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Part One: Enter Caduceus The pirate frigate had first tried to flee, but the first time it had reemerged from the Immaterium, the green clad Astartes frigate had been only moments behind. Each time after that, there was one more Astartes ship than before. Seeing the uselessness of running, the pirates had put up stiff resistance, but could never have hoped to out maneuver so many ships. The way they moved, like one long segmented vessel, seeking to encircle the pirates in a death grip, the Space Marines appeared to treat the battle with disturbing leisure. Three times the hapless vessel tried to fire on the more predictable escorts in the coiling Astartes formation, but each time the lead frigate would strike in the opening with its own lasers, followed by a torpedo, and to change targets only resulted in a blow from another unattended angle, every salvo obliterating gun batteries until none remained. Anticipating another attempt to flee, the Space Marines ships fired on the pirates’ engines, and after a number of shuddering internal detonations in the ship’s aft it began to drift listlessly. Moments later a much larger vessel broke through the warp, a strike cruiser bearing that same heraldry, the serpent, winged and crowned. No sooner did it appear then it had launched a single Thunderhawk which streaked across the void and came to rest on the hull of the disabled pirate frigate, clamping down near one of the breaches left by a destroyed laser battery. A dozen Astartes descended the ramp, their leader a Marine in identical armor save for the gray tabard covering it and the gold coloring of his helmet’s radio spine, unlike the red on his brothers. Three Marines immediately broke from the group and made towards the aft of the ship. The remaining nine briefly surrounded the mangled hole left by a destroyed gun emplacement. Through the sparks that pierced the darkness they could just make out the shape of the torpedo that had punched through. Apparently satisfied, the Marine leading the squad lowered himself into the opening, pushing off the rim until his boots could lock onto the deck. As his brothers followed into the dark, he crossed silently to the nearest hatch leading toward the bridge. It appeared to have been sealed prior to the chamber’s decompression…unusual. Cocking his head toward the rear of the ship a vox crackle finally cut the silence among the Astartes. “Brother Lorens,” the voice was low, hardly more than a whisper, and chillingly smooth, “We’ve encountered a sealed bulkhead. They may have been prepared for the virus warheads. Have you reached the environmental systems?” The voice that responded was deeper, and coarser, but equally cold, “Negative Captain, ETA in thirty seconds.” “Very well,” returned the Captain, checking that the eight marines with him had fallen in, “it will take us more time to reach the bridge, and if they sealed any more bulkheads, we’ll likely meet resistance. Introduce the agent with a five minute time release, then meet us at the bridge.” “Yes, Captain Vitras,” the line died with the simple reply, and the Captain returned to the sealed hatch blocking their path. He gestured at the nearest Marine, who held a plasma rifle, stepping back as the weapon unleashed its blue fire on the door. The blast dissipated before the vacuum could throw it back in their faces, and when the initial mixture of smoke and atmosphere cleared, there wasn’t much left of the hatch. Streaks of atmosphere still pulled at the ragged edges of the opening as the corridor on the other side continued to depressurize, and moments later a limp form slammed through the opening trailing a spray of red. If the pirate hadn’t already been dead, he was now, the limply held mask in his hand too little too late now that he and his right arm were drifting slowly apart, the silent marines looking on approvingly. Vitras wordlessly stooped through the now crimson rimmed opening, eyes and helmet optics accommodating for the deeper darkness. The marines filled almost the entire corridor as they followed it deeper into the ship. They reached the next bulkhead almost without incident, but just as the plasma gun was about to do its work, lights flickered on overhead, and a blast door came down behind them. With a pneumatic hiss the hatch before them unsealed and burst open, autogun fire already spilling through. With no door on hand, Captain Vitras let roar his chainsword and tore through the wall to his right, finding sleeping quarters on the other side. Four of his men further back found doors on the other side of the corridor, while two more followed after Vitras. The brother bearing the plasma gun, and the brother behind him made no move, already in the act of carrying out the order that followed. “Cover fire!” Barked Vitras just as the bolter fire began, “Brother Viboras, to ash with them!” Vitras and his men leaned into the corridor to fire as one while a pair of plasma blasts streaked into the flashing gunfire that was the enemy. The volume of incoming fire immediately dropped, and as it did Vitras thundered back into the corridor, the bulkheads shaking with the collective pounding of his ceramite form and the renewed roar of the chainsword. The rest of the squad followed after, though all they really had time to see was the Captain surrounded by a halo of autogun fire and viscera as the chainsword arched and slashed, cleaving everything before it. Seconds later, the corridor was silent again except for the quiet dripping of blood both from the chainsword and the ceiling. Brother Viboras stepped up behind the Captain and could see that the autoguns had chinked away enough armor on his arm to expose the bionics underneath. These whirred briefly as Captain Vitras gestured to his squad once more, and they passed through the scene of the carnage. “Captain,” the vox crackled with the incoming hail. “Speak, Brother,” Vitras’ voice remained disturbingly level. “The distributor is in place, as are we.” “Status of the bridge?” “The corsair is cowering here with his retinue, awaiting your arrival.” “Excellent. Trigger the distributor. How much time was left?” There was a chuckle on the other end, “A minute and thirty three seconds, Captain.” “Hm, best time yet.” An alarm began to sound, and the lights dimmed, replaced by pulsing red glow, a sign that the ships environmental systems had been compromised. Through the next unsealed hatch was the short corridor leading to the bridge. Visible through a small viewport, two of the pirates stood guard about thirty feet outside the door, though they seemed awfully relaxed for their situation. Both leaning almost casually against the walls, they at least gripped their weapons tightly. When the Marines appeared in the corridor…the pirates didn’t move, nor did the Marines react to their presence, but strode directly towards the bridge access doors. Around the necks of the brigands hung oxygen masks ready for use, but the dimness of the corridor made it difficult to distinguish their faces until they were close. Neither Vitras nor Viboras payed them any mind, but walked past the guards to the door controls, the Captain replacing his pistol on his leg as he went. Each Marine except the last ignored the guards as though they weren’t there, the brother in the rear removing his bolt from its maglock as he approached. As his brothers approached the door he leaned down to see the face of each pirate. Satisfied with the terrified, strained and even tearful faces he found, he put a bolt round into each one’s head, practically destroying their skulls. At the door, Captain Vitras had found to his surprise that the controls weren’t locked out, and the doors opened to the last echo of the bolt shots. The bridge was darker than the rest of the ship, lit more by the panels and instrumentation than anything, and as the hulking marines fanned out into the room they found that each of the stations was still occupied by a crewman, and the captain sat in his throne in the center of the chamber, facing the Astartes, his mask only half on. There were several other armed pirates around the room, but each lay on the ground in an awkward position, unmoving, but with apparently unwounded. As Captain Vitras stalked across the chamber to the captain the rest of his men drew their pistols, and when the Captain leaned down and spoke, gripping the back of the throne with a bionic fist, his words came with the staccato of the bolt shots executing his crew. “Your struggle against the Imperium is at an end, heretic,” breathed that cold, smooth voice out of the helmet, “I am Captain Vitras of the Basilisks. You have lived to this moment only so that the fear of our name can go with you into death.” He lowered his hand and tapped the arm of the throne, where the pirate captain was still depressing a rune with a white knuckle grip. An attempted transmission, or a successful one in truth, as the text on the tiny screen above it indicated that the corsair had opened a line to somewhere…and they were still listening. Whether a call for help, or last instructions to another clan of raiders, whoever was at the other end was hearing the grim last moments of the doomed ship. “Consider it a final act of loyalty to--” “Cap-tain,” the pirate had managed to speak! To resist the Basilisks’ nerve agent to that degree without the help of a mask would have required bionics in the lungs. Apparently this was not an average pirate, and Vitras soon discovered why, “I ha—mess-age,” with enormous effort, the pirate lifted his finger, releasing the rune to allow return communication. A garbled voice came hissing through the ship’s vox, barely distinguishable as Low Gothic. “Blood of the crowned snake! Vengeance for Bahl’s sons!” There were a number of flashing lights through the viewports and, crossing rapidly to the nearest, Captain Vitras peered out into the void. A sizeable fleet of Astartes-class ships had emerged from the warp, easily twice the strength of the circling Basilisk fleet, and from where he stood Vitras could already see guns turning on his brothers…as well as the disabled ship where they now stood. “Lorens, now!” he cried, voice turning ragged, drawing his pistol and unloading into the viewport, and in answer, a meltagun discharge struck it from the outside, bathing the room in white for a moment before the meter thick panes disintegrated and exploded into space. Vitras and his men inside barely had time to lock their boots, but no sooner had they done so than they charged out of the opening onto the ship’s hull, greeted by Brother Lorens and his two companions. Behind them the bodies of the crew and the still living pirate captain vented into the void, but the marines were already traversing the hull towards the Thunderhawk as fast as they could go. Flashes above them told Vitras that the enemy fleet had engaged them, and a shudder below told him something had struck the frigate. A violent buckle and a blossoming orange glow from behind followed promptly, and two of the Marines were swatted off the hull by the impact, no chance to react. The rest of the squad carried on, and they soon reached the boarding ramp of their ‘hawk. Detaching as soon as the last marine had a sure foot on the ramp, the Marines locked themselves in place and the Thunderhawk rocketed away from the frigate. The former pirate ship was already coming apart, wracked with explosions both internal and external. In the tense minutes since the appearance of the enemy fleet, the Basilisk’s hadn’t yet lost a ship, but as the Thunderhawk docked with its Strike Cruiser, Vitras leaping prematurely from its hold and making for the command deck, the voxes announced the destruction of the frigate Stone Fang. Bursting into the command center, Vitras’ gaze sought the ship’s commander. “D’selvus, status!” “Captain! The enemy is unkown! Our formations are dogged but holding, reinforcements enroute!” “Damned heretics! I want to know who these faithless traitors are!” “Vitras!” The Captain whirled to find Codicier Seranus striding into the command center, “I have your answer,” Vitras followed the Librarian to the viewport where both could clearly make out the dulled, dark red hulls of the enemy ships, the symbols at their prows all but erased for want of attention, save one. A red serpent coiled threateningly over the atlas ellipse of an unknown world, resting on a sand colored field…familiar, “They are Pythons,” Vitras’ head snapped back to the Codicier, revealing shock and disbelief, “That’s right, brother, the Baal Pythons have returned.” ~~~~~~~ Comments & Critiques very welcome, looking forward to refining and expanding this story.