[M] War in the Void - Patriots IC

[Azazeal849]

Link to OOC (https://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=92435)
Link to Patriot announcements (https://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=92608)


CAMPAIGN 1

HDMS Mors Indecepta, Baraspine
Zero hour +8
Patriot objectives: Eliminate Imperial cruiser Fulmen

Commodore Maximilian Thark (https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=eova_0urxMM) didn’t like warp travel. It made him dream of his dead sister, and on the frequent occasions that he couldn’t sleep at all, he heard her crying through the air ducts. He supposed he should count it as a blessing that he didn’t also hear his former commander, that fat loyalist fool whom he had gunned down to take his command, shrieking at him that he was a traitor. Thark was truly sick of hearing the word traitor.

Noble is our cause; just is our reward.

As the battle squadron screamed its way out of the warp and back into realspace, it only took a few moments of flashing contact runes for Thark to decide that he liked this dimension even less. The tactical hololith was alive with spiralling triangles, locking in around the emissions spectra of cruisers, frigates and transports.

“The whole Emperor-damn crusade fleet is here.” the commodore remarked testily.

It was the biggest fleet the Adrantis sub had likely ever seen. The imperium spared no expense in making an example of those who defied it.

“Signal Exitos and Eudaimonia, have them burn straight for the Glom.”

“Aye, commodore.”

It would be the last order sent by traditional vox. With an audible thrum of energy the cruiser’s shields blazed into life, blocking vox and visual sensors just as surely as they deflected incoming fire. All further communication would have to be made through astropaths; all detection through the warp sensors spining out from the hull. Warp sensors were never as precise, but a necessary evil if a ship didn’t want to sail into battle defenceless. And loyal astropaths are like gold dust since the revolution.

“Exitos reports Nebula boarding pods are away. Eudaimonia’s troops are also en route to the station.”

Thark nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Bring us around to course zero-fifty, vertical plus thirty. Let’s put some bloody distance between us and the melee.”

Their navigator had talent, Thark had to admit - she had dropped them practically into high orbit above the besieged world. Good for their stated objective of extricating their forces still on the Glom; less so for a cruiser whose primary asset was its nova cannon.

The deck rumbled slightly as Mors Indecepta sheered away, arti-grav plates humming as they recalibrated for the new direction of thrust. Thark pointed a slender finger at the tactical hololith, which had turned a deep swirling purple as it switched from luminal input to warp sensors. “Who is that?”

A tech-priest with segmented claws for hands waved an incantation over the display, enlarging the cube of space around a blood-red smudge that was conjoined with the glowing arc of the Glom. Hairline tags and predictor cones boxed in around the smudge as it threw out erratic ripples of weapon and engine discharge.

“Light cruiser, Dauntless class.” the priest reported from behind the smoky veil of the hololith. “Warp emissions spectra consistent with HDMS Fulmen, 4th Ixaniad cruiser squadron.”

“They were boarding the nightside hub.” Thark deduced with a smirk of amusement. “And they probably weren’t expecting us. They’ll be trying to slip their grav tethers right now.”

He strode a few paces around the strategium to bring himself within hailing distance of the interface thrones where the ship’s single astropath sat, under the watchful eye of a Navy handler.

“Signal Eudaimonia and Stella Rosa to engage the Dauntless while it’s still pinned against the orbital. That should help our men on the station out. And signal Gladius Nox to have their squadron screen for us.”

“Aye commodore!”

HDMS Imperialist, Baraspine Apogee jump point
Zero hour +8
Patriot objectives: Capture House Kol transport Ayanaant

Far out in the outer halo (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ktf6__jJ4s) of the Baraspine system, the Apogee jump point was a stable but impractical portal for an invading crusade fleet. It required either a second jump or several months of sunlight cruise to reach the hive world, and its only value lay in its predictability and the ability to get a good long look at Baraspine before committing to dock there. Good for supply ships, then, but less so for an invasion fleet - and there was no reason for Imperial or Patriot warships to be within an AU of the Apogee jump point while the decisive battle raged over Baraspine.

Unless of course, that warship had received a tip-off.

Captain Giselle de Havilland of the privateer cruiser Imperialist could still hear lord Genofonia’s words hissing in her ear, and the memory made her want to wipe the hand she had shook with him on the front of her jacket, bionic though it was.

“My tiresome friends in House Kol have holdings on Siculi.” the gaunt old man had said, lho smoke coiling from his lips to veil his face. “A precarious position, with the planet declared for Tierce, hm? So, they are trying to prove their loyalty by lending support to the Crusade. I would like to see their faces when the Imperium learns that their first shipment went straight into the hands of the Patriots - perhaps by design, I’m sure some will wonder.”

More smoke, and a half moon grin.

“Avani Kol’s pug-nosed little spawn and her freighter Ayanaant left Settlement 228 six days ago, with one destroyer escort. They plan to arrive at the Baraspine Apogee jump point. I will provide you with the paperwork to sell the cargo at any port of your choosing.”

Giselle flexed her right hand unconsciously, hearing the mechanical joints whir. At least she hadn’t actually had to touch the cadaverous bastard flesh-on-flesh - and crushing his frail hand in hers made for a pleasing fantasy. She relaxed her hand and focused elsewhere, before her mind could drift to the man who had crafted it for her. Or on their children, who stood just a few paces away, observing the hololiths.

The steady ping from the sensorium provided a welcome distraction.

They’re early.

Giselle had been content to hide among the outer planets through the initial invasion and not expect the transport for several more days, but either the warp tides had been lenient or the Kol navigator was exceptionally keen. The dials on the Imperialist’s brass warp vanes were already ticking and jumping.

“Concordance imminent, captain. Permission to raise shields?”

Even at the safe distance of half a million kilometres, Giselle felt the warp breach as a painful skipping of her heartbeat. Magnified auger-picts showed a wound in space bleeding ugly red light, and two dagger-shaped silhouettes tossed out into the void at a canted angle. Flares of light illuminated their flanks as thrusters re-oriented them with the system plane.

“Emission spectra confirm, captain. One Tarask, one Cobra.”

Repellent old husk or not, it seemed that lord Genofonia’s information had been good.

[dakkagor]

Alyss watched the tacticae screens (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcZeBiTDmcw) with intent. The bridge of the Eudaimonia had once been an ornate place of weeping angel statues, gold leaf and rogue trader clan heraldry worked in gemstone mosaics. She had had all that offensive finery stripped away, and had sold it for a princely sum. Now the bridge was a subdued, plain space of screens, silent servitors and its crew. Some of those crew were Jotunhel natives, others rebels and hereteks collected from a half dozen worlds. All of them fugitives from imperial 'justice'. All of them mercenaries for the patriots.

Alyss felt the dry, sterile brush of an Imperial Astropath, and shuddered at the sudden taste of ash in her mouth. She reached out anyway, and plucked the message from the surging tides of the aether before it was lost. She felt the rigid mind of the astropath recoil from her confident touch and wished him well with his nightmares. Unfolding the message in her mind, she sighed in the real and snapped her attention back to the materium and her bridge. Officers looked at her expectantly and she suddenly wished to be elsewhere.

"Bring us about, towards that docked Dauntless there" She pointed to the tacticae. "Silent running please."

Iric Frostulf, her coordinator with the Damned aboard the Glom, a sergeant with a long waxed beard and a balding scalp, stomped up to the command pulpit.

"We aren't abandoning the commander and his men?" The question was as much a threat, growled low and backed by the holstered heavy bolt pistol Iric was running a trigger finger over. Iric was there because the Damned didn't trust Alyss, and Hassek wanted a guarantee Alyss wouldn't cut and run. That was fine, she didn't trust them either, and had here own guarantee's in place within the regiment.
But they needed each other. Alyss didn't intend to abandon the renegade regiment just yet.

"No, but we have orders to attack and harass that ship. Take us in on silent running. We hit it with a full broadside from ambush, then power around Baraspine at full burn to evade pursuit. We cut engines once we are over the horizon, and then rejoin the Colonel as he is ready for evacuation."

"I must communicate this with the Colonel." Iric growled.

"We are at battle stations, I won't drop shields for that."

Iric nodded, grinding his teeth. The Eudaimonia rumbled under their feet, then fell silent.

"Concordance in ten minutes."

Alyss nodded. "Prepare the portside batteries please. We'll get one shot, so make it count!"

She reached out with her mind again, and shot a quick message to the Stella Rosa to answer an increasingly insistent request to form up a strategy. With that done, she sighed and smoothed out her petticoat, and steadied her nerves for the wait. That was always the hardest part of void combat.

[Atrum Daemon]

Mechanicus Cruiser Stella Rosa
Zero hour +8
Objective: Eliminate the Fulmen

<Communique coming through, Captain. Commodore Thark requests we engage the Dauntless class Fulmen and remove her from play.>

Raynar leaned forward in his command throne and regarded the display of the vulnerable Dauntless. They would not be alone as the Eudaimonia would be engaging as well which caused a plan to form in his mind. Keeping the ship at ease at least for a few moments on approach so their guns could find optimal firing solutions. Crippling the ship was the first thing on his mind and once her engines were gone, choosing a next step would be all the more interesting.

<Contact the Eudamonia,> Raynar canted to the communications servitor, <secure line.>

There was a monotone sound of compliance from the servitor as the line was opened. Raynar shifted a bit as he returned to normal speech for the message. “This is captain Thane of the Stella Rosa. I would like to approach the target at first and hopefully keep their guard lowered by offering assistance as an allied Mechanicus vessel. With their sights focused on me that should give you an optimal opening to strike. Sound agreeable?”

They had moments to decide and if their companion declined, then all guns at the ready was a fine alternative.

There was a hiss of static, and a strange whispering filled the bridge from the open channel. A womans voice filled the link, but the whispering never went away.

"Go ahead Rosa. Kick open the door, and we'll make the kill shot."

That was all the prompting they needed as far Raynar was concerned. <Helm, take us away from the fleet and on friendly approach to the target. Once in range, send out standard assistance hails. Once in range of the lance batteries, we cripple the Imperial ship and let our comrades finish it off. Firing solutions on engines and shield generators, you’re familiar with the standard configuration of a Dauntless no doubt.>

The Mechanicus vessel broke away and made her heading toward the docked Dauntless. The ship was set at an emergency pace on the approach to the Fulmen and had all the appearances of a Mechanicus vessel trying to offer assistance of some kind. It was a nasty trick to be sure but, in the void, no chances could be taken. Besides, honor and dignity were reserved for dealing with members of the Priesthood be they friend or foe. Outsiders were fair game for any sort of trickery.

<In hailing range,> the communications officer reported, turning on his serpentine body for a moment to look at Raynar. <Begin sending standard hailing, Captain?>

<Affirmative. Make sure it the messages are enough to cloud their frequencies. The Eudamonia may be running quiet but the Void is full of surprises.>

<Compliance, Captain.> With the press of a button, a series of earnest and very irritating messages offering help and assistance vomited forth from the ship's open communication line.

<Well this is quite the opening day, Captain.> Raynar’s first mate, Gideon, was rocking a bit on his heels as he stood a few feet from the command throne. His hands clasped behind his back, the senior tech-priest was observing the finer work of the bridge crew through his noosphere interface. <It seems rather foolish to leave a boarding vessel completely unguarded, don’t you agree?>

<Oh, I do,> Raynar canted back, <but not all commanders possess enough lateral thinking to account for the sudden appearance of a rebellion support fleet. And I, for one, enjoy the element of surprise.>

<Oh you mean like when we ‘ambushed’ a single frigate without noticing his friends within shouting distance? I happen to have your lack of composure saved on a video file.>

<You always have to drag me down when I’m feeling up, don’t you?>

<If I don’t, who will? It’s within the parameters of my position, Captain.>

Raynar sighed and rolled his eyes a bit as they closed the approach and began broadcasting their messages offering assistance. The benefit of running Mechanicus icons on the ship was the initial lack of suspicion. But such obfuscation rarely lasted and so Raynar had weapons crew primed and ready to charge the lance batteries the moment he sent off the order.

<Captain, the Fulmen requests identification codes,> the comms officer canted dully.

<Canons have firing solutions, sir.>

<Fire portside batteries.>

Raynar leaned forward in his seat, his steepled fingers intertwining. A smile came to his thin lips as in the back of his mind he felt an almost approving rumble from the heart of the ship. He squared his shoulders and stood from his throne, standing tall and lean overlooking the bridge. A scarlet burberry coat was draped over his shoulders to make him look a bit broader than he was under which he wore simple attire of dark crimson threaded with gold. His shaven head was adorned with a few finely crafted implants with those on the left side connecting to his replacement eye. The shape of his face made him out to be from aristocratic stock and had a kind of mathematic balance to the proportion of the features, a benefit being genetically molded in an incubator on his “parents’” station.

He trusted in the rightness of the cause and in that, his crew would follow suit. Even the more cantankerous members who had served on the Rosa centuries longer than Raynar trusted his judgement and he thanked the Omnissiah for that, as he did for being blessed with a first mate not afraid to call his bad decisions and keep his ego mostly in check.

In the seconds after his order squirted off along the vessel’s noosphere, the lance cannons came to life and the torpedo bays unleashed their payloads to make way for the Eudamonia to swoop in.

[Azazeal849]

HDMS Fulmen, Baraspine nightside

The screech of warp proximity alarms was an unwelcome one for captain Lothar Tapken. A broad, square man with a bald head and a greying beard, he had a voice tailor-made for barking orders and he used it liberally.

“Sensorium, get me a reading on those new contacts!” he bawled across the organised chaos of the bridge. “Mr Verov, retrieve the mag-grappels and reel in the docking umbilicals! We’re sitting ducks tethered to this bloody station!”

“Aye sir!” the XO acknowledged grimly as he began to signal to the tech-adepts in the trench of control stations below him. “Sir, be advised, our armsmen are still crossing onto the Glom…”

“Tell them they’ve got sixty seconds to clear the area or they’re getting vented into space!” Tapken retorted. “Sensorium! I said tell me who the bloody hell just came through that warp breach!”

“One heavy cruiser, running emissions analysis now!” the officer called back from within her glowing ring of hololiths. “Several escorts and one light cruiser, scattering. The light cruiser is headed this way.”

Tapken gripped the brass guard-rail of his command podium as if he were trying to crush the cold metal. They couldn’t be allies - the entire crusade fleet was already here.

“Get us free from the station!” he barked again. “Blast the umbilicals off if you have to!”

“Captain.” a voice at Tapken’s elbow rasped. The Fulmen’s faithful old astropath shuffled away from his handler to touch the sleeve of Tapken’s blue uniform coat. The handler reached for his sidearm, but Tapken belayed him with a sharp look.

“What is it, old friend?”

“I can hear an astropath on the approaching cruiser. He says they are the Stella Rosa out of Perinetus; they have come to offer assistance.”

Tapken’s eyes shot over to the sensorium hololiths, where the approaching cruiser was burning hard straight towards them.

“They must think we’re frakking stupid.” Tapken growled. “There aren’t any loyalist forces left to come out of Perinetus; the shipyards fell in the first days of this accursed rebellion!” He leaned across the brass rail. “Sensorium! Get a firing solution transmitted to the port batteries!”

“Firing solution, aye!”

“Main director, you may give the signal to fire on my-”

“Captain.” another voice slurred unexpectedly.

The second interruption was less well received by the Fulmen’s captain. It was magos Al-Fulani’s custom to relocate to the strategium during battle, where for the most part he squatted and observed from the back of the podium like a fat metallic spider. It was their tacit agreement that the magos worked his incantations over the Fulmen’s spirit but did not interfere with Tapken’s command, and the captain was stunned to see him breaking from that now, of all times.

“What, magos?” he snapped, with only the bare minimum of the respect due to a keeper of the machine spirits.

“That is a mechanicus light cruiser, captain.” Al-Fulani replied, his voice warningly neutral in flagrant disregard of the captain’s rank. “If we were not seen to at least confirm the ship’s identity, the response from my brothers may be grievous.”

Tapken seethed at the implied threat. Frakking cog-boys, hoarding their knowledge just so they could hang it over their ostensible allies’ heads when they wanted to play politics. But therein lay the bitter truth - the Fulmen’s magi were the only people, save perhaps the warp-cursed Navigator, who could bring his beloved ship to a halt in the middle of dead space.

Tapken ground his teeth, and turned back to the blind, withered man at his side. “Demand their identification codes.” he rumbled softly, saving his ire for the interfering magos rather than the astropath. “And tell them they have thirty seconds to respond.”

Tapken saw a light glowing behind the astropath’s sewn-shut eyelids, and pulled his hand away from the rail as a rime of frost spread across it. Around him the chatter of cogitators and the back-and-forth of orders and information continued unabated. Tapken felt the deck vibrate as they finally began to push their starboard flank clear of the orbital ring. He counted down in his head, with increasing anger and anxiety.

Eleven...ten...come on, damn you!...eight...seven…

“Captain!” the sensorium officer all but shrieked. “Weapons flare from the cruiser! And I’m detecting torpedoes running!”

Tapken swore in the coarsest possible dialect of Ichabarr gothic. “Port battery fire at will! Flare all starboard retros! Dirigarium, course two-nine-five vertical minus twenty! I want lances on those treacherous fraks!”

Thanks to magos Al-Fulani, it was too late. The salvoes from the two cruisers crossed in space and hammered into each other’s shields, rupturing capacitor coils within the guts of both ships. Hastily-targeted defence turrets along the Fulmen’s portside sent a flurry of missiles corkscrewing into space. They damaged one of the hulking torpedoes, and blew another in half, but the deadliest section cartwheeled on, the disruptor module in its nose-cone still functional enough to phase it through the Fulmen’s buckling shields.

The pinwheeling torpedo crashed into the light cruiser’s armoured flank and detonated in a white flash, wasting most of its energy out into the void. The others struck home with more force, directing their shaped charges straight through the vessel’s hull. Fulmen’s port lance-wing burst into pieces, and light flared from behind cored-out turrets as fire wash boiled along the cruiser’s gun decks.

The Fulmen’s starboard thrusters fought to counter the explosions, saving the fragile arc of the Glom from a catastrophic collision at the expense of stripping its outer hull plates with hydrogen fire.


+ + + + + +

Mechanicus cruiser Stella Rosa

<Torpedo impact.> Raynar’s gun-captain canted. <Eudaimonia is crossing into weapons range now.>

[dakkagor]

"Confirmed shields down."

Alyss watched the sensor feed intently. It was a big, capable ship, and those prow lances looked unpleasant. Good thing she wasn't sticking around to fight the brute.

"Target the Fulmens engine stacks, and fire at will."

+++++

Lasers soundlessly stabbed across space as the Eudamonia made its presence known. Its laser battery lacked bite compared to a proper macro-cannon broadside, but it was accurate, rapid firing and powerful enough at close range. Which was exactly where the Eudamonia placed itself as it crossed the T of the Fulmens, gouging glowing lines into its engines and boring flaming holes into reactor decks. Return fire from point defenses peppered explosions across the Eudamonia's shields to little effect as the privateer poured fire from its lasers into the larger vessel, then powered clear, descending sharply and turning away.

+++++

"Shields?"

"Holding steady."

For the moment. She grimaced as return fire from the broadside on the Fulmens lit up void space. The ship rocked and shook beneath her, and she clung onto the railing as the voids distorted and blew out like blown glass.

"Clear!"

"Don't stop! And don't bring us around for another pass!" Alyss pushed herself away from the railing, visibly shaken. She did not like void combat, and being in command of a voidship made those particular anxieties worse. "Damage report?"

"Some fires. We're venting now. Voids will be back online soon."

Alyss swallowed hard. More dead friends, more dead free minds for someone elses war. She would be having words about what her little force was expected to accomplish with her employers.

"Keep accelerating us, and line us up for the extraction. Let the Patriots kill the Fulmen if they want it so damn bad."

[Atrum Daemon]

Their mission would be finished shortly of that Raynar was confident. The ship held steady as her lance batteries flashed, pummeling the Fulmen’s shields while gunners zeroed in on her engines. The battle was never going to be easy but at least it was going smooth with a lot of the portside firepower down. It was quite the spectacle the way the shields flash and undulated almost under the punishing assaults from both sides. The Rosa’s shields held steady for the most part but did fluctuate here and there.

By the Omnissiah’s grace, surely, the shields held for the moment. But anything could happen in the midst of such close quarters, Raynar knew. He was watching both the realtime and noospheric displays, ready to react beyond confirming firing solutions with the gun crews. It was a type of eerie silence that often filled the bridge of the ship as most communication was done nonverbally for the sake of efficiency save for the occasional burst of vocalized binaric cant.

[Azazeal849]

HDMS Fulmen

Amber warning lights whirled circles across the vaulted roof, and the deck groaned and shuddered as Fulmen’s portside hull took fire that they could no longer reply to.

Are you happy that they’re enemies now, magos? captain Tapken thought with bitter venom. He locked a hand around the guard-rail to stop himself from being pitched down into the concentric circles of plugged-in tech adepts below, and seized the shoulder of the astropath beside him to save him from the same fate.

“Where’s that bloody destroyer?” he bawled as the last of the enemy salvo impacted, and the grav-plates beneath his feet belatedly recalibrated.

“Starboard batteries clipped them, sir.” the gunnery chief off to his right reported. “They’re fleeing.”

“And us?”

“We’re down to 50% engine capacity.” another officer answered, his vox set pressed hard against his ear. “Enginseers are attempting to compensate.”

“Sir.” Tapken’s XO suggested smartly. “If we burn enough retros, we can kill our forward thrust and hit them with the starboard batteries as they overshoot.”

Tapken shook his head. “No. It’d take too long to get back up to speed after. We’d only get one shot before they outmanoeuvred us with our crippled engines.”

The captain pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“Let’s use the thrust we still have. Correct heading to three-one-zero and keep us dead on.”

The projectors angled up into the vault above their heads flickered, and the great globe of the tactical hololith reconfigured, scoring a blood red line to mark the Fulmen’s new course. It slashed directly through the narrow cone marking the enemy light cruiser’s own field of manoeuvre. It was an intercept course. A ramming course.

“Captain.” The astropath pawed Tapken’s braided sleeve with his bony fingers. “I can hear my sister on Accipiter. She’s showing me a shield with a painted hawk, and a sun with seven planets orbiting.”

“A message from commodore Ramazov?” Tapken asked, looking to the handler who knew better than he the secret codes of runes and abstract symbols that the squadron’s astropaths were instructed to communicate in.

“The rest of the squadron is on its way, sir.” the grim-faced handler translated. “They’ll have a clear shot round the planet in seven minutes.”

The astropath sagged a little against the railing. “Seven minutes?” His eyeless face turned up towards Tapken, tentatively hopeful.

Another salvo battered the Fulmen’s recohering shields, shuddering the deck. Tapken smiled grimly.

“We don’t have seven minutes, old friend.” He squeezed the astropath’s bony shoulder, and crossed towards the back of the command podium. “Send a warning to admiral Bravick, and to our men on the Glom.”

He picked up the black plastek vox caster fixed into the wall, and wetted his lips with his tongue before punching in the rune for the shipwide channel.

“All hands,” he barked in clipped, simple Gothic. “This is captain Tapken. Brace for ramming. Imperator vult.”

His short address concluded, he returned the vox-caster to its cradle and paced back across the command podium to take his expected place in the captain’s throne. As he gazed up at the rotating hololith, he heard a whisper of robes as the astropath shuffled to his side.

“Tell me the truth, captain.” the frail psyker said quietly. “Are we going to die?”

Tapken found himself smiling. “Yes, one day. It comes to us all. But not today.”

On Stella Rosa’s warp-augers, the Fulmen transformed from a seething red contact to a blazing sun. Bleeding fire from its ruined portside, the Imperial cruiser arced around - slowly mustering more acceleration from its remaining engines, every maneuvering thruster burning bright to keep the vector from its slashed vent cones true. Another volley from Stella Rosa’s lances bathed its prow shields, enveloping it in a curtain of blue flames. The cruiser drove clear of the fire wash and smote back with its own remaining lances, flashing the mechanicus cruiser’s shields as it bore down on them on a reckless collision course.


+ + + + + +

Eudaimonia

Alyss’ helmsmen powered her ship clear, arcing over Baraspine’s south pole and then back round. The nimble destroyer banked to keep the great steel sweep of the Glom between it and the Fulmen’s monster guns as it swept back towards the docking hub where they could extract their Jotunhel ground-pounders - and hopefully the other beleaguered Patriots still on the orbital. There had been little contact with Hassek since the boarding pods launched...and none at all with Sarna down on the surface.

“Ma’am.” a bridge officer called out, pointing at the tacticae screens. In the last few seconds before the shields reconjugated and blacked out the infra-scopes, the augers tagged three bright stars powering round the arc of the planet’s darkside. They reappeared on the warp sensors a moment later as blood-red daggers, lancing straight towards the Patriot squadron.

“Running analysis on warp spectra…” the officer advised, his hands flying across the haptic control plates. “Heavy cruiser Accipiter, Gothic class, plus two escorts. Probably moving to help the Fulmen.”

[dakkagor]

"You have got to be kidding me." Alyss groaned. "Have they spotted us yet?"

There was a pause as her sensor operators analysed the ships movement.

"Not yet. But if we continue on this course. . ."

Alyss groaned again. Iric, at her shoulder, was grinding his teeth so loud she could hear his molars in the back of his skull.

"We can't abandon the Colonel and his men." He turned from the tacticae plotter, his face underlit with green light, and fixed Alyss with a look she really didn't like. "We have to get past them."

"I know!" She hissed. Alyss was a deadly psyker and a capable insurgent commander. But as a void captain she was a rank novice. The onrushing gothic cruiser and its escorts was simply death for her, and she had no way out. Almost no way out.

"Cut speed now!" She yelled. "Adjust for geosynchronous orbit over the south pole. Burn for attitude and correct our course with the plot I'm feeding you."

"You're hiding?" Iric muttered with disgust. Alyss wheeled on him and, in a flash of ill considered rage, drove him to his knees with a blast of telekinetic force.

"If you want to fight something ten times our mass, then I suggest you take yourself to an airlock and do it yourself!" she snarled. Iric choked something out, an apology maybe, and Alyss flung him away with a flick of her hand before returning to the tacticae plotter. The big Jotunhelian slammed into a bulkhead and slumped to the floor, and stayed there.

"Status?"

"On course Maam." Alyss nodded, pushing her hair back behind her ears and smoothing her dress.

"Good. Now, this will take some timing. . ."


++++++

The Eudamonia was tumbling now, a random mass in the debris of void combat that was already beginning to spill from the 'Glom and damaged warships. With voids down and the engines cold, the privateer was another lump of metallic debris, invisible to warp sensors. Even if someone was looking, Alyss had plotted the orbit into the wash of magnetic forces of the south pole, further hiding her ships traces.


++++++

Alyss wasn't focusing on the ships now. She reached out to the Stella Rosa's astropath, and fairly yelled that another cruiser was coming for him.

Then she reached out her mind, down, down, looking for one spark in the seething mass of soul-fire that was Baraspine. She needed to find her young friend and hurry her the hell along.

[Atrum Daemon]

<Enemy vessel on collision course, Captain.>

<Turn us away from her and fire all batteries as she skates by.>

The Mechanicus cruiser fired her engines and began to turn her bow away from the oncoming ship to open a course for the Imperial cruiser to pass them by. Raynar was formulating a further plan with the sudden warning of another ship blurted from his Astropath. Dealing with two Imperial vessels on his own was not something Raynar was wholly prepared to deal with especially as the approaching Gothic class had escorts. TheEudamonia would have to survive on her own and finish her mission once the Stella Rosa had dealt with the Fulmen and plotted a retreat course.

Omnissiah willing the Mechanicus vessel turned herself in time to rake the passing Fulmen with all guns, torpedoes, and lance canons. In the midst of the action, Raynar had his Astropath relay current status back to the Commodore and warn of the approaching fleet presence.

[Azazeal849]

A halo of slashing retro thrusters wreathed the Stella’s bow in fire as it skidded around, the machine spirits in the hull screaming in protest at the high-g maneuver. The onrushing Fulmen knifed its own thrusters, trying to compensate, but with its main engines damaged it was not a race it was going to win.

As it became apparent that the Dauntless was going to miss several dozen kilometres to the Stella’s stern, gun-deck auger officers on the Fulmen abandoned command discipline from the bridge and screamed at their gun captains to simply fire as they bear. On the turning Stella Rosa, Thane’s reductor-magi locked in their targeting cogitators, and calmly unleashed hell.

Flame-wreathed macro slugs, plasma-bright lances and comet-tailed missiles scorched across space at murderously close range, punching vapourised holes in armour and slashing open weapons decks. Consecrated skull-icons were flensed away from the hull of the Stella Rosa, while its return fire bit deep into the Imperial cruiser to ignite missile stores and rupture plasma reactors.

Secondary explosions fired off down the Fulmen’s spine, showering off red-hot hull plating and pieces of gun turrets. The ship rolled away, gutted and ablaze, spun by trailing plumes of atmosphere, fuel and water mist that the thrusters could no longer correct for. Individual turrets fired sporadically as gun captains remained faithfully at their posts, but it was clear to all that the Imperial cruiser was done.


+ + + + + +

HDMS Fulmen

On what was left of the command deck, captain Tapken wiped away the blood screening his vision and looked upon a scene of chaos. The arti-grav had failed, only for a moment, but it had been enough to rip columns and consoles from their place and send them whiplashing back across the deck. Glass screens were shattered, control terminals were blind with static, and the one remaining hololith showed that they were drifting away from the battlezone, propelled by what was left of the sputtering, undirected engines.

Behind the splintered balustrade where Tapken leaned for support, the whole command crew was down. Executive officer Verov was dead, chief magos Al-Fulani was dead, and his faithful astropath was dying beneath the crushing weight of a stone aquila. There seemed something singularly wrong about that to Tapken. A man who had served with nothing but faith and integrity for twenty years, struck down by the sacred symbol of the empire he had never failed to honour. There were plenty on the Fulmen who had considered theirs a strange friendship, even an unhealthy one - the captain and the warp-touched, soul-bound psyker. But it had been friendship nonetheless, and now it was ending in the slowly-spreading pool of blood that leaked out from beneath the stone aquila.

“I can’t see…” the psyker whispered, blinking his blind eyes as if the motion would bring back his second sight. “Too much screaming…did we get them?”

“Yes.” Tapken lied. “Broke their spine.”

The astropath heard the strain in his voice. “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

“No.” Tapken told him. “You’re going to sleep.”

“Oh…” the astropath said faintly. “Good…” He let out his breath in a sigh, and didn’t draw another.

Alone among wreckage and twitching, moaning casualties, the Fulmen’s captain pulled out the automag at his waist and aimed it at the already-dead magos Al-Fulani. The man who had insisted they hesitate. The man who had given the treacherous Adranteans their victory. Grimly, he pulled the trigger, once, twice and again, the gunshots echoing hollowly across the ruined bridge.


+ + + + + +

Objective secured: Eliminate the Fulmen
New objective: Extract Glom expeditionary forces

HDMS Mors Indecepta

Hovering like a vulture at the edges of the orbital battlefield, commodore Thark watched events unfold from a command throne bathed in the glare of flashing hololiths and sweeping alert lights.

“Where’s that mercenary destroyer?”

“Not sure, commodore. We received the astro about the approaching squadron but they’ve since disappeared from our scopes.”

Thark tapped the arm of his command throne in irritation. Perhaps the Gallowglas witch had been blasted to atoms by the Imperial fleet, or perhaps she was executing some low-cunning strategy that she didn’t feel the need to communicate to him. He did so hate bloody mercenaries.

Either way, they couldn’t wait for her. They were here to save what forces they could from the orbital ring, and the Falchion squadron would buy precious little time for them to do that.

“Signal Exitos and Stella Rosa.” Thark ordered. The mechanicus cruiser, he saw, had reduced its target to a drifting hulk and was now retiring back towards the flagship. The blunt, over-armoured strike frigate, on the other hand, had remained close to the orbital ring to maintain contact with its Nebula boarding troops. “Tell them to start recovering their men now. Anyone who doesn’t get off the Glom in the next thirty minutes is getting left behind to play with the crusaders.”

“Commodore.” an officer at the sensori hub called, “Enemy squadron is leaving the Fulmen and plotting an intercept course with Stella Rosa.”

Thark smiled a grey-wolf smile. “We had better cover for them. Come about to zero-seven-zero plus ten and ready the nova cannon.”

As the Dominator-class cruiser swung out of its holding orbit and towards the planet, its antagonists burned forward thrusters and slowed for combat. Gun bays thrummed into life as the Imperial warships bared their teeth. The Accipiter moved with its two escorts flanking, more like a parade flyby than an attack formation.

“Complacency.” Thark muttered.

The officer who had been approaching his chair with a nova firing solution in hand checked in confusion. “Sir?”

“The holy fleet always did have a problem with complacency.” Thark explained. “Too much washed teak and gleaming brass; not enough speed, modernity and professionalism. Fire when ready.”

Mors’ engines flared bright, and its internal arti-grav fields braced hard, both to absorb the recoil as a kilometre-long bolt of plasma flared from the monolithic launch tube slung below the cruiser’s prow. An answering flare bloomed a split second later, ahead of and below the enemy squadron. All three ships’ shields were stripped instantly in scattering flares of warp green.

[Atrum Daemon]

<New orders incoming,> chirped the communications hub. <We are to extract any forces we can from the Glom in the next thirty minutes.>

<Find us a way to dock then access any still active Mechanicus channels with our location,> Raynar ordered. <Let us pray that there are any survivors to even pick up.>

Finding a docking port would take time the cruiser did not have. Luckily she was equipped the means to forcibly dock with reinforced umbilical points. The cruiser lined herself up with the station at her starboard side and fired what seemed at first like simple harpoons. The harpoons quickly bloomed into docking cables that slammed into the station, cutting into hull and sealing them up tight for as long as they remained connected. Servitors and security forces from the cruiser were dispersed to keep watch on the access points and shepherd the survivors once they started arriving.

The broadcast sent out was short and to the point. It gave the Patriot forces a thirty-minute time frame to get to the evacuation point if they did not wish to be left behind. Raynar felt his nerves electrify the longer the cruiser remained still. All her weapons were active but they were a stationary target nonetheless with no back up he felt they could rely on especially with another enemy cruiser on the way, if their allies were to be held as accurate.

But Raynar had to at least give the survivors a chance. He would not sleep right again if he did not do at least that much.

[dakkagor]

"The Rosa is docking! It looks like they are going for extraction!"

"Power us up." Alyss murmured. "And get us into a support position. And open the main bay so we can pick up anyone using lighters." Her eyes were closed, and hoarfrost was spreading from her fingers and down her staff. Iric stumbled to his feet, shaking his head.

"Don't even think it, Iric." The big jotunhel soldier paused, his fingers hovering over his holstered pistol. "Even distracted I have enough brain power spare to kill you."

Iric used his hand instead to wipe blood from his nose. He glowered at the back of the psyker.

"I'm going to head to the bay and help organise the extraction."

"You do that." Alyss sighed. It wasn't clear if she was talking to Iric, or someone else. Regardless, the ship thrummed with power and boosted around the planet, aiming for the Rosa and the ring to offer what support it could for the extraction.

[Azazeal849]

Objective secured: Extract Glom expeditionary forces

Eudaimonia, cargo berths

Iric was sweating as he took hold of the loading chain, hauling along with the shirtless dock crews as they fought to lever the last shuttle up from the void hanger. This one wasn’t even carrying Jotunhel, just some soft-looking boys from a PDF unit who babbled their thanks as they piled out. Still, it felt good to be doing something useful.

A lean whippet of a soldier came barging through the press towards him, cursing in Jotunhel as she came.

“Iric!” she hailed him. “Astro from Rosa. Jarn’s aboard.”

Iric paused to glance over his shoulder before taking the strain again. “And our boys on the surface?”

The messenger’s hesitation told him that she didn’t know. He took his helpless frustration out on the chain, and grunted in annoyance as the exertion re-opened the blood vessel in his nose that the brush of Alyss’ mind had popped.

Fucking psyker.

There was a heavy clank as the void shuttle locked into its struts and the pulley chains went slack. The work crew slumped, panting gratefully. Iric took the chance to remove his blistered hands from the chain and cuff at the blood trickling from his nose.

“I think we’ve picked up everyone we’re going to get.” he ground out. “Someone go tell the Witch that it’s time to fuck off (https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=RDELMOBZP9s).”


+ + + + + +

Stella Rosa, strategium

<Accipiter has achieved targeting solution.> came the unwelcome report.

The heavy cruiser was bearing down on them, rising like a steel sun above the curve of the planet. Too close for torpedoes, it began to haul round to present the gothic cliff of its right flank, row upon row of lance turrets building their killing light.

Hurricanes of fire billowed above the Rosa’s hull as lance strikes clawed at the shields, and the deck beneath Raynar’s feet shuddered as the machine spirits took out their anger on the mechanicus crew.

<Now would be an optimal time for our good commodore to assist.> Gideon observed mildly.


+ + + + + +

HDMS Mors Indecepta

“Scimitar has been intercepted. Provocator still manoeuvring.”

“About bloody time.” Thark snapped, his composure frayed by the unfolding ballet on the hololith.

The two Sword frigates had detached from Accipiter and begun hooking long, enveloping arcs around the Mors Indecepta. Ripples of warp current showed the reflections of their forward thrusters, burning as they slowed for combat.

One was seeking Mors’ stern arc while a second dove towards her underbelly. If they succeeded they could dart in, dance along with the slower cruiser’s attempts to turn and roll for a killing salvo, and slowly cut her apart in return. Thark had been forced to retreat from the bracketing attack, until the Nebula frigate had burned to the rescue.

Exitos had hauled alongside one of the frigates harrying Mors, and the two were now trading broadsides as they circled at knife-fight range. Both had lost shields, but the Tempest frigate was having the better of the close-in brawl, and the enemy Sword was soon spiraling off course, spun by the unvectored thrust of the fires spurting between its ruptured hull plates. The second frigate was now retreating sunwards, keeping within the baffles of the much larger Mors lest it bring its guns to bear.

“Message received from Rosa.” a signals officer called from the ice-rimed astropath pit. “All personnel are aboard.”

“Good timing.” Thark commented. The Imperial ground forces had made some kind of breakthrough, and a flurry of escape craft were burning their way into orbit out of hive Alda - straight into the jaws of the Imperial blockade. There was little that Thark could do for them, but with any luck, the Imperial fleet would be too busy gathering up the minnows to pursue.

Blood-red contact dots and overlaid predictor cones cogwheeled around each other. Amber firing arcs swept over targets, and gunfire flashed with frustrated warp-ripples as it was evaporated by void shields. Boxed in by green IFF markers, the Rosa detached itself from the teeming scarlet sweep of the Glom and began to burn rimward, pursued by the murder-red icon of the enemy Accipiter. The Gothic cruiser was tacking hard, zagging first one way and then the other to bring its lances to bear. Impact ripples shivered off the Rosa as it shunted megatons of energy sideways into the warp.

Thark’s XO crossed his arms. “If she doesn’t turn aside she’ll run right into our nova arc.”

Thark massaged his lip with a gloved hand. “She won’t.”

The XO cocked an eyebrow. “The Emperor shows you the future now, does he?”

No, Thark thought, Just the unfortunate past. “I know how these Imperials fight. Is the nova cannon ready?”

“Reloaded and impeller coils fully charged, sir.”

Thark stared intently at the hololith, at the pulsing icon of the Rosa.

That’s right, Thane. he thought silently. Maintain course, lead him on. We both know a foxhunting man when we see one.

Accipiter turned again, across the amber cone projecting like a searchlight from Mors’ prow.

“Fire!”

Thark was thrown first forward and then back, as the engines flared hot and were met by the massive recoil force of the nova cannon. A few seconds later the warp sensors erupted into chaos. One of the astropaths convulsed in his seat, scrawling frantically across the paper beneath his writing hand.

“Distress calls!” the handler translated, his voice giddy with triumph. “We’ve crippled them!”

“Signal Rosa. Tell her she’s clear to warp out as soon as they’re far enough beyond the Van Allen belt. Lieutenant, take my compliments to the chief magos and tell him to make preparations for the jump.”

“Aye captain. Navigator reports she’s standing by.”

Nothing in void combat was swift, and the next fifteen minutes were an agonising wait. Finally, a high-pitched ringing filled the ship as the warp drives spooled up. The stars around the small fleet began to smear and run, like a painting left out in the rain, as the warp oozed through to overlap realspace. And then, with a shrieking flash of bloody light, the immaterium swallowed them, and they were gone.


MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

[Azazeal849]

HDMS Mors Indecepta
Adrantis Centrum jump point

The centrum jump point was as far into deep space as it was possible to be - over a light year from any sun, with only a scatter of stars and the great, green-and-gold smear of the Adrantis Nebula to illuminate the endless black. A perilous place for any ship to be, but invaluable for its location at the crux of several steady warp currents, starbursting out towards the primary systems of the subsector.

The Adrantean squadron were a cluster of dull specks against the black, coasting along with engines idle while a procession of bulbous transports pulled alongside to ferry off the troops rescued from the Glom. Veteran units were already in demand in a dozen warzones across Adrantis - even strange and potentially unreliable allies like the skitarii and the Jotunhel mercenaries. Some of the crew were muttering, Thark knew, their Adrantean pride stung at having to rely on such outsiders to fend off the Imperium. But the only way to guarantee defeat was to scorn those allies.

We need more men.

Commodore Thark dragged his hand along the polished bannister as he passed the circular astropaths’ pit. It was deserted - he had sent the blind choir back to their chambers to rest while they remained at the jump point. In the comparative safety of wilderness space, the squadron could afford to drop their shields and rely on standard vox for inter-ship communications. He did not want to overtax his tiny cadre of psykers.

We need more of them, too. The Republic had yet to establish a proper infrastructure for training new astro-telepaths, particularly with the traditional protections of the Soul Binding closed off to them. And the imperial Telepathica had been ruthless, some of the eyries choosing to slaughter their wards before the Patriots could overrun them. Frakking savages. As if those with the gift were not persecuted enough under their rule.

“Commodore?” the signals officer on duty queried, looking up and pulling off his headset as Thark approached.

“Sub-lieutenant. My compliments to magos Thane on the Rosa, and request his update on the crew transfers. The same to captain Reavensmore on the Eudaimonia, once she rejoins us.”

“Yes sir. Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Thark nodded.

“Witch or not, that crazy bitch should be leading a squadron. She cut right across the Fulmen and took its engines out for Rosa to make the kill.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Thark’s mouth. Here was one crewman at least who was willing to work with their mercenary allies. Though it amused him to wonder what Tarquinius or the other brass would have to say about such a promotion.

Although it would give her a stake in our cause…

“Commodore?” a voice interrupted his thoughts. Thark turned and saw a formidable woman with the green sash of the astropathic wardens crossing her chest, her booted feet clanking softly as she picked her way along the gantry.

“I told you to let them rest, warden.” Thark rebuked her sternly.

“Yes sir. But primaris Roteshild came to me babbling about some vision that had woken him.”

Thark frowned. “An astro from the fleet?”

“From Tranch, sir. And I think you’ll want to see it.”


+ + + + + +

Mechanicus cruiser Stella Rosa

The enginseers were already at work, and the main generatorium was full of flickering ghost-lights as welding teams set to repairing the damage of the last battle. More crew were filing in and moving to their stations - menials to their chains and pulleys, magi to their control shrines - all urged on by the klaxons that were looping short bursts of warning binary. The leviathan spirit of the Rosa needed all of its servants at their posts prior to a warp jump; partly in case of accident, and partly to forestall the horrors that had been known to befall baseline minds that were asleep at the moment of translation.

Adept Goldmann heard the chief enginseer before he saw him - a steady, resentful thump of metal feet that sounded even above the alarms. The enginseer’s work shift had ended fifty six Mars-standard minutes ago, and devoted servant of the machine god though he was, he was no doubt displeased to be recalled to his station so soon.

“Chief enginseer.” Goldmann greeted his superior, linking his rubber-clad hands into the holy cog as he stood aside from the primary communion console. “I trust that the censor-bearers offered you their benedictions on your way in?”

“No-one has offered me so much as an Omnissiah-damned explanation.” the chief enginseer growled. His mechanical joints hissed as they vented puffs of steam.

Goldmann signed the Cog again, half in apology to his superior and half to the nearby spirits for his casual blasphemy.

“There have been new orders from commodore Thark, chief enginseer. It seems that we are diverting to Tranch.”

The chief enginseer pulled a very baseline face. “Tranch?”

“An Imperial squadron just warped in. Three frigates. Luckily we got forewarning - it seems that some dim-watt sent his orders in pre-revolutionary codes, and our astropaths picked it up.”

The chief enginseer crossed his arms across the front of his oil-stained robe. As a hive world, Tranch had more than enough orbital defences to see off a single frigate squadron.

“Scouting party?” he conjectured.

“I have insufficient data to determine at this time, chief enginseer. But it seems that they are heading right for the planet, and our Patriot allies do not wish them to report back anything of worth on its defences.”

[Azazeal849]

CAMPAIGN 2

Iric Frostulf had been dreaming of his homeworld when they woke him - the howling of the merciless blizzard winds, the comforting rumble of the volcanic vents, the strange clatter of the invaders’ rigs and the relentless tread of the power-armoured giants who had finally brought his tribe to heel. The image of a monster in frost-caked armour of sable black dissolved as the skirl of the door chime pierced his head.

He was awake instantly, snapping up from his bunk in the full kit he always slept in. His hand was already closed around the combat knife sheathed at his chest before he caught the pict-screen above his door, and the familiar dreadlocked figure taking up most of it.

“Leifur.” he growled in acknowledgement to his sub-altern as he removed the bolt lock and pulled the door open. “Message from the bridge, I take it?”

The long-haired Jotunhel nodded slowly. “We have problems.”

“How many and how big?”

“About an Imperial relief fleet worth.”

Leifur held up a printout from the Eudaimonia’s long range optical scryers. Iric took a long look at it, and cursed.

“I take it that’s our cue to fuck off.”

“That’s our other problem. The witch is still planetside with her pet assassin, and the crew can’t raise her. We’re going nowhere fast without her to steer us through the warp.”

The cruiser captains wouldn’t piss on us if we were burning. And they’d burn us themselves if we touched one of the transports. Iric stroked his waxed beard for a moment. “Is that sprint trader still in orbit with us? That Mariochi prick who wanted to be a war hero?”

“Aye, he is.” Leifur replied, guardedly. “And that Claymore corvette he brought with him.”

Iric thought of the sable giant from his dream. Iric Frostulf was a survivor, and surviving meant knowing when you were outmatched; when to back down and wait for a better moment to strike back. It meant knowing who to trust. He trusted his fellow Jotunhel, but not the Gallowglass witch. And it meant knowing who was expendable. If some warper was acceptable collateral, then some spire-born snob with a Mariochi trade warrant was even lower on his list of cares.

The crew won’t like leaving their witch behind...but they’ll like dying even less. And if it came down to it, Iric still had just shy of 100 axes aboard. A long shot, but perhaps enough to storm a vital compartment like the bridge and force the issue.

“Unless the deviants on the bridge have a better idea?” He slapped his colleague on the shoulder and took off down the spinal corridor towards the crew elevators.

Patriot objective: Commandeer a Navigator

When they tore from the warp (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiLGhxAo9sA) the imperial attack was already in progress, although it was a smaller attack than they had been led to believe.

“Three contacts on the scryers, commodore.” a sub-lieutenant reported. “Escort size. Analysing drive plumes and warp spectra now.”

Thark nodded his angular head. Nothing else has arrived since? We’ve pulled two cruisers from the home fleet to see off a scout squadron?

“Vox, get me a direct line to the orbital defences.”

The situation began to clarify as the Mors Indecepta and its mechanicus cohort burned at full acceleration towards Tranch. Two of the enemy frigates were making mischief in the system asteroid belt, methodically blowing apart the auger buoys meant to detect and relay incoming warp translations.

It was tempting to think of the imperial fleet admiral as an indecisive coward, nibbling timidly around the edges of the defensive ring after being forced into retreat the first time. But blinding Tranch’s early warning beacons could be a prelude to another, greater assault - even the threat of which could keep fleet assets tied up here while they struck elsewhere. Thark knew a reconnaissance when he saw one, and he knew shaping operations too. Perhaps this crusade fleet wasn’t all mindless drills and gun salutes after all.

Whether the crusade admiral was reticent or not, the captain of the third enemy frigate certainly did not lack for daring. He had zig-zagged his ship closer to Tranch itself, making a dangerous far-orbit to appraise the grid of bastions and lance satellites that guarded the planet. According to one of the star fort commanders he had taken one long-range volley from the lances, fired a single desultory broadside of missiles and macro in reply, and was now making full burn to slingshot round the lesser moon and escape.

Except now, the newly arrived Patriot squadron stood between him and his allies.

“Send my compliments to captain Thane.” Thark dictated as he strode to the comms hub. “And tell him that the straggler is all his. We’ll cut across the belt and try to drive the other two in his direction as well. Once you get confirmation, light the void shields and address the crew.”

“Aye commodore.” the man at the vox station acknowledged, scribbling away at the notebook under his hand. He pulled his headset down round his neck with one hand. “What should I tell the crew, sir?”

Thark smiled a tight, wolfish smile. “Tell them that the Martians on Stella Rosa might be the pinnacle of machine-like composure, but I don’t care if my crew drink, gamble or sleep around because they hit the targets when they shoot. Tell them to do that again today and I promise them one hell of a party.”

As the Dominator flagship began to arc away towards the outer system, Stella Rosa was on a direct course to intercept the enemy frigate as it jinked clear of the orbital ring’s steel jaws.

+Warp spectra analysis identifies target as Turbulent class, most likely the HDMS Volturius.+ one of Thane’s magi relayed through the noosphere webbing across the Rosa’s red-lit bridge. +They are altering their slingshot trajectory to dive out of the system plane and avoid us.+

Patriot objective: Run down the escaping frigate

[dakkagor]

Leifur shook his head, his mangy dreadlocks swinging. "They want us to break anchor and hide in the northern magneto-something." He made a face that told Iric what he thought of that, and Iric agreed.

"After what we pulled, the Navy will be wise to our tricks. No, we can't stay." The pair reached a bank of transit elevators, that ran up to the bridge, and down to the gundecks and crew quartering. "Get me a squad of our best, kitted for boarding, and send them to the bridge. Then I want you to pull together a couple of squads, quiet types, and send them to the dorsal cargo bay. Split the rest between the gunnery bridge, and engineering. Strict orders not to do anything until I give the word."

Leifur raised an eyebrow at the orders. "Are we taking this ship then? I don't think Jarn would like that. At all." Iric merely shrugged in response. "Then he should be here to stop me, shouldn't he? He'll understand once I explain, and if I can get the bridge crew to understand, I won't have to stage a mutiny. You're covering fire if this goes wrong."

+++++

But it wasn't as simple as that, was it? He had to get across to that Claymore. That was the best target. The tighter security was balanced against it not being the rogue traders ship. This had been a Rogue traders ship, and they were quirky animals. For a job like this, he didn't need quirky. Then, he had to get a team, and an unwilling navigator, back to his ship.

He paced backwards and forwards as the elevator rattled to the command deck, working it out, running it forwards and backwards.

Damn Jarn for leaving me in the lurch, babysitting the deviants.

+++++

Iric stepped onto the bridge, and the deck officer saluted crisply. Deck officer was something of a stretch. Deviants, dilettantes, wastrels, strays, minor tech heretics, that was who the witch had staffed her ship with. No one the Imperium would consider dangerous, but still the people on the fringes of imperial life, those with nothing to loose. Life on the Eudaimonia was evidently better than being an imperial washout, as they were loyal to their witch queen to the point of. . .

Well, that was the question, wasn't it?

"Why aren't we making preparations to break orbit?" He asked, casually. The man shuffled a little.

"Lady Alyss is not aboard. We can't leave without her and Lady Sarna."

"Don't call her a lady." Iric responded cooly. He advanced a step on the deck officer, and relished in the silence that fell across the bridge. Now he had their attention.

"Alyss and Sarna can hide much more effectively on the ground than a voidship can while waiting to pick them up. We need to quit the system as soon as possible, and then sneak back in with the civil traffic." He poked the man in the chest. "You know this. If we stick around, that fleet bearing down on us will blast us all to scrap, and then they'll be stuck down there long enough for a specialised asset, like an Inquisitorial killteam, to hunt them down. We need to go."

"We can't go anywhere without a navigator!" The deck officer nearly shouted back. "We can only make a standard, unguided warp jump, and the wake alone will mean any half decent navigator will be able to hunt us down. We have to wait for Alyss!"

"I'm going to fix that problem." Iric responded, icy as his home. "You are going to help me do that. We're going to grab a spare navigator from that fat tempest class in orbit nearby, then run for the jump point. Is that clear?"

For a moment, the crew stared. The deck officer began to reach for his pistol as Iric tilted his head back, genuinely impressed that this runt had the balls to try, before there was a spatter of gunfire behind him, and the doors to the bridge opened. A fireteam of Jotunhel veterans swept into the bridge, rifles raised. They were packing autoguns and shotguns, ideal for sweeping the vulnerable bridge instruments of anyone who resisted.

"I said, is that clear?" He leaned down, looking the man in the eyes. "Alyss might be able to toss me around like a rag doll, but if you try anything, I'll see to the needs of my regiment first, and you dead last."

The deck officer swallowed, and nodded. "We'll sneak back in to recover them both once the fighting is over?"

"You have my word" Iric lied.

"Then the bridge is yours."


+++++

+Leifur, this is Iric+

Leifur settled into a seat behind the arvus pilots chair, and flicked his comms to active.

"Go for Leifur."

+Bridge crew is on-side, and all sections report compliance. You are good to go. I've transmitted ahead that you are heading over for a set of replacement parts for our sensor array. Get aboard, find a reason to stay aboard, and get a team to recover a navigator.+

"No problem. You want anything else alongside that? Thighbone of the Emperor perhaps? Teeth of Sebastian Thor?"

There was a crackly laugh.

"We've got this far Leifur. Make it happen."

Out the canopy of the stubby shuttle, the dock doors of the dorsal bay ground open in a wail of klaxons. The shuttle began to rumble as its engines spun up. He imagined he could just make out the blocky outline of the Tempest in the distance, silhouetted against the atmosphere of Coseflame.

"Take us across pilot." He slapped the mans shoulder, before pausing.

"And fly casual."

[Azazeal849]

“Fly casual.” The pilot visibly swallowed. “Right.”

The dagger shape of the corvette loomed steadily larger, first just a silhouette against the glowing disc of Coseflame, then a steadily resolving wall of crenellated sensor towers and arched gun ports. To the untrained eye it seemed like nothing was happening - no tell-tale ripple of shield flare, no glow from its dormant engines to push it out of orbit and onto a new course. But as they drew closer Leifur could see the black spines of gun barrels deploying from their ports, backlit by angry orange running lights. The rogue trader’s escort was prepared for a fight, and no doubt chewing his master’s ear off over the vox for instructions. The sleek sprint trader was still dozing sleepily in low orbit.

Maybe Mr Rogue Trader’s thinking he’ll look bad if he’s the first to cut and run. Or maybe he’s still dicking around planetside, like our witch.

“Eudaimonia shuttle, this is Argent Dagger.” the vox caster on the console suddenly buzzed, making the pilot jump. The woman speaking had a cut-glass rhotic accent layered over her Adrantean gothic - quite possibly from one of the elite Navy colleges before jumping ship for a rogue trader’s paycheck. “Confirm purpose of docking request?”

The pilot cleared his throat, glancing nervously at Leifur. “Replacement parts. For the augers.”

“Stand by.” was all the response he got before the caster clicked off, and they were left alone with the thrum of the arvus systems for another minute. Leifur imagined that the snooty comms officer was being spun an elaborate line of bullshit by Iric back on the Eudaimonia.

“Shuttle, Argent Dagger, you are cleared for landing in main docking bay.” Well, whatever Iric had said, it must have worked. “Be advised, bay has been voided for combat. Report to lieutenant Suvarov upon arrival.”

Lef-tenant she pronounced it, the spire-born snob.

“Acknowledged.” Leifur’s pilot responded, a little more confidently, and slumped back in his grav-couch as the vox clicked off. “That means suit up.” he added, half-turning to point to the lockers behind his cramped bubble cockpit. “I’m guessing they keep the bay doors open to the void so courier shuttles can zip in and out as fast as possible.”

The great cliff of the corvette’s flank rotated above them, bringing the silver-striped underside into view. The pilot aimed them between the splayed stern fins and then deftly turned the shuttle round, burning the engines in short bursts. The castles and shield blisters sweeping by above them slowed to a crawl, and then steel walls closed in from either side as the huge vessel delicately scooped them up.

The view of space shrank to a black rectangle, and the shuttle vibrated as grav-tethers snared it from either side and guided it down into a hazard-striped landing bay. Another arvus sat on their right side, suckling from a power line that snaked up from a hatch in the floor. Two servo skulls circled lazily above it, diagnostic lights sweeping green bars from their eye sockets.

An octagonal tower with sloped glass windows oversaw the hanger from the aft wall, with an airlock door at its base. The door slid aside and a figure emerged, moving slowly in an armoured void suit that bore a dockmaster’s stripes across the helmet. They held up a slate with 88.1 MCz on it, presumably the local vox frequency, before tucking it back into a velcro pocket. Leifur noted the name Suvarov stencilled on the left side of the chestplate, above an imperial double-eagle that the owner had apparently seen no need to scratch away.

Suvarov stepped up to Leifur’s arvus and thumped a gloved fist against the cockpit canopy.

“What’s so important it couldn’t wait, then?” a gruff masculine voice crackled across Leifur’s suit vox just as he finished adjusting the frequency.

[dakkagor]

Leifur shrugged, a motion lost in his bulky and patched voidsuit.

"Debris hit to our main sensor array, buggered it up." He reached for his own pad, then threw his head back and sighed in frustration.

"The parts list is in my suit. Can we get into some fresh air so I can show you what we need?"

The 'leftenant' grumbled and waved him on. Leifur smiled behind the one way visor as his squad fell in behind him.

+++++

After navigating the airlock, they headed up to the flight control centre, the glass windowed room that sat on an octagonal tower at the aft wall. Leifur had done his best to warm up to Suvarov, but he wasn't proving very talkative.

Leifur let out a low whistle when they reached the control room. It was far more complex and well appointed than the basic one on the Eudaimonia. This was practically a guard command bunker from its layout and level of equipment.

"The Tempest class is designed for boarding. This room can coordinate a dozen boarding teams, and has a hardline to every part of the ship." Suvarov offered, finally warming to a subject.

"Even the Navigators tower and Enginerum?" Leifur asked, walking along the banks of controls. Apart from the two guards on the door, there were only a half dozen tech adepts at the various stations.

"Never know when you might find some weird bollocks on a enemy vessel." Suvarov smiled as he took the pad from Leifur, and looked it over. He passed it off to one of the adepts who flicked a couple of heavy, ornate looking switches and began to shriek in that annoying binary chitter adepts used.

"Shouldn't take too long to get that lot up from stores." Suvarov smiled. "Best to get you and your lads suited back up and ready to go."

Leifur nodded, rubbing his chin. "Navigators, how many do you have on a ship like this?"

"One senior and two juniors. They can take shifts for longer jumps. Why?"

Leifur nodded, before stepping in closer to Suvarov. Suvarov was a big man, with heavyset shoulders and a bushy moustache under a nose that had been broken more than once. But Leifur loomed over him, all corded muscle and malice. He lowered his voice so that only Suvarov could hear.

"You see, we need another spare part. We need a navigator. Things are about to go to shit outside, and we need to be ready to run. But our pet psyker is fucking about on the ground. So we need to borrow one of your juniors."

Suvarov raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'to shit'?"

Leifur smiled. "Full imperial battlegroup 'to shit'. Our little ships are probably about 45 minutes away from combat range, and about 15 minutes after that we'll all be atoms. We don't intend to stick around. But it looks like your rogue traders little battlegroup intends to fight it out and die trying."

Suvarov turned and stomped over to the comms panels. He asked questions of his adepts, and voxed questions to the rest of the ship, and Leifur watched as the colour slowly drained from his face. Finally, he came back to Leifur, looking a little queasy.

"I have a family on this boat."

"I'm sorry." Leifur meant it. "If they are still aboard in the next hour. . ."

"If I get you into the navigators tower, will there be space on that shuttle for me, two children and my wife?"

"It'll be tight." Leifur smiled and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "But we'll manage."

++++++

"Here's what we'll do." Suvarov said, as he checked the load on his pistol and lead the Jotunhel boarding team at a jog through the ship. "I'll tell the household guards that we are transferring the junior to the Eudaimonia in case we all need to bug out, a loan like you said. They should buy it from me, but if they call up to the Captain we'll have to fight our way through."

"Household guards?" Leifur had unslung his lasrifle and held it across his chest. "What we looking at?"

"15 men, with decent gear. Never see more than five at a time on duty, two on the main door and one following each of the navigators at all times. So at least one of them is going to have to go."

"If it comes down to a fight they'll all have to go." Leifur muttered. He didn't like the sound of decent gear. He turned back to his men. "If they show a moments hesitation or go to place a call, go for kill shots. Surprise will be our best advantage."

[Azazeal849]

The action stations alarm was different on this ship, Leifur noted. It became evident as soon as they exited the docktower airlock and entered the spinal corridors of the ship proper; a slow tolling, like a funerary bell. Crewmen, servitors and squads of armsmen jogged by as Suvarov led them along vaulted decks and up twisting stairwells.

“The navigators don’t seem to keep normal shifts,” Suvarov explained as he keyed a door code and spun the wheel lock to let them into the next section. His movements were furtive, obviously nervous. “So I can’t tell you which of them will be awake. Hopefully mistress Suranna. Master Revann is so snobby he only takes orders from the captain direct.”

They cut through a narrow sub-deck, crammed tight with pipes and cable runs, and emerged again into a wood-panelled corridor hung with silver plaques, the text written in a looping form of gothic that Leifur didn’t recognise. A short flight of steps led up to an elevated door of arched metal, deeply etched with runic patterns that had been emphasised with gold leafing. Two guards stood to either side, as Suvarov had said.

Leifur chewed the inside of his cheek. Decently equipped had been a fair assessment - the guards wore void-sealed armour suits with the three diamonds of the navis nobilite painted across their opaque visors. Their left hands rested on grounded boarding shields, and shotcannons jutted from where their right hands should have been, the whole arms of their suits bulbous with shock absorbers and bracing struts.

“Captain Horza’s compliments to the house of Cassini,” Suvarov recited slowly, stopping at the bottom of the stairs in what was evidently a very ritualised greeting. He held his hands behind his back, and Leifur could see that he was squeezing them white. “And we request an audience.”

The guard on the left turned his helm slightly, and there was a subdued crackle of private vox conversation. The guard raised his gun arm, and pointed the muzzle deliberately at Suvarov.

“You and one other. No guns. The rest stay.”

Suvarov glanced back at Leifur, and jerked his head to indicate that he should join him. “We accept your terms.”

The doors clanked with disengaging locks and then swung smoothly inward, revealing a cramped antechamber with a wall vox and weapon scanner, and a second set of identical doors. Suvarov stepped inside, and Leifur followed his lead.

“The navigators only speak high gothic.” Suvarov confided as the outer doors swung closed once again. “But don’t get any ideas - the guards speak Adrantean just fine, and they have absolutely no sense of humour.”

The inner door unlocked. Another masked guard was waiting for them inside, this one liveried in neutral grey and holding a tall glaive at salute. A blocky device was wrapped around the vambrace of his other arm. From the dull buzz that set Leifur’s teeth on edge as he passed, he was able to guess that it was some sort of personal refractor field. As they stepped away from the guard, the teeth-itching buzz was replaced by the steady trickle of running water. The domed chamber they found themselves in was festooned with plants - plants in pots, plants in hanging baskets, plants climbing up the walls, all flowering in a dizzying variety of colours. A heavy, sweet smell hung in the air, antithetical to the chemical tang that permeated the rest of the ship.

A hairless woman with broad cheekbones and thin, shrewd eyes was kneeling among the plants. Her skin was bronze, but there was something faded about it to Leifur’s eye, something washed out and slightly unhealthy. A monocular goggle was wrapped around her forehead, the metal iris closed. Currently, the woman was focused on aggressively pruning a leafy fern, while a younger servant stood by attentively.

Suvarov cleared his throat politely, but didn’t speak. The woman glanced up, and flapped a hand at the servant, who raked around in a satchel for a moment before producing a vox-stalk and a jewelled brooch. The kneeling woman pinned the brooch to the front of her apron and hooked the stalk round her ear.

“Mistress Suranna.” Suvarov greeted once she was done, sketching a short bow.

The navigator snipped a final twig from the plant in front of her. Leifur noted that the hands holding the shears had six fingers. She stood up, brushing down her apron, and said something into the vox stalk. A feminine voice emanated from the brooch at her chest.

“If you’re wondering what I’m doing.” The translator was high quality, almost perfectly matching the cadence of a real human voice. “The answer is, anything except thinking about why the captain hasn’t ordered grandmaster Tiadore to jump the Horus out of here yet. So, gardening.”

The navigator straightened.

“I’d hope that you’re here to give us that order, but you’re the dockmaster. So what can I do for you?”

“We’ve received a request from the Eudaimonia.” Suvarov said, embroidering the lie that he and Leifur had concocted. “Apparently their steersman is incapacitated. Both of our captains humbly request that you transfer over to complete the jump in his stead.”

“Oh do they now?” the navigator said, putting down the shears and folding her arms. “No bloody notice as usual, I see. I’ve half a mind to tell captain Horza that I’ll need time to pack my things and make him wait.” She looked at Leifur. “Still, your captain hasn’t offended me yet, so that wouldn’t really be fair on them. Is this for just the one jump?”

Suvarov nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Given the circumstances I think we can iron out the payment details later.” The navigator crooked two fingers at the guard standing nearby. “Come, Grey.” Leifur wasn’t sure if that was a name or just a descriptor of his armour. The navigator had already turned to her servant. “Genevive, be a sweetie and pack an overnight bag to be shuttled over as soon as we exit warp? I expect I’ll need it.”

The electric buzz of the refractor field rose in Leifur’s ears once more as Grey stepped close and motioned towards the door. “You may go. The mistress will join you presently.”

As soon as they were alone in the antechamber once more, Suvarov made a beeline for the wall vox and punched in a receiver code. He picked up the handset, and Leifur heard the standby chimes ringing.

“Tasi,” Suvarov said as there was a click from the receiver. “I need you to get the boys ready to leave.” There was a muffled response. “Meet me by the primary lifts down to the launch deck. I’ll explain everything there.”

He all but threw down the handset as the outer doors pistoned inward, revealing Leifur’s squad and the two navis guards still waiting outside. Rolf cocked a questioning eyebrow at Leifur as he tossed his weapon back to him. Suvarov shifted from foot to foot, glancing back at the guards.

Fortunately mistress Suranna did not keep them waiting long. The doors swung open again a minute later and the navigator appeared, minus her gardening apron, and with Grey in tow.

“Well.” the navigator said through her translator brooch, dusting her grimy hands. “Shall we?”

Suvarov forced a smile and indicated the way with an open palm. They were headed not back through the sub-deck this time, but to the T-junction at the end of the panelled corridor. They had barely reached it, however, when they were blocked by a courier hurrying in the opposite direction. Unusually, the courier wasn’t alone.

“Oh.” said the courier. “Mistress Suranna.” She had an officer cadet’s stripe on her epaulettes, imperial navy style, though Leifur was more interested in her escort. There were four of them; armoured, boarding shotguns held low. Their armaplas helmets were shaped like ancient jousting visors, with only their eyes visible through a tinted slit of glass.

“Uh…” the courier stumbled again, then rallied. “My f-...sorry, captain Horza’s compliments to the noble house of Cassini, and he requests that grandmaster Tiadore start making preparations to jump.”

Navigator Suranna put up her six-fingered hands, exasperated. “Well tell him to wait until I’m off the ship, at least.”

The courier crinkled one eye. “Uh...off the ship?”

[dakkagor]

For just a moment, Leifur imagined pulling his pistol and putting a round through this kids face. They had been so bloody close. He stepped closer to her instead, hands out and open, big smile on his face.

"Yes, off the ship." He dropped a meaty paw on the woman's slim shoulder, and her bodyguard of armsmen bristled. He noted that coolly but said nothing. "I'm not surprised your father, I mean the Captain, didn't tell you." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial tone, one he often took with the younger members of the regiment, like he was letting them in on a big secret and placing them in his confidence. "Look, your old man is doing us a big favour by setting up this meeting between ourselves and House Cassini. We're a small outfit so we'll owe him a favour for the future, and his boss too."

"But the Rogue Trader isn't. . ."

"Here, right. The Captains showing a bit of initiative, isn't he? But if it backfires, and I mean, look at this lot." He gestured to the rough and dangerous looking Jotunhel boarding team. "It might, then, the only person he would want to be punished. . ."

"Is him." The young courier nodded, biting her lip as she worked it out, following the line of logic Leifur had laid out for her like a ship rat eating crumbs of rations, right before it got stuck in a trap.

"Right. Smart girl." He smiled. "So keep quiet about it, alright? Don't even mention it to your Dad, because if he knows you know, he might have to tell the Rogue Trader that you knew, and did nothing to stop it if it goes wrong."

"But, its not going to go wrong, is it?" She asked. "Why would it go wrong?"

"Because the enemy is going to start shooting at us real soon." Leifur said, matter-of-factly. "And that's always when things go wrong"

+++++

They quick marched through the corridors, two of the Jotunhel lacing their hands together into a seat so that the Navigator was not required to run and could be carried in a manner more befitting a woman of noble birth. 'Grey' hovered behind her, and the two Jotunhel did their best to ignore the ominous bodyguard.

Suvarov sidled up to Leifur.

"You lied to me." The deckmaster hissed.

"Your Captain changed his mind." Leifur shrugged. "When we spoke it was the gods own truth."

"Well now I look a coward and a fool, and a deserter to boot."

Leifur swung his head round and stared at Suvarov.

"Do you want a promotion?"

"What?"

"Deck officer." Leifur waved his hand. "Bridge command. We've got a useless shower of shit on our bridge, but you know your stuff."

Suvarov paused at that, then caught back up to Leifur. As the group rounded a corner, two children and a woman were standing by the elevator to take them back to the hanger, and then the Eudamonia. They were all carrying bags of clothes and looked confused, and a little frightened as the shabby Jotunhel troopers quick timed towards them.

"With Deck officer quarters, and privileges?"

"Absolutely."

++++++

As the elevator plunged downwards, the lights inside the cage dimmed, then swum back up. There was a whine in the air, a sensation of something tugging at your skin that you couldn't see. Mistress Suranna groaned slightly and rubbed at her temple, around her silk scarf covered eye.

"The warp engines are charging." Suvarov paled a little. "The enemy fleet. . ."

The whole ship shook. Weapons fire. Something big had just hit them.

"We just ran out of time." Leifur growled. He turned to his team, the lady navigator and the three civilians they had acquired. "You all suit up, quick as you can, and get aboard the shuttle. Don't let anything get in your way, and get underway as soon as you can." He turned to Suvarov. "You too. You're in charge of getting this lot to the Eudaimonia if I get held up."

++++++

Leifur stormed into the flight control deck, and one of the tech adepts on station turned to face him. He had his voidsuit half on, the helmet and oxygen bottle bouncing at his hip.

"Query: Where is Flight Officer Suvarov?"

"Change of plans. He is coming with us, we need an experienced pilot for the shuttle now we are in combat." The ship shook again, as it had been for the past five minutes. The engine pitch had changed as well. Leifur prayed the Eudaimonia was matching this buckets course.

"Statement: All personnel changes must be cleared with the bridge."

"I'll give you a statement, we don't have time!" Leifur yelled, gesturing out at the bay. Void suited figures, some more elegant than others, were crossing the bay as quickly as they could, piling into the shuttle and dumping some of the crates into its hold. Leifur had told them to do that only for as long as they were in the bay. Spares were useful, and it helped the ruse, but as soon as he had clearance they had to go. "I need the bay open and flight clearance now!"

"Statement: The bay can only be opened in combat with permission of the bridge."

"We have permission!" Leifur roared. "I wouldn't be here if we didn't."

"Counterpoint: your logic is flawed. Bridge confirmation will only take a moment"

The adept turned away, and Leifur pulled up his shotgun. The buckshot at close range spattered the adept across his controls. He worked the pump action quickly and methodically, cutting down four more before they could get to him. The last one threw himself at the big Jotunhel trooper, mechadendrites flailing and stabbing, before Leifur clubbed him down and blew out his brain and spine.

"Fuck!" He swore, as blood trickled from a half dozen small wounds. He quickly found the manual controls and flipped them, taking enough time to check that the doors were opening before tearing the cover of a panel. He reached into his webbing and pulled a single incendiary grenade he kept for special occasions, set its fuse for a 30 second delay, then dumped his frag grenades on top of the dead adepts. Hopefully the incendiary would burn out the controls, set off the grenades, and make this look like some awful accident to a cursory inspection, rather than a premeditated act of sabotage.

Then he ran for the bay.

++++++

Leifur thumped out of the airlock and immediately ran into problems. His breath caught in his lungs and his void suits simple spirit shrieked alarms at him as he ran to the idling shuttle, its engines cycling up. Two figures ran out to grab him as he stumbled, yelling to no one that they needed to go. Outside the bay he could see streaks of weapon fire. He looked down at his suit and realised the last adept had punched half a dozen holes in it, small but now leaking air.

Hands grabbed him as he collapsed and hauled him into the shuttle. His last conscious experience before the blackness overtook him was a distant voice that sounded like Suvarov yelling at the pilot to 'punch it'.

[Azazeal849]

Objective secured: Commandeer a Navigator

The first thing Leifur saw was Rolf’s face looming over him - not the prettiest sight, but one that at least reassured him that he was still alive. “Welcome back.” the other Jotunhel grinned at him, showing yellowed teeth.

He was on the floor of the shuttle, the buzz of the grav-plate loud in his ears and competing with the hiss of the oxygen mask that had been hooked over his nose and mouth. His helmet had been unfastened and now sat, absurdly, in the lap of one of Suvarov’s boys, who was watching him with saucer eyes and gripping the black-visored helmet like he’d been entrusted with a holy relic. Suvarov’s wife, a dumpy, kind-featured woman, had her arm wrapped protectively around the boy, while Suvarov himself appeared to be speaking soothing words to his other son in some kind of shipboard argot. The navigator and her guard sat near the front, and Leifur noticed that Grey’s glaive had telescoped down into a kind of long-bladed boarding axe, the better to swing in the confined space of a courier shuttle.

“I can’t believe that actually worked.” Dagny murmured to Leifur as she and Rolf helped him up into a sitting position. Past their pilot Leifur could see the familiar silhouette of the Eudaimonia growing larger beyond the canopy, bright with running lights. Behind the slender destroyer, the distant stars were flaring and flashing erratically, the opening shots of the imperial battle squadron and the system picket force that had moved to intercept them. A brighter flash, perhaps a shield collapse, lanced down at them, as if reminding them to hurry.

Suranna, who was watching the distant light show, turned to acknowledge Leifur as he regained his faculties.

“I suppose it’s redundant to point it out now,” the navigator, or rather the jewelled translator brooch pinned to her robe, said. “But just so you don’t think I’m completely naive. I assume from your wounds and the conflicting stories you told me and the captain’s daughter that this transfer isn’t entirely above board.”

“No ma’am.” Suvarov admitted, squeezing his son’s shoulder and switching back to Adrantean standard. “It’s not. But we are all more likely to get out of here alive if you continue to cooperate.”

That seemed to amuse Suranna. She chuckled, and reached up to scratch her bald head. The sixth finger of her hand brushed the steel-shuttered goggle wrapped around her forehead. “Well said. I mean, I could open this and subject everyone here to the most painful death imaginable, but one of these fine gentlemen would probably get off a shot and pierce me or the hull, and I am very valuable.”

She glanced at Leifur with her liquid, almond-shaped eyes.

“Besides, you made an effort not to get lady Horza and her men killed, and I appreciate that.”

Leifur heard clicks and the creaks of weapon straps behind him as his squad relaxed a little.

“I will miss Genevive.” Suranna confessed wistfully, turning back to the approaching destroyer. “And my plants. But we must all make sacrifices when there’s a war on, I suppose.”


MISSION ACCOMPLISHED