On A Rock in Space

[Andurin Marvak]

Gantris sighed heavily into his vox link. He had kept his helmet's audio output on full, for the express purpose of letting all in sundry know exactly how dull and inconvenient he found this whole situation. Most of them tried unsuccessfully to ignore him, as this was the fortieth sigh they had put up with in the past half-hour. Flavius' helmet twitched, Maculo's pauldrons sank even closer to the ground, Rekt looked ready to explode out of his armor like a rancor-fueled firework, and Duat sparked slightly with warp-charge. Ipy...well, Ipy just kept marching along paying attention to virtually nothing.

 

He sighed once again, this time adding a little more ennui to his tone. This earned him a solid fist of ceramite from Rekt, who hit him so hard that he flipped over in mid-air before landing in a sprawl several feet away. It looked like the berserker was mildly upset.

 

"I DON'T CARE HOW $#$#$^@)^#%@!%&^$ BORED YOU ARE WE'RE ALL @$#@%^#%@$@^#% BORED WE'VE BEEN WALKING FOR @#@%#%#^@%$@% DAYS YOU +@_#e@#i@#^$#%*^!!! KHORNE ON A CRACKER!!"

 

Eloquent, as usual.

 

"Don't take it out on me! I wasn't the one who crashed our ship! I wasn't the one who botched trying to call for help by cursing out our superior officer! I wasn't the one who..." Grantris protested, until Flavius screamed so piercingly that all of them stopped and stared.

 

"Now look," the failed Noise Marine said, turning his volume down to a reasonable level. "It doesn't matter. Not that Gantris was complaining so loudly about our mission that he distracted Duat from his meditation, causing us to exit the Warp and nearly break up in the atmosphere. Not that Rekt got so angry at our dear leader for not dispatching all his resources to locate us and get us off this planet. Not that Ipy is so naturally bad at hiding that most of our supplies and what was left of our ship were scorched to dust by the Prey of the Dark Prince. None of it does." he crooned, his pleasant, effeminate voice calming the group.

 

"He's right, you know." Duat chimed in. "We've got to face facts. Rourke and the others are probably on the other side of the planet judging by the trajectory of their ship. We're stranded on a planet inhabited by an enemy of Chaos older than our Primarchs. Rescue will most likely not be forthcoming, as it will take less effort to simply send another team to complete our mission than it will be to find us. If we want to survive, we have to stop infighting and start working together."

 

"Yes." Maculo added, a gaseous emission of mysterious origin that was equally foul whether it came from his mouth or rear punctuating his somber assent. "Maybe if we all just lay down here, the grass will grow over us and we will stay hidden forever. A nap sounds good."

 

Gantris sighed. This time, nobody punched him. "Mac...unlike you and Ipy, the rest of us can't do that. We actually need to eat." Nurgle's devotee just shrugged slowly as if that weren't such a huge obstacle to overcome. Ipy remained motionless but for the wind playing with his azure and yellow tabard. Duat wondered for a moment why everyone else still expected him to respond. He had, after all, explained to them what a Rubric was, right? When they'd all been thrown together. Years ago.

 

Rekt's voice quavered. "I...I...I'm so sorry...I just can't stand it sometimes! I get so...so angry you know..." he blubbered, holding his helmet in his hands, his pauldrons heaving. Maculo gave the emotional World Eater a comforting pat on the back, while Gantris shook his head in disgust. Was it any wonder their Dear Leader found them utterly replaceable?

 

Author's Note: I hope you've enjoyed this so far. I promise more will follow, but I am unsure of the pace it will come.

[Sanguine_Knight]

I like it... Comedy in the grimdark of 40k

[deathspectersgt7]

[Andurin Marvak]

It took some time for Maculo to get Rekt stable again. During his ministrations and placations the rest of them stood around nervously, waiting for the tell-tale sounds of anti-grav vehicles speeding their way. Flavius reached for his weapon more than once, getting ready to fend off an all-out assault every time his high-frequency sonics picked up a blip. While Gantris became more and more unnerved by this, and activated his power axe and plasma pistol with increasingly hair-trigger reflexes, Duat remained relatively calm. Every so often he would confirm his suspicions out loud. Every ping Flavius noticed was some wild animal beyond the horizon. His warpsight could attest to that, with but a little focus. Sheesh, you'd think that they'd trust a man who could see through walls if he so chose...what was his modest rank of Aspiring Sorceror good for, anyway?

 

Eventually, they all got moving again. In truth, their little spat had done them some good by releasing a little of the immense tension that had been building since they crashed. They had been traveling this seemingly endless grassy plain for two days now, and while the few rations they had left would keep them going for another two weeks thanks to their superhuman metabolism, once they were gone they would have to hunt almost daily to take in the calories their massive bodies would require. And the only members of their party competent in that area were on the other side of the planet, and very likely quite dead.

 

"You know, this reminds me of one my ani-mays, come to think of it." Flavius commented, looking around. Everyone inwardly braced themselves. Around the time their Dear Leader had taken them out of their original squads and made a special unit just for them, they had been in an intense urban battle. It was only their second misison together, and everyone but Rekt, Maculo, and Ipy had been openly hostile, if not violent, toward one another. It was after they had taken their twentieth (or thirtieth, they all looked the same) hab block that the Noise Marine had found that blasted room. Inside, he had found an ancient pict device and hundreds of data-disks to go with it, as well as wall-to-wall posters of characters from the picts. For whatever perverse reason, he was originally from the Emperor's Children, after all, he had fallen in love with the artistic style and ancient languages contained therein. Apparently, the old pict shows were special, and called "ani-mays". And from that point on, Flavius would continually reference his beloved collection whenever he saw the chance, and spent most of his down-time watching them over and over. He'd even learned to use his sonics to play theme songs from them.

 

Everyone wished that they had all been incinerated by an orbital bombardment, along with the hab block and those asinine, oddly drawn picts.

 

This time it was about some All-metal Sorceror traveling for days to reach some place called Zing. At least this one was tolerable. Rourke and Duat even liked it a little, and had watched it once with Flavius. Duat, of course, loved the spells the sorcerors used, especially the ones invented by the pyromancer. Why he was named Commander Horse he'd never know, but it was still impressive the way he posed and snapped his fingers to cause fiery explosions. The Thousand Sons marine had taken to doing the same thing himself when he cast spells, though his were nowhere near as imposing. Rourke, of course, had loved all the tanks and siege equipment their Imperial Guard had used, and most of all the ones commanded by Warlord Strongarm. Typical Iron Warrior nonsense.

 

I'm glad to see you're enjoying this, and I had a little spurt of creativity, so I wrote a bit more.

[Sanguine_Knight]

Oh wow! "ani-may"... and I totally got the reference!

[Andurin Marvak]

That Iron Warrior was currently busy with his typical nonsense in the wreckage of half an unmarked merchant vessel. Everyone else could tell he was on edge. Some men were nervous drinkers, some smoked iho sticks, others ate when they were put under strain. Not Rourke. Rourke was what his companions had come to call a "stress-builder". And this afternoon he was in full swing. Ignoring everyone's attempts to rouse him from his feverish work, he had managed to turn their once battered and ill-used spacecraft into a battered and ill-used bunker, albeit with more spikes and an utterly random display of hazard stripes. Vlad, not being much of a talker unless it involved half-crazed megalomaniacal rants about being one with the Night and the beautiful music its children made, had stalked off to go kill something and eat it after giving up on his superior officer. Xenophon had hidden himself imperceptibly out of sight somewhere in the surrounding woods, and was most likely debating which of them he would have to kill first. Tartarus, on the other hand, remained behind at what amounted to their camp and broke into boisterous hymns in praise of the Dark gods, waving his scepter about at anyone or anything that happened to be at hand. This included, depending on the fervor of his ejaculations, local fauna that got too close, assorted flowers and brightly colored vines, and once or twice, a large rock.

It was, perhaps, a personal intervention by the Master of Fate, intended to humor his grandiose praises, that any of the local Tau and Eldar farmers and woodsmen did not find signs of their presence.

 

Xenophon had been watching Vlad watch one of those farmers for the past three hours. Or, more precisely, watching Vlad stand motionless in the shadows near the edge of the fields. He knew what the Night Lord was up to. He was waiting for the right moment to strike, the perfect time when a lightning-spitting, shrieking horror could descend from the darkness of their nightmares and lay waste to all they held dear. The perfect time, when their happiness had swelled to its perfect ripeness and was fit to burst like a juicy grape. Then was the moment he would choose to drink deep of their suffering. The Alpha Legionnaire felt no horror at this, yet neither was there any approval in his mind. He knew Vlad had no idea he was being watched. His armor, with its special light-refractive field, concealed him perfectly if he remained deathly still. Like his brethren, his wargear could be placed on standby, rendering any sensor readings of his energy output as inscrutable static. Even a psyker would have difficulty spotting his mind against the backdrop of local wildlife, for he had undergone extensive training to conceal his thoughts in such a way that they became almost like that of a primitve hunter, focused solely on retaining information and noticing movement.

He watched, for he needed to ensure that these farmers stayed alive. He had use for them. If that meant that Vlad died, then Vlad would die. It would be an unfortunate waste, but a sacrifice of necessity nonetheless.

[deathspectersgt7]

 That was a good read plus got a good chuckle out of it .

[Andurin Marvak]

Tartarus stopped singing for a moment. The sounds of welding and hammering had abruptly stopped. He glanced over his shoulder at the entrance to the bunker, noting with displeasure, and not for the first time, that it lacked symbols of obeisance to the Dark gods. Perhaps later he could find some means of painting them on when Rourke wasn't looking. As for now, he was likely to be ordered about very soon. His superior had apparently snapped out of his funk and decided to actually do something “useful”. The sound of heavy footfalls and the glint of silvery metal at the entryway confirmed his disheartening prognostication. Khorne roared in his ears for him to just kill the faithless heathen and be done with it. Tzeentch agreed, but suggested that it be done when the fool had his back turned, and that it should be blamed on Xenophon.
Slaanesh suggested making him into a giant fleshy string puppet afterwards. Nurgle just made some sort of inscrutable, sloppy noise.

 

As usual, Tartarus was too busy listening to denizens of the Warp to hear what Rourke had just told him to do. He repeated the command. Again, no response, just that vacant expression. Grumbling all the while, the Iron Warrior tried various means of getting his subordinate’s attention, to no avail. In the end he roughly shoved the astartes into the glorious fortress of his own design, and decided to do what needed to be done himself.

 

Which meant trying to find the rest of his squad alone and unaided.

 

Which meant trying to find Xenophon alone and unaided. Of all the tasks to fall in his lap…

 

Oh well, there was nothing for it. Besides, he had a feeling he could find Vlad easily enough. And then he could help. All Rourke had to do was follow the screams and maniacal laughter. He chuckled grimly at his own unspoken joke and did the next best thing. His in-suit scanners would provide him all the information he
needed. While they were powering up, he decided to run a diagnostic and make sure everything was in working order. He loved running diagnostics almost as much as he loved building things. Watching all those little green lights flicker on as his impeccable handiwork let him know it was working perfectly….the
only thing better was destroying someone else’s handiwork with his own flawlessly functioning, deliciously heretekal technology.

 

“Forceshields, online, 100% functionality….Power Armor servos, online, 100% functionality…Self-repair functions, online, 100% functionality….Flux Capacitor, online, 100% functionality…..Rerouting Systems, online, 100% functionality….” he murmured to himself, his expression as smug as any overweight feline’s. “Hand Weapon Systems, online, riot control mode, 100% functionality, anti-armor mode, 100% functionality, anti-personnel mode, 100% functionality, sniper mode, 100% functionality, boarding action mode, 99%
functionality, artillery mode, 100% functionality, overcharged mode, 100% functionali….wait…99%!? WHAAAAAT!?” he hissed, subconsciously glancing around to see if anyone would notice a hitch in his system, despite the information being displayed only on his personal HUD.

 

So much for seeking out the rest of his squad, at least for the next ten minutes or so. This gross error had to be rectified!

[deathspectersgt7]

[Sanguine_Knight]

hehehe... Flux Capacitor 100%