keeping his dumb mouth shut. Grumbling as he double-checked that his helmet was secure, the guardsman advanced as the others followed some ten meters behind, not about to abandon him to a solitary death, even if a cultist would have made for an even match.

           Cautiously moving towards the noise, Iggy found that the source of the shuffling and the wet sounds of meat being chopped leaked through a closed door. Upon the floor, as a fresh trail that crossed the threshold into the marked engineering suite was a wide swath of blood. Readying his lasgun, the soldier took a breath and slapped the button to open the way to find a human, haggard and grey, hacking away at an animal carcass with a piece of hammered pipe so crude it might have brought a tear to an Ork father’s eye.

           Had they the capacity or paternal instincts of any kind.

           As quickly as the door opened, the savage dropped the man-made choppa and drew a laspistol from his thigh and took a bead on the intruder. His face twisted into one of anger and fear for a moment before glazing over as his finger moved off the trigger.

           Iggy wasn’t so carefree or deranged and kept his weapon raised and at the ready. That the room was filled with animal remains and the walls covered in scratches marking a count to or from something did not give him reason to trust the old man’s sanity. His long tangled hair, where not splattered with mud and blood, was blonde and grey, while his body was dressed in unkempt standard issue fatigues; no surprise as there were so many to be found aboard the ship.

           “Thirty-seven! Oh-ho-ho! Thirty-seven has come at last!” the man cackled, his voice loud and deranged. He spoke with the voice of someone who had likely rarely spoken for a great deal of time. “The ship, the ship! Yes, come, come! You’ve duties, yes, duties, Young Man! Thirty-seven!”

           The man slipped the laspistol back into its holster before springing up as tall as his crooked back would allow then left his kill and machete behind as he sauntered closer to the on-guard visitor. With every two steps he took, Iggy moved back one until both had stepped back out into the hall.

           “Who’s this filthy old man?” Silas asked, coming to join his crewmate with the intention of making fun at his apparent fear of the pitiful-looking stranger. “If he’s dangerous, shoot and be done—”

           Turning to see the towering figure of Silas drawing nearer with heavy steps, the savage’s jaw dropped; an appropriate reaction for a man approaching two feet taller and twice as broad. So too did his eyes widen but then did the most peculiar thing. He ran towards the Space Marine, arms outstretched and threw himself at his feet; a great bit of timing on the man’s part for he had nearly incited the Salamander to swing his sword.

           “Oh, Emperor! The God-Emperor of Mankind! You’ve come! The Emperor protects!” he cried, worshiping the Adeptus’ feet. “The Emperor protects!”

           Puffing out his chest and sheathing his blade, Silas then removed his helmet and motioned with his head for Iggy to lower his weapon. “Come now, there’s no need to fear this good man. He must be what remains of the crew.”

           “Then shouldn’t we keep him from see—”

           Raising his head, the old man spotted the other three from between the Space Marine’s legs and scampered forward, between his knees and dashed towards them. Continuing on his unhinged and unpredictable reaction, his eyes welled up as tears streamed freely into his beard and dropped to the floor as his nose did much the same.

           Through a terrible wail, he cried out: “I’ll be right behind you, Sister, right behind! Don’t fret, right behind!” All the while he held one of her armoured hands in his, completely unaware or unafraid that he had the teeth of her eviscerator pressed against his collarbone where he stood; with a twitch of a finger, Sophia could have had him split down to his hips.

           Just as quickly he set his gaze upon the Tau, perhaps the worst of the lot for a lunatic loyalist armed guardsman to latch onto, and his voice grew even louder, filling the corridors with a banshee’s wail. Even though she backed away, trying to keep some distance between them, and started raising her weapon, it did nothing to keep the psychotic away and from slapping his hands on either side of her head.

           This action had the others raising their weapons to intervene, prepared to kill the hermit if need be, but once more the man’s actions were the unexpected. Instead of angrily attacking the Tau, he lamented how pale she looked.

           Shuffling uncomfortably, Iggy angled himself such that he could safely put one through the man’s head without endangering Fio’el. “So, what do we do with this one?” he whispered through his vox-bead. “I can’t tell if he’s harmless or we’ve just been lucky with his mood swings so far.”

           “Maybe this is what Haran would be like if he were human,” Sophia laughed, putting a hand between the stranger and her friend, nudging him to break away to which he hesitantly obliged. “I think he’s traumatized from being in isolation and the crash. So long as we don’t do anything to make him feel threatened, we shouldn’t need to worry.”

           “Then…? You! If… yes! Demon! Demon!” he screamed, leaving the mechanic alone to focus all his attention on the Eldar who remained in the rear. “Off with you Warp-creature! I killed you once, I can do it again!”

           “Alright, I’m killing this insane mon-keigh,” grumbled Haran.

           “He’s a loyal servant of the Emperor, you’ll do no such thing,” Silas bellowed, still riding high on having been revered as the Emperor himself. “You get back to the ship on your own; it seems his trauma stems from your kind.” Turning off his vox-link, he then muttered under his breath: “As is often the case.”

           Grumbling but still too worn to complain with his usual vigour, the Warp Spider vanished with a quick hop a few floors up to get well away from the troublesome human. At first his disappearance did nothing to calm the straggler but given a minute and sustained staring at the others was enough to settle him back into one of his previously established manic, but peaceful, moods.

           “Seems he’s stable in his own strange way,” Silas remarked as he watched the haggard hermit wail and lament the clearly alive and well pair of women. “If one of us were to stay with to keep him pacified, the rest of us could continue scouting.”

           “Can it not be me?” Fio’el insisted with a disgusted look, wanting none of the stranger’s gentle pawing of her face. What had been a small measure of relief that he wasn’t grasping anywhere else had quickly been exhausted along with her patience.

           “Aw, I think he just misses his friends after being stuck here for so long. After all, this ship had to have been here for a few decades,” Sophia remarked while grabbing the fistful of the man’s jacket to pull him away from the Tau.

           “Easy for you to say, you have noise filters in your helmet. And a helmet.”

           “I, for one, would feel better if he wasn’t left with either of you,” Silas continued, offering his opinion. “I don’t think there’s any risk if I were to stay with him. Because of my protection, of course.”

           “You’re sure that’s the reason, O Divine Emperor?” Fio’el grinned, now free of blood and mud-caked hands.

           “Misguided reverence might be the best choice,” Iggy agreed. “And of all of us, that laspistol of his would be the least dangerous to him. What would we call him, anyways?”

           On cue, using his commanding voice, enhanced further by his helmet, Silas gave an order to the straggler: “Guardsman, what is your name?”

           Freezing up, as any man convinced he was being spoken to by the divine saviour of mankind would, he turned around and saluted with the Aquila before falling to his knees. “Fiss, milord…or is it Sifs? Si…Fi…My name is yours to give, my Emperor!”

           “Fiss will do, guardsman. Do you swear to not harm my vassals?”

           “Yes! Yes, safe, keeps safe! Protects! Always protects!” he rambled in a voice that grew increasingly rough, already strained so out of practice Fiss must have been at speaking. “Right behind, so pale…show…show the way!” he breathed, his purple eyes glazing over and locking on Iggy.

           “You have something to show me, Fiss?” he asked, noticing the coloration of the man’s eyes.

           “Important. Show you, teach!” he insisted, stumbling over to Iggy and grabbing his collar.

           “Looks like you’re the one who’ll be babysitting,” Silas laughed. His disappointment at losing the respect and reverence of another mitigated by the inconvenience the sometimes superior-acting associate would experience. “As two Cadians, I’m sure you’ll get along just fine. Maybe he thinks you’re a new crewman.”

           “Oh joy, I can pretend to be in the service all over again,” he grumbled, accepting his fate as he willingly followed Fiss’ lead.

           As the two men disappeared down the hall into the intermittent darkness, Sophia looked to the Space Marine and questioned his judgement. “Wouldn’t he be able to kill Iggy with his laspistol?”

           “Wouldn’t that be something?” Silas snorted derisively. “Please, if he gets killed by a sixty or seventy-year old codger then we’ll all know for once and all that his sob story is a load of grox shit. Hive Tyrant and Daemon Prince my ass….”

           “True or not, I think he’ll be fine,” the mechanic shrugged. “Let’s get on with what we’re down here for.”

 

           Having a full day to stretch their legs exploring a vessel in complete safety, barring sections featuring dangerous internal damage, the crew welcomed the leisure time. After reaching the ship’s stores, the Space Marine found a steel container that he could carry and put himself to work, filling it with anything valuable that wasn’t bolted down. Those that were, were wrenched free if their value exceeded the effort.

           Being an Imperial frigate they have a great number of weapons, or at least spare parts, to choose from but, alas, it was almost entirely inferior to all but what their dutiful soldier carried. One item of value that they did gleefully keep for themselves, instead as cargo, was a grenade launcher and more than enough frag and krak grenades to keep it useful for some time. Laspistols were included at Sophia’s insistence, quoting the importance of a sidearm. Fio’el found some attachments for Iggy’s lasgun and then asked Silas to put his muscles to use so that she could bring along a stack of spare flak vests.

           By the time Haran impatiently, and with as much anger and vulgarity as his usual self could muster, demanded they return so as to head back to the campsite the trio had raided a literal ton of simple weaponry and an stockpile of spare fatigues and flak vests. Iggy had reminded out of sight and silent for the duration of their looting spree and even though he had confirmed the reception of the orders to return to the Paragon of Exile he was nowhere to be found after everyone else had already boarded.

           “He’s dead, what a shame. Let’s look for the body tomorrow,” Silas said in jest, slapping their pilot on his back to encourage he take off.

           “He’s what?” Haran asked through a wall of tears. “B-but I just…Isha, why? He was such a good little worker, that mon-keigh!”

           “How wonderful, you’re back to form,” he replied flatly. “It was a joke; just send him a vox and we’ll go get him if we have to.”

           Sniffling and wiping the snot from his chin, the Warp Spider nodded and fiddled with the controls before sending the message. A few seconds later the vox-caster crackled to life as Iggy replied, once more confirming that he was on his way back.

           Speaking in a whisper he explained his predicament. “Blame Fiss; he’s making me take a path that passes through the fewest security stations and making me do it over every time I take a wrong turn.”

           “Why in the feth is he making you do that?” Silas groaned.

           “Wasn’t it you that said it? He must think I’m a new crewman; detention center staff, specifically. Ever since he pulled me away he’s been forcing me to memorize the layout, pounding into my head the way from the brig to confiscated goods room, the hanger, and where to find escape pods. If you just listened to the way he…one sec, I’m almost there, I’ll tell you in person.”

           To everyone’s relief, the hermit didn’t try to follow them onto their little ship, and were able to head back without a hitch. Without a second thought the crew took off for the mining camp. Iggy, before all else, threw himself into a chair on the bridge and pulled off his boots.

           “From how that old coot acts, I think I’ve figured out how this ship crashed. He was probably part of the ship’s security and one or more prisoners got loose, probably because of him. The prisoners must have slipped through and escaped to the Chaos ship, they fought, and both wound up here.”

           “Well then, you can help him deal with the guilt of his failures again tomorrow while we make off with some more goods,” Silas smiled. “What did you say we still needed to get, Sophia?”

           “Linens and medicines or drugs at the least,” she replied. “After that, maybe we can find something good in the captain’s quarters, officers’ berths, and offices.”

           “Speaking of finding things, why all the armour, Fio?” Iggy asked. “I don’t think we’d find any buyers and if I might ever need that many spare suits, I’d be lucky to live long enough to swap them out.”

           “These aren’t for you,” she explained, picking through the various suits and marking the imperfections on each. “I might not have to fight most of the time, but every time I do, I’m left uncomfortably exposed.”

           All four of her partners in exile, even Haran as he was supposed to be focusing on getting their little mining ship to touch down safely, turned to give the once-over to the Tau while collectively remaining silent.

           “What?”

           “Well…these things only really come in two sizes: two big and too small and you’re…going to find all those vests to be too small, I think,” Iggy rambled in his attempt to be tactful.

           “You’d do better with a custom suit,” Silas remarked.

           Sophia nodded in agreement. “Like mine.”

           Grumbling, she acknowledged there would be certain operational concerns but that was why she had taken so many. “I don’t care if I have to find a piecemeal solution or make due with a jury-rigged vest, any of this is better than nothing, even if I’m only using a helmet, shin guards, and these shoulder pieces.”

           “Such tiny pauldrons,” Silas tittered until his footing lurched from the force of the ship touching down. “Now that we’re back, who want to handle meeting Cadwell tonight?”

           “Is this really necessary?” the guardsman inquired, receiving a negative from the veritable giant.

           “But Sophia is suspicious of her,” Haran explained, “and anyone suspicious is worth keeping an eye on until we can figure out where we both stand.”

           Unhappily slipping back into his boots, the soldier agreed to take his turn, quickly getting caught up on what he should and shouldn’t share.

12: Chapter 12 - According to Plan (VI)

            Although the former guardsman’s arrival at Cadwell’s tent was unexpected, his presence was permitted and a meeting was promptly arranged. After being forced to wait outside in the manageable cool of the night for the boss to arrive, he was greeted with understandable suspicion.

            “Not the big two this time?” she asked while holding open the tent flap for him with one hand and keeping steady a steaming cup of recaf in the other. “Ya the new guy in charge or are those two snubbing me?”

            “They don’t mean to be rude. I think they’re just looking to rest.”

            Unstopping a glass bottle and pour some dark viscous liquid into her cup, the free trader took a quick sip from the bottle directly. “Taking a rest? First time I’ve heard of either of those kinds of folk taking it easy.”

            “They’re…unusual, I’ll admit.”

            “The lot of ya are werid, yerself included. ‘A guardsman, a Sister, and a Salamander walk into a bar’ is a joke if I ever heard one. And ya got a Tau to boot. Get one of those monkeys the Inquisition likes using and ya won’t even need a punch line.”

            “No Jakaero.”

            “Alright, well tell me whatever it is you have to say already; things have been shit on my end.”

            “How so?”

            Waggling a finger as she took a deep gulp of recaf, Cadwell released a hearty sigh and muttered praise to the cup before speaking. “No ya don’t, first ya say what ya came here for.”

            Increasingly annoyed by the woman’s behaviour in equal parts because of her frequent babbling and his own weariness, Iggy rushed the details of the day, speaking only of their exploration of the downed Imperial vessel and its predominantly empty state. Obeying the discretion that the others had insisted upon, he kept quiet the true nature of their reason for investigating the light cruiser as well as its solitary resident. He did, however, share what had been their deduction in how the ship came to its ruination.

            “Yeah? Huh, that’s mighty clever of ya to have figured out. Ya didn’t let that xeno get into any of the files, did ya?”

            “Absolutely not,” he replied with haste and forced indignation. “That she’s with us is one thing, but giving away the secrets of the Imperium is another entirely.”

            “Damn right, Irving,” she toasted, filling the half-drained cup with more spirits. “So, empty ship? Other than the corpses, I mean.”

            “It’s…whatever, yes, it appears so. Given the inhabited Chaos wreckage close by, it’s hard to imagine rescue would have come for any survivors without exterminating the heretics.”

            “Especially not ones as feisty as those. Maybe a smarter lot could’a done something.”

            “I suppose.”

            “Makes what happened all the more fething annoying,” Cadwell grumbled, swallowing the last of her drink before setting it down on her table, clear of any paper or data slates. “I sent another team of thirteen to their ship, being as ill equipped as Silas said they were. Well, seven of ‘em came back, of all the fething luck. One of ‘em just had to get stupid and get eaten by a green dog…where was I? Oh yeah, so it looks like they weren’t too happy about the stuff ya destroyed the other day and my team went right into a hornet’s nest, getting rushed by a bunch of jungle-trained nutters too eager for a fight.”

            He listened as the trader grumbled for a while longer before cutting to the chase.

            “To make a long story short, I didn’t make any gains today, the turnout just pisses me right off, and the whole damn thing would’a been a complete waste if not for two things. First, for the five of mine they did kill I was told we took a couple dozen.”

            “A fair trade if ever I heard one,” Iggy agreed, “except against Orks or Tyranids.”

            “I’d drink to that. Second, and no small reason for things not going according to plan, was their boss showed up. Some Chaos Marine-looking asshole chopped up two by his lonesome. Figures someone was keeping ‘em in line, and now I know he’s hiding. Gonna be a sweet reward in store if I can deliver that head to the right hands.”

            Keeping his tongue in check about her endless pursuit of profits for the sake of diplomacy, forgetting the hypocrisy of his thoughts, the guardsman bid her farewell and retired to his ship. Having been the last to return, he found Silas filling one bed and the Sister and Tau making due in the other. It came as no surprise that he found Haran sleeping soundly in the pilot’s char, being the last comfortable seat on the ship. Grumbling, he could do nothing more than curling up on the sensor’s room floor under the console and drifting off to an unpleasant slumber while making a mental note to add a cot or other foldable bed to the list of luxuries to get.

 

            Another day was spent aboard the Dauntless-class ship scavenging for valuables while one Cadian kept another occupied going through the same unnecessary job training. However crazy the weird hermit was, at the very least he remained consist in his delusions. Stopping only for lunch, Iggy was put through another trial of experiencing locally grown fungi and green dog, prepared as a stew.

            Waiting for Fiss to eat some first, he supposed it couldn’t be outright lethal and cautiously had a taste. But not before sending Sophia and Haran a vox asking them to keep a channel open for a possible medical emergency, with a plan to evacuate his stomach prepared. The taste was palatable at best and not foul at worst which at least put it above some of the poorer rations he had eaten while still in the army.

            Between mouthfuls he was made to answer questions proving he had memorized codes and could handle navigating the ship by memory. Anytime a wrong answer had been provided he received a stern, vocal correction and a reassuring smile and offer of more food for those answered correctly. After one ladle more of the thin stew, the others were refused.

            “Mon-keigh? Iggy? Talk to me! Isha, don’t let him die!” wailed the Eldar directly into his ear as a bothersome distraction.

            “I’m alive, I’m alive! Feth, lower the volume, you damn Eldar. Seems he knows which ones aren’t poisonous or harmful. Or at least that these ingredients aren’t. For all I know, he’s been eating the same thing the ever since he was stranded here.”

            “Watch how you talk to your betters, mon-keigh,” he shouted with vitriol and a trace of mirth at the discomfort his loud voice caused. “Get your dumb, useless ass back to the ship right now! We got a vox from Cadwell saying we need to get back to the mining site. Greedy, self-important bitch told us to make it snappy…us! Not like we don’t have some fucking profits of our own to make. Already gave shit to Silas for cowing to her, dumb—”

            He knew enough to cut off the transmission rather than listen to an endless claxon of petty complaints and rose to his feet. “Sorry Fiss, some urgent business came up; I have to return to the others right away.”

            For whatever reason, the old man’s colour drained straight away and he grabbed Iggy’s right arm with both hands, clutching tightly enough that the guardsman feared he may very well try breaking the limb. “Codes! All of them! Now! Know them! Know them all!”

            Reciting each code and to which set of controls it was related were rattled off as quickly as he could and his accuracy calmed the hermit’s mind enough that his grip loosened and he became willing to walk alongside his protégé instead of holding him in place. The testing continued until they reached the hatch up and out the top of the ship, at which time Fiss only wept terribly and wrung his wrists with such fervour his rough, broken nails drew large beads of blood.

            Sick and tired of the crazy old man, but feeling a tinge of empathy for his miserable circumstances, Iggy offered some reassurance to calm him down in hopes of at least stopping the unintended self-harm. “I’ll be back soon, Fiss; it’s just a meeting and then we can get back to my training.”

            Hiccupping and choked tears, the lonely man nodded and relaxed his fingers as he continued to stare until the exit sealed and the external doors of the airlock allowed Iggy access to the muggy, windy outdoors.

            On the flight back the team theorized what could be the reason for their summons which, as best as they could foresee, had to do with the activities of the cultists. When their ship touched down they received another vox asking to consult with Iggy, Haran, and Sophia.

            “We’ll be over their momentarily, but what is this about?” Iggy asked, disliking the situation more by the minute.

            “We have ourselves a problem with heretics, ya see?” Cadwell answered in her usual drawl. “And it’s looking about time we dealt with ‘em properly.”

            Shoving the guardsman out of the way, Silas took charge and opened with a scoff. “Our business was concluded; unless you have something to offer for our help, we’ll go on our merry way.”

            Dead air followed for several seconds before the transmission crackled back to life with the rogue trader showing amusement in her voice. “Ya would have made a good businessman in another life. Alright, get your asses out here and ya can negotiate a price when you’ve heard what’s what.”

            “We’ll be there shortly,” the Astartes replied before terminating the communications and looking at the others. “Shall we see if we can squeeze a little more out of this endeavour?”

            “So long as we’re not getting thrown into someone else’s battle,” Iggy frowned. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m going armed. If we’re right about this being about those cultists going on the warpath, I’m not going out anywhere without a gun.”

            “Take one of the laspistols,” Sophia advised. “That will be enough if we have to make it back to the ship. A shot from that will kill them as well as from anything else.”

 

             Of the three, only the paranoid guardsman bothered to bring a weapon, although it could also be said that, of the three, only he needed a gun to be a threat. There had been many times where he was rather sour that, while all three of them had undergone rigorous and hellish experiences to reach their respective levels of expertise, the other two obtained power armour and terrifying strength while he had gained only trauma and a desperate will to survive.

            One of these days, just one of these days he would get some of that sweet ceramite power armour, or settle for Kasrkin’s carapace suit. But then, more than even that he’d rather just be someplace that wouldn’t experience its next apocalyptic event until long after he’d passed on from old age.

            Being let into the tent without any fuss as the expected guests of their host and potential business partner, the three found Cadwell greeting them with a raised mug of recaf. Likely as much spirits as recaf, the guardsman suspected from his last encounter with the woman.

            “Glad ya came,” Cadwell greeted then gave them a salute. “Profiteers after my own heart, ya are, which makes me glad ya came to my front door, and thanks to ya I can finally put an end to all that nonsense with the cultists and their shitty leader.”

            “We’re not going to serve as mercenaries for you,” Iggy pre-emptively declined.

            “You can cower in the ship, I’m not afraid of the Chaos filth,” boasted the Space Marine.

            Giving the man and his suit an obvious stare, he remarked: “Gee, I wonder why.”

            “I’d be fine helping out, too,” Sophia smiled. “Except for that Chaos Marine, I don’t think any of them has much of a chance to harm me.”

            “That’s not why I called ya here, actually, but it’s good to know ya…well, most of ya are willing to purge those bastards. What I did ask ya here for is…” she momentarily paused to raise a hand up to her ear. “Well, after you showed up, someone here went and set up a beacon about your odd group.”

            Her statement gave them just enough time to tense up before noticing the sound of the tent’s flaps billowing. Iggy had only time enough to release his holster and get the pistol halfway drawn before feeling the butt of a gun on the back of his neck and a boot to the back of his knees, driving him to the dirt before having a pair of firearms trained on him. The others were given a more gentle treatment, simply having the barrels of several lasguns and bolters trained on their exposed heads and vulnerabilities of their suits.

            “Of all the times to leave my helmet behind,” Silas cursed himself, though knew even had he come fully armed there was no winning without his small soldier being killed and the Sister as well, most likely.

            “You are hereby charged with heresy, treason, and other crimes against the God-Emperor,” a gruff yet feminine voice proclaimed from behind them. At once the two captured men’s eyes fell upon their cohort, terrified, but found her unprepared to interrupt. “Rather than be executed on the spot, you will be incarcerated and delivered to the  Inquisition, who I’m sure will have a great many things to inquire and say about you and your odd gathering of xeno scum. Oh yes, we’ve captured the both of them already; the three of you are quite out of options.”

            There was a silence as the guardswoman, a lieutenant from the look of her, moved along the wall of the tent until she was standing in front of the detained trio. “Those two will undoubtedly wind up with the Ordo Xenos while you’re all sent to the Ordo Hereticus. Tapping a finger upon her folded forearms she gave something of a mix between a scowl and a smirk as she took a good long look at each of them. “You, Traitor Marine, may someday be studied by the Ordo Astartes.”

            He returned the look with a straight glare of contempt.

            “I never thought I’d see the day when a Daughter of the Emperor would turn against him.”

            “Daddy’s an emperor now? How nice,” Sophia replied, causing a number exchanged looks as people wondered if she was insane or just fucking with them.

            “…Anyways, as for you…I do so hope we get a transmission permitting your immediate execution; I can’t see you being of any value and you deserve no vindication by penal legion.” Giving a wave, the lieutenant ordered the three to be taken away before thanking the rogue trader for her part in their capture.

13: Chapter 13 - According to Plan (VII)

            Packed into a shuttle and kept at gunpoint, the three were transported up into the Imperial light cruiser waiting in orbit. No sign of their compatriots was seen until after their equipment had been stripped away and were each locked in a separate cell in the brig. Left with only ratty prisoner uniforms in need of a delousing, each prisoner could only see the ones across the hall from themselves while in conditions that made their ship’s rooms seem accommodating.

            “How did they grab the two of you?” Sophia called to the other side as Iggy and Haran uselessly and impotently circled their cells.

            Haran, being too occupied with rattling the bars by grabbing them with his hands to support his body as he kicked against them without ever touching ground, was unable to coherently answer the inquiry so the duty fell upon the mechanic’s slumped shoulders.

            “They demanded we open the bay doors or they would destroy the whole ship,” Fio’el simpered. “We tried to stall long enough for Haran to get suited up but they forced their way in while we were distracted by their transmission.”

            “My fucking ship! You grox-fucking mon-keigh!” Haran roared.

            “They put us in shackles and brought us here after taking all our equipment. They must be planning to study everything.”

            “Or deem them heretical objects and have them destroyed,” Iggy fumed.

            “Won’t matter to you what gets done with them,” one of the on duty guards chuckled. “Guess it’s your misfortune to turn up in the same subsector as the valiant Sorli.”

            The captured guardsman perked up suddenly. “Sorli? Dauntless-class Sorli?”

            Confused but talkative, their keeper asked: “So you are familiar?”

            “Yeah, I mean, yes, I am, armsman,” Iggy replied, giving a salute to make his growing smile seem less conspicuous. He hoped. “If we were to be apprehended I’m glad it was by none other than this ship and crew.”

            Shaking his head as he frowned behind his protective helmet, the man continued off down the corridor with shotgun tucked under his right arm, having other prisoners to keep an eye on. “If you’re kissing ass, don’t expect anything, traitor. If you’re not, you’re all crazier than I thought.”

            After sufficient time had passed that their keeper had moved far enough through the brig, Silas banged a clenched fist against the wall shared by his cell and his frailer associate. “What on Terra was that about?”

            Unbeknownst to him, Iggy was shaking with joy tempered only by pessimistic thoughts of a single alternative, but he would choose to remain optimistic in the face of his nature and the dire situation. “Haran, I need you to calm down. You can squeeze your head through the bars, can’t you?”

            As confusion became the main driving force of the unstable Eldar’s mind, the tall thin man gave it a try and gave a nod. “Just barely; I can’t fit the rest of me through if that’s was what you’re suggesting,” he explained, tapping on the horizontal bars of his cage.

            “I might have something better. Now, are there any guardsmen or arbites looking this way?” After a quick check he was signalled that everything was clear. “Good. Keep watch while I see if I’m right….”

            Sucking in a deep breath as though that could somehow improve his luck, Iggy hurried over to the keypad mounted beside his cage. Operating by touch he discerned the placement of the keys and punched in one of the six digit combination that had been drilled into his head the past forty-eight hours. Clenching his jaw, the time between the final press and the claxon revealing the result seemed to last minutes to the desperate man but when the faint buzzing of the lock to his right sounded, Iggy felt a swelling of emotion much like what Haran must experience at every turn.

            It was all he could do to chomp down on his tongue to keep from hollering with glee. The Cadian motioned for Haran to slap his hands over his mouth and hold tightly else they’d all be doomed. Moving over to his door and opening it just far enough to keep from automatically locking once more, he waited for Haran to confirm the coast was clear before scurrying out and punching in another code for each of their cells. Within tens of seconds the five were free and being led by the bafflingly clairvoyant Iggy.

            “I’m happy you could do that, but don’t tell me you’ve given yourself over to Tzeentch…have you?” Sophia asked, eyeing him with as much affection as suspicion while she almost sorrowfully cracked her knuckles. Though they all had more important things on their mind she couldn’t let him think she wouldn’t rip him in half had he given in to the ruinous powers.

            “He can give himself to whomever he likes if it gets us out of here alive,” Fio’el commented, watching Iggy’s hands carefully as he lead the team this way and that with suspiciously practiced ease.

            “I’m not in league with any of them,” he whispered back, checking around a corner as they moved about the ship. He knew which way it was to the shuttles and escape pods, but before then there was a closer room they would need to reach to have any chance of surviving in the long run.

            “Really?” the Sister asked, sincerely surprised by his denial. “Not even Slaanesh?”

            “Shut. Up,” he hissed. Now really wasn’t the time and when he reached the desired door, he pressed his ear up to its surface and listened carefully.

            Chatter. Two voices; no doubt one of them was an armsman or sergeant-at-arms with while the other would then be anything from a simple crewman to some kind of junior officer. Though he hoped it would be a pair of unimportant crewman, that he knew the room was now stocked with their seized armour and considerable weaponry, there was no chance they weren’t individuals of authority or without security purpose.

            “Two inside…both armed, I’ll wager,” he whispered to the others. “We go in fast and hard; take them out before they can signal for help. Kill as a last resort, got it?”

            The two strongest moved to the front and exchanged a nod with Iggy to enter the code to the confiscation room before bursting in and attacking the startled pair with a ferocity that would have pleased even Khorne.

            Despite his size, Silas struck with finesse, driving his thumb into the exposed neck of a woman adorned in a red high collar coat, decorative sash, honours, and with a pistol and sabre at her hips. As she choked from the strong blow to her windpipe, the Salamander used his other hand to seize one of her arms, twist it around her back, and then deliver a second strike to the side of her head. The way she slumped to the floor afterwards he knew she would have a concussion but shrugged it off as the necessary course of action.

            Mere feet away, Sophia had chosen a different approach for the armoured senior armsman that had been accompanying the junior officer. With a helmet and breastplate that were one and the same piece, striking the head or throat would have been a wasted effort given her unprotected hands so she chose instead to pilfer his combat knife and stab him six times up through the armpit into the lungs and heart. Quick, effective, messy, and as far from non-lethal as could be achieved.

            Well, there were worse ways to go, Iggy figured, whether in the Imperial Guard or the Imperial Navy. No time to concern himself with strangers, either, least of all ones party to his own life being put at risk.

            “There’s my baby,” Silas breathed happily, perhaps louder than he had intended as he picked up his breastplate with a smile. “I…you’ll all need to help me get into this if we’re going to be leaving any time soon.”

            “In a second,” Fio’el agreed, getting her bodysuit zipped up an inch at a time then wrestling with the clasps. Things went even faster when the Space Marine’s large fingers started to assist.

            It took them a third of an hour but finally they had themselves returned to form with all their gear equipment they could manage to take with them. The mechanic would have to leave behind all the flak vests she had collected for her project, but she knew others could yet be found aboard that wreckage with the hermit.

            “I swear,” Silas insisted angrily, loaded with his precious weapons and arms draped in sashes weighed by their many grenades, “if any of you let anyone set these off, you can count that I’ll be taking all of you with me.”

            “Except me,” Haran smirked. “Now which way off this crude mon-keigh ship?”

            “There are a few, depending on—”

            “Preparing for Warp travel,” the ship’s intercoms blared. “Refrain from disturbing any tech-priests as they prepare the Gellar field and provide whatever assistance is asked of you. Interfering with a tech-priest or their servitors will be considered treason.” The message was repeated before the ship fell silent once more.

            “That doesn’t give us much time,” Silas frowned.

            “What’s the fastest way off the ship?” Sophia asked, tapping her knuckles on the top of their guardsman’s helmet.

            As if there hadn’t been enough pressure on the small man’s shoulders already, now he had to concern himself with a countdown. “If we head there directly, hopefully we can keep from running into any crew for most of the way. If we avoid conflict, then we can—”

            “Dumb, fucking mon-keigh, have you forgotten you have a trained Eldar Warp Spider on your side? We run into anything, they’ll be so much splattered meat on the floor,” Haran boasted, tapping his Death Spinner gun confidently.

            “Feth it, let’s leg it faster than a dreg-soldier from an inquisitor,” Iggy declared, opening the door and jogging out to lead the way.

            “Than a what?” Fio asked following along but making sure to not be second or last in line.

            “An ork to a fight?” the Space Marine offered picking up on the intent if not the slang.

            Running as fast as he could while remaining mindful of the others’ ability to keep up, namely the Tau, the ex-guardsman led the way as Haran effortlessly kept stride. He needed no more than look at anyone in their way before the Warp Spider had hopped over to them and reduced them to chunky slurry. Those passed in intersecting halls met a similar fate, executed by one of women – generally Sophia for how little skill the mechanic had as a marksman – following close behind if not by the Eldar.

            With no witnesses left alive, the group could only hope that security would be lax the way they came and that the members of the Adeptus Mechanicus onboard would be too busy preparing for Warp travel to study any cameras. The greatest advantage the team had was that even should they be detected the crew of the Sorli could not anticipate that one of the escapees knew every security code clear to their escape.

            Had the officer in charge of ship security had any sense at all, Iggy suspected he would call to have sections of the ship sealed off to trap them until appropriately prepared armsmen could be mustered. The notion of a competent officer brought a misplaced laugh to his throat as he bitterly recalled all the officers from his past whose idea of strategy was: “keep running and shooting”.

            “C’mon, everyone!” Silas shouted, driving them on. “Don’t slow down now, keep running!”

            “And don’t stop shooting!” Sophia added.

            How little things have changed.

            When the claxon sounded, their escape’s inevitable detection now past, he estimating them to be only a couple hundred meters away from the escape pods: straight ahead and to the right. Seeing where two heavy steel doors would slam shut, their guide stumbled to a halt and held his arms out wide to alert the others to stop. In a display of competency greater than any superior he’d had the delight of serving under – monsters not withstanding – the caution proved justified as the doors groaned as they shut before their eyes at a speed fast enough to have been able to give one of them a fatal surprise otherwise.

            And yet before Haran could even finish his first compounded curse, although several of the words that it was comprised of had been shouted already, the controls beeped approvingly and the gate began sliding open then triggering it to close right after. So long as their precise position wasn’t known, Sorli’s security might be fooled into believing their prisoners were still trapped inside.

            Hurrying over to the escape pods it was trivial to get a pod open and prepped for launch. Even without Fiss’ training any of the humans could have made their escape and for the other two it would have perhaps taken only a few minutes more. Yet after having configured the craft they would be taking, the former guardsman insisted they wait a little while longer, having a message he first wanted to hear.

            At first the others all thought him crazy but his motives soon became apparent to the Astartes. “I see what you’re trying to do, but we don’t know that they’ll give the second alert. It’s been ten, maybe fifteen minutes since the first one; if we leave now they’ll probably have to enter the Warp regardless. Maybe they think we’re still locked in and are waiting to enter Warpspace before hunting for us properly, I don’t know. But if we’re on this ship for any reason when it happens, we’ve lost.”

            Biting his lip frustration, Iggy rushed to join them, sacrificing finesse for caution and letting the cramped vessel blast them down to Eistrosie I’s surface.

 

            It was Haran’s decision to bring the shuttle down not to the familiar campsite but the downed Imperial ship. Even after they saw their pursuers’ ship vanish through the tear in realspace as they began their journey into the Warp the crafty Eldar wanted time enough to catch their breath on neutral ground. The profit-driven Cadwell had sold them out once before and he wasn’t willing to take it on faith that she wouldn’t look to turn them over should the mon-keigh return momentarily.

            At least after having some time to compose himself – a line the others couldn’t help but laugh at – then should the merchant reveal herself to be a proper snake they’d be ready and able to make their getaway in fighting shape.

            Mockery of his claims of being able to be composed aside there were no opposition to catching one’s breath so long as they didn’t stay in place for very much longer. Having a rest in such an opportune location did give the ex-guardsman the chance to fulfill a promise to his feral colleague.

            Relieving himself of everything except his standard kit, Iggy descended into the hull of the downed vessel for what he expected to be the last time. As he strolled with well-practiced familiarity, he took the time to really look at his surroundings: the damage of time and battles fought, the designs of Imperial culture, and the tranquility of the vacant passages. The notion of spending as much time within these walls as Fiss had was terrifying in its isolation yet strangely serene for the same reason.

            Able to breathe easy in even the stale air, the Cadian found himself whistling a tune often heard in his army days he was so at ease without. Beyond the long flights between worlds, he couldn’t think of a time when he was so carefree.

            And then he saw the bodies.

            Several cadavers strewn about the hall near the room the old hermit often stayed marked the sight of a battle. His first instinct was that the Sorli’s crew had provoked his friend while capturing the rest of them but as he got a better look at the bodies cut up and sporting signature burns of las-weaponry, he could tell by their lack of worthwhile armour that his neighbours had finally decided to strike.

            Before reaching for the door controls Iggy stared down the halls in every direction and counted seventeen torsos from where he stood and felt both hope and pride. The latter because a man with his heritage was able to slay so many of the emperor’s foes single-handedly, and the former that someone so capable might yet have survived.

            Opening the door, he continued to swell with pride seeing another three bodies of fallen foes among a discarded laspistol. None were burned but that they had taken several lines carved out of them from someone using a combat knife was clear even as they laid facedown. One of which still had a fragment of the blade wedged in their skull.

            But for all the pride his hopes were dashed when he saw the outcome of Fiss’ last stand. His body hung nailed to the wall, torso ripped and pinned open in a ritualistic fashion resembling a dissection. His limbs fared no better and though his head was gone the identity was certain for the skin of his face had been kept stretched out upon his broken ribs.

            Already awash with revulsion and shouldering his weapon on instinct, his gaze nervously rose to the ceiling where he found scrawling and pictographs painted in the colours of slaughter. Allowing his eyes to dart over the contents he felt dizzy, wobbling despite standing still, and felt things fading to black.

 

            It was hours before Iggy reunited with the others, giving Fio’el time enough to collect new flak vests for her project. When finally he did stumble back out onto the ship’s exterior, she waved happily at his return but her fingers curled as she realized something was wrong.

            “Was Fiss happy to see you again?” Sophia asked as she looked away from her conversation with Silas.

            The Tau threw her a sour look as she thrust a thumb towards the approaching man. “He’s smeared in blood; does he look like he had a good time?” Turing back to him, she called out if he was hurt or needed any medical attention.

            “I’m fine…just…took a fall. It was a bloodbath down there.” As people went for their weapons he raised his hands as a sign for them to relax. “It was the cultists, but they seem to be gone already.”

            “Where’s Fiss?” asked Silas, missing the reverent nut.

            “Let’s go.”

            “Hey, I asked you a—”

            “Let’s go!” Iggy snapped. His tone was sharp but his expression didn’t match his voice; while from listening to him he gave the impression of someone ready for blood, his face showed nothing more than a sullen resignation to a bleak future. A strong voice paired with a timid face; none of the onlookers could tell which side was the more honest tell of his state.

            What they did know is that they wouldn’t be meeting Fiss again.

            “Come on, you mon-keigh, get aboard,” Haran called, feeling nothing at the death of one filthy old human. “Let’s get back to our ship and the fuck off this world.”

 

            To their meagre delight the act of bringing the shuttle over the mining site wasn’t met with intercepting lascannon fire. Given the way the metal can of a craft handled – as Haran was so eager to state – had they chosen to do so there would have been nothing any of them could have done.

            Landing where space could be found, Haran consulted the short range sensors once before activating his jump generator and stepping over to the cockpit of the Paragon of Exile.

            “Lileath…it’s good to be back on this sorry excuse for a ship,” the Eldar sighed happily. He settled into the pilot’s seat as he removed his helmet and leaned back into the cushions. Running a hand through his flowing red hair, he started to laugh. “I need a music player up here. And minibar. Hmm…what else could I cram in here?”

 

            While the pilot was busily plotting the refurnishing of his nook the others stepped from the shuttle the way of commoners and out into the comfortable warmth of the evening air. No sooner then they had stepped out were they greeted by a handful of Cadwell’s security and the rogue trader herself, barely visible behind the eight mercenaries.

            “Damned if I’m not surprised to see ya back here so soon. Or at all; alive, anyways. How the blazes did ya manage that?” she asked, tilting her head to the left and scratching the elevated side of her head where it was shaved. Her voice was lacking in anger or fear, revealing only curiosity and perhaps the faintest hint of admiration slipping through.

            That she hadn’t ordered any of her crew to raise their guns at the four was a good start.

            “You sold us out,” Sophia glared as her knuckles whitened on the grip of her weapons.

            The men and women closest to her drew away ever so slightly. Even her friends put some distance between them at the sound of her gauntlets scraping against the grips.

            “C’mon. Be reasonable. I didn’t sell ya out. Least, not like you’re thinking. Did I help them nab ya? Damn right I did; what would ya lot have done in my place? I told ya already that someone here set up a beacon about ya. Ya think when an Imperial cruiser shows up I’m gonna lie to the folks that come down to save your asses?”

            “You could have warned us about the beacon,” Silas reasoned, placing a hand on Sophia’s shoulder to silently urge her against taking the necessary steps to cleave the merchant. “Given us a head start.”

            She threw her hands up in the air. “That what ya would have liked? Fine, sure, next time ya lot are around I’ll watch the signals for ya around the clock to make sure none of my crew is letting the cat outta the bag, yeah?”

            “You’ve made your point.”

            “I don’t think I have. Ya lot ought to thank me. Thanks to me, they took ya all peaceful like. Think ya would have gone down without a fight had I not called ya in like that? Dunno if ya think you’re as hot shit to take on a ship’s worth of soldiers, but I damn well don’t.”

            “We thank you for getting us arrested without a fight,” replied Silas with as much venom as he could muster without emptying his Betcher’s Gland.

            “What’s done is done,” Iggy shouted, wanting to put an end to the delay. “All I want to know is: will you let us take off in peace?”

            “That’s the plan,” Cadwell smirked. “So long as all eyes are off us, anyways.”

            Waving the team to head off while the getting was good, the former guardsman took several progressively slower steps before stopping and turning around. “Why are you running around with soldiers this late?”

            Even without keen eyes one could tell that the base was in a tizzy over something, as armed forces ran about, flood lights kept the tree line well lit, and their leader didn’t look as though she was even considering sleep. While she may have worn a flak breastplate even around camp most times, that she had bothered with the pauldrons, knee plates, and greaves were an unusual addition. This was a little much for their unexpected return. The perimeter guard also seemed to be firing shots more often than usual as well.

            “Remember that asshole I said that chopped up a few of my guys when we hit their place?” the merchant frowned.

            “The Chaos Marine,” Silas replied.

            “Yeah, that shit. Well, we stirred up the nest something fierce because scouts told me that he’s leading the rest of his crew this way, and it looks like they got their hands on some weapons from the other ship.”

            It was then that what the four had been taking for granted became readily apparent. Of the flashes of light of weapons being fired, some of the flashes of lasgun fire were flying overhead.

            “They’re here? Now?” Silas asked, turning his head, expecting to see his heretical Battle Brother charging over the T-walls.

            “That’s right. Bastards are putting up a better fight with proper guns and armour, but I don’t doubt my boys will win out in the end. Just a matter of how much damage they’ll do to my operation before they go down. That asshole is the only one I really need to worry about.”

            Passing his load of the reclaimed goods to Sophia before giving Iggy a shove on the back to push him along, the Adeptus ordered the others back to the ship. “Get on board and ready the ship to leave. It’s my duty to deal with the traitor.”

            With his flamer slung over one shoulder and his right hand gripping the hilt of his saw-edged sword, Silas set off to find his quarry. With long strides he passed many fighting men and women relying on the metal barrier for cover, with several bodies on the ground, burned through where they’d been unfortunate enough to be hit. Some dead, others merely wounded; at least those in the latter category had a chance of their wounds being cauterized as quickly as they had come.

            Keeping his gaze fixated on the tree line, his auto-senses quickly picked out one heretic after another, but their leader had yet to appear. While an undistinguished death would have been more than the Chaos Marine deserved, Silas wished that the traitor still drew breath so that he could still prove his fealty to the God-Emperor by being the one to put him down.

            A chaplain might have something to say about such thoughts, but then one would have much more to say about many of his life choices, least of all his shipmates.

            And then all of a sudden one of Cadwell’s mercenaries lurched slightly by the impact of a shot and partially exploded into a spray of gore. Such was the distinguishing effect of nearly any form of bolter as its explosive payload went off as intended.

            Taking the unusual weapon as a sign, Silas hurried over to that section of the defensive line to see that many more had met a similar fate and those who remained were anxiously calling for reinforcements. No sooner than when the loyal marine looked over the wall did he spot the equally large foe standing definitely with axe in one hand and the other outstretched with a bolt pistol in hand as he marked his targets and squeezed off a shot, earning either a kill or laughing as the ensuing explosion sent shrapnel flying past the spaces between sections of wall.

            It took Silas only a second to mentally brace himself before propelling himself up and over the wall and to charge his sworn foe. His target’s once impeccable armour, made of adamantium and plasteel plates encased in ceramite, now nothing but crude piecemeal of what had survived however many decades or centuries it had been since the heretic had it attended to properly, The brute stood defiantly as a shoddy idol against the Emperor’s golden radiance; a ramshackle weapon to be dismantled post-haste.

            Best for Silas was that the man, by choice or necessity, fought with his head bare; a fact that was just as aggravating to the loyalist as it was convenient. No matter; he would weather his enemy’s bravado to fight without a helmet and instead be the one triumphant.

            Raising the nozzle of his flamer towards the enemy, the Battle Brother let loose a spray of searing fire that splashed over the enemy and surrounding jungle as he let out a deafening battle cry: “Into the fires of battle, unto the anvil of war!”

            The promethium served as good tool of shock and awe, and an effective weapon in most hands. Yet in Silas’, for all the gaps that were to be found in the man dressed in shambles, straps, and pelts, the random splattering of burning chemicals managed to land only on the sturdy plates, burning harmlessly upon the traitor’s armour.

            Releasing his hold on the assault weapon, Silas used his now free left hand to reach out and hold the enemy’s gun arm at bay by the wrist as he swung down with his blade. But, cowardly traitor though he may be, the Chaos Marine hadn’t survived for so long on a death worth without some measure of skill.

            A serendipitous shifting of his upper body and the sword landed not on his skull or throat but glanced off the man’s one pauldron. Sparks flew where the edge glanced off exposed adamantium then skipped off harmlessly. Before his fettered foe could recover, the traitor twisted and kicked forward with one boot; his sole pressing into Silas’ gut and forcing him away before swinging up with the axe, aiming for the enemy’s less armoured side.

            Dressed in a proper suit of power armour, Silas blocked the mundane hatchet – perhaps no better than an Ork’s choppa – with his vambrace. No matter what, he kept a crushing grip on the enemy’s wrist, hoping to pulverize the bone as he did so, all for the sake of denying the one truly dangerous tool in the traitor’s arsenal.

            Stepping in close once more, the Salamander made proper, unconventional use of his helmet, smashing the ridge that ran down the center of its crown square into the man’s bare wide nose making it flatter than ever before. Two more bashes followed to keep him off balance as he pressed the edge of his sword to his foe’s waist then pulled his arm straight back. The numerous teeth of the serrated edge did much of the work for him, biting through what protection he had and taking flesh when that was all he had left to offer.

            Crazed though the man had been, it wouldn’t stop him from crying out in pain and dropping his pistol. Though as his hand turned blue and fell despite the rest of his arm, it had more to do with the powdered bones that had once been a wrist than anything to do with his wounded flank.

            Once more the Chaos Marine kicked for some distance and this time he was granted the reprieve. What need did Silas have to keep things personal with his foe so laughably outmatched; standing with one good hand and no decent weapons while amidst a circle of flames and smouldering where the promethium continued to sizzle?

            Chuckling to himself as the traitor stood nervously, undecided as to whether to retreat or go for broke, the nearly triumphant Battle Brother’s auto-senses detected something further in the jungle, its eyes aglow as it waited to pounce.

            A protelyx, stalking about on the hunt yet keeping back as the many humans distracted themselves with their painful lights.

            It was then that Silas decided that feeding a hungry animal would solve his problem and perhaps buy the defenders peace of mind from one irksome beast for a few days at the same time. Positioning his sword arm to establish a feint, he let his quarry’s fear of his sharp, biting blade grow, the warrior clad in green, black, and gold never let the weapon drop, instead choosing to shoulder check and barrel the other man over and onto his back.

            Thinking himself prone in preparation for a finishing blow, the heretic rushed to sit up with his every concern being straight ahead, paying no mind to the beast that was inches behind him until he first felt its hot breath upon his nape. And by then it was too late as long fangs and sharp claws found his throat and chest, rending the life from his body before being used to drag his ignoble carcass off into the night.

            Their leader dead, Silas didn’t doubt that the others would soon flee only to die in the wilderness or meet a swift end against the organized mercenaries. Leaving the weapons of his foe behind, the loyalist turned and jumped the wall once more before hurrying to the Paragon of Exile. He’d had quite enough of this miserable world.