[M] War in the Void - Patriots IC

[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]

Spoiler: Stella Rosa, Eudaimonia - Baraspine 

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.”

+ + + + + +

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]

Spoiler: Campaign 2 preview 

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

Spoiler: Eudaimonia - Coseflame 

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

Spoiler: Stella Rosa - Tranch 

When they tore from the warp 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]

Spoiler: Eudaimonia - Coseflame 

“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]

Spoiler: Eudaimonia - Coseflame 

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'.