To Plunder The Stars Themselves, Episode III

[Machine God]

Draak took a measured step back.

 

"Thank you for the warning Ilith'ar'dryan caster of runes, honoured follower of the Dawn. It is a sad tale of woe for you, but a time of adaption and change for us!" said Draak. "You are the guide from the beginning and we are the ones who shall take the prize, forewarned and forearmed with knowledge that you have passed on to us!"

 

"Your prophecy is a riddle the end and the beginning. The body of your Imperator torn nearly in two, a bloody wound, the death of countless billions of your kind. Could be the near fatal wounding of The Emperor by Horus the Accursed! The Emperor kept alive on the Golden Throne of Terra by Darkly Ancient Technologies and the Will of the Omnissiah!"

 

"Or the Imperator could possibly be The Imperium of Man torn into two by another civil war as armies flock to the banner of a Usurper!"

 

"Captain Ackard, make for the Mandeville Point best speed! The Taka'Yoake will get out of our way. We have a prize to capture. For the Iron Gods!

 

 

Edited December 17, 2022 by Machine God
Tidy up

[A.T.]

As the transmission ends Odysseus looks towards Draak, "they speak not of the Emperor, for none can see his path." He pauses as if to say something more, but then shrugs and turns to leave the bridge.

 

The tides of the warp were calmer here in the materium, perhaps time enough to discover the source of the recent distubance.

Edited May 10, 2022 by A.T.

[Mazer Rackham]

It appeared Talek Varn and his Pirate Band were fated for...something.  Or being set up for it at least.  The Farseer of the Dawn Falcons flapped his wings and sang his pretty song, and whilst hitting all the right notes, he conveyed absolutely no meaning.

 

An opportunity for the Eldar, something with weight, something with inexorable gravity pulled through the skeins of understanding.  Orphiel suspected the Farseer was scared.  He wouldn't show it - not to the Mon-Keigh, despite his window dressing of honour, of glory, of this sleeve of humility.  Degier would have been rapt, the unnamed calamity, the unnamed sequence of events laid out by the Eldar Runes playing into mantle of doom he wore about his furrowed brows.

 

And yet.

 

The Astartes knew no fear.  Not death, not extinction, and whilst the Dark Cousins in their Calibanite oubliettes had the horror of shame, the Angels of Allhallow had expunged that gnawing doubt long ago. No, this was an Eldar glove across the ceramite gauntlet of his own sleight of hand.  Who knew how hard the battle would be?  How long it would take?  It would buy time; the most precious commodity - even before silence, because time silenced all, even the deepest painful truth, the worst comforting lie.

 

Patience was a virtue, and the bargain with Varn held.  Whatever was to come, if Orphiel were to survive it, would provide ample opportunity to get closer to the secrets of the Iron Gods:

 

Or erase the whisper of the First Legion's shame from their lips.

 

Mors Vel Silentium.

[Lysimachus]

Ilith'ar'dryan speaks a few final words.

 

"I will detain you no longer, for your task is too important to delay. You will find your goal in the next star system. It is vital that you succeed. The future is… bleak… but you are not without allies."

 

Without warning, the image of the Aeldari psyker vanishes. There is no sound, no flash of light or puff of ethereal energy. He is simply gone. Seconds later, the xenos ship begins to shimmer and fade. After a moment, it too is gone as if it had never been there.

 

***

 

As you cross over the southern boundary into Lang's final system less than twenty-four hours later, Achard immediately orders his augur team to begin searching. After several long minutes, one of the officers responds.

 

"We have an object on our starboard side, sir. Orbiting way out on the eastern system border, inclined twenty-three degrees above the horizontal plain. Large, metallic, no power signature. It could be our target... or just an asteroid."

 

Odysseus: The strange not-buzzing has not disappeared along with the Eldar, leaving you with two possibilities: either the xenos have not really left… or the warp-noise is not being caused by them at all?

 

***

[Beren]

It was a barrier, one which he sat atop of. Below his feet, through them, the sounds and motions of the ship. He could feel the vibrations of the straining engines, of the raging reactor, of the colossal mecahnisms that made the ship batter its wat through the void. Atop him however... silence. The profound, empty, silence of the void, swallowing everything. Somewhere out there, a ship of the Eldar Reavers sat. Watching? Waiting? He'd taken to the hull more often of late, asking the void to swallow his seething irritation at the course of events during the Dagger's boarding. No blood upon his weapons, no blood given to its hunger. He could feel it bleeding off of him, drifting away into the darknes (darkness, or inescapable light?). Then, word of the Eldar vessel. He's had to stay. Had to try and catch a glimpse of it with his own eyes.

 

Impossible of course. Too far. Far too far, and still he stood, mag-locked to the Dagger's hull, gazing at the distant point where a graceful hunter ought to sit. 

 

Beneath him, he felt a change. A change in the noise, in the grumble of the hull and it's engines. Course change, or speed, or both. SOmething deeper within him told hm the Eldar vessel was gone.

 

With a click, he patched himself back int the squad-vox network.

 

+++Apologies for the absence. I miss anything?+++

 

 

-------------

 

 

"We have an object on our starboard side, sir. Orbiting way out on the eastern system border, inclined twenty-three degrees above the horizontal plain. Large, metallic, no power signature. It could be our target... or just an asteroid."

 

Svelk had not left the bridge since they entered the system. Just silently looming, ignoring the odd glance of discomfort from members of the bridge crew. His mind had been wrestling with what the others had told him of the Eldar's words. Not that any of them had put it in quite the same way.

 

Children of the void, supporting Varn's arrogant quest for glory? Could the Pride of Kings really be what it seemed? A trophy? A sign of the voids favour given to Tarek Varn, or whever could first grant it?

 

For a rare moment, Svelk shifted in his armour, uncomfortable.

 

Patience. It has nothing but time.

[Lysimachus]

It takes several hours to skirt the empty system and find the contact out in the darkness on the very edge of the star's gravity. As you move closer and closer, the object slowly becomes visible, first via scans and then directly through the Bridge viewers.

 

It is no asteroid. There can be no doubt that you have found Vespucci's treasure, for this can only be the Pride of Kings.

 

The ancient ship is a behemoth, dwarfing the Dagger Thrust. It is easily ten times longer than the one and a half kilometre Sword-class, as well as being several times wider and deeper. A conservative estimate would place its overall tonnage at eighty, perhaps even one hundred times the mass of your escort. As Lang said, it is slightly larger than even the largest battleships commonly used by the Imperial Navy.

 

The ship is essentially a long, flat cuboid, twice as wide as it is deep, but engines, sensorium towers and numerous defensive batteries break up this basic shape. There is none of the grand statuary or filigree that typically adorns the capital vessels of the Imperium. Much of its design seems reminiscent of the ships of the Adeptus Mechanicus, but there are also hints that may recall to your minds the craft of your former Chapters. Heavy rectangular plates are mounted against its flanks, a pair to the aft protecting the engines and reactor, and another pair on either side of the blunt prow. No sigils or markings proclaim loyalty to any faction, Imperial or otherwise. In fact, no paint of any kind covers the dark plasteel and adamantium of its construction. However, it is shaded a deep, ominous crimson by the weak light that reaches you from the red dwarf star.

 

The Pride is unlit by any internal source, showing neither navigation lumens nor any other sign of occupation. Your augurs show no heat or radiation from the reactor core. The vessel does not scan the Dagger in return and none of the defence turrets move to track your heading. Attempts to hail it or connect remotely with its systems are unsuccessful. It appears in all respects to be dead in the void.

 

 

 

 

Lang looks smugly around the Bridge and speaks just loudly enough to be heard but directed at no one in particular.

 

"Told you."

 

***

[A.T.]

Odysseus stalked the corridors, berift of his power armour having shed all distractions. The echo that had followed them through the warp could be many things but each passing hour narrowed the probabilities. Lang seemed the obvious choice, the hand of the inquisition upon him, but no-one amongst the Iron Gods could be discounted.

 

His destination was the gellar chamber deep within the ship, psykers condemned to dream of the materium yet never again wake to see it. They could give him no answers but any who would seek this vessel was an outsider to that dream, a flicker of the warp that did not belong in realspace.

 

Silently he stood observing the life-readings, waiting for another echo.

[Mazer Rackham]

A ship the size of a Battlebarge, with room to spare over, a blank slate without embellishment to the Machine God, or any servant of the Throne or Darkling Oath.

 

He waited for the order to arm, his eyes tracking the monstrous hull even as the hololithic representation decorating the bridge slowly twisted above the projection disk.  Disquiet haunted his thoughts, foreign uncertainty smocked his brow.

 

This was a ship in form, certainly, but he couldn't shake the feeling it was a tomb in function.

 

Some things were best left to the void.

[Machine God]

The Pride of Kings...

 

How old was this warship? No identifying marks? Even 'Great Crusade Era' Ships marked themselves, so he had read. 

 

Glory to be heaped upon the Clan, Chapter, Legion. No old dogma, for the Iron Gods!

 

"Captain Ackard, transmit back to the Iron Gods that we have located the Pride of Kings and its spatial coordinates!" said Draak. "Lieutenant Lang, congratulations on your find. If you could just remember where your old craft docked we might board. Do you think you could do that?"

[Beren]

Svelk ignores the mortal's snide remaird. Pressing forwards to loom over the display. So then, it was true. An ancient hulk, equal to any to depart the shipyards of the Ring. Once a bastion of humanities prowess and might, fored in defienace of the voids hunger.

 

Claime still by the void, as is all else in time. At what is claimed is never truly relenquished.

 

The question was, what was it to Tarek Varn? Offered gift or baited snare.

 

What role would Svelk play in what happened next.

[Lysimachus]

The Dagger Thrust circles to the north around the stern of the larger ship, then manoeuvres in tight, anchoring itself against the port flank, at the same point where Lang says the Trailblazer docked. A flexible boarding tube extends and connects with a heavy clunk. Closer examination of one of the exterior airlocks reveals that someone has already broken their way through it on a previous occasion. There are deep scratches around the control panel and along the line where the two halves of the hatch meet. Lang's crewmates, but perhaps it is even possible that Vespucci and his men also entered this way, several millennia earlier? The damage certainly makes it easier for your breachers to penetrate the hull.

 

Inside it is pitch black, far darker than the starlit void beyond. Your armour registers that there is atmospheric pressure, but the air is so ancient that it has become unbreathable, toxic. Nor is there currently any artificial gravity to hold you against the deck. Magboots will be required.

 

Crewmen in bulky void-gear move ponderously around you and set up a simple staging ground of spot-lumens glaring out into the darkness. These reveal a vast buttressed chamber that extends for two hundred metres in each direction, a huge area but a tiny fraction of the massive ship. It is filled as far as the light reaches with stacked rows of STC-pattern munitorum containers. Across the sides, all manner of cargo information is stenciled; consignment numbers, weight marks, and included among them the name of the receiving vessel, the Pride of Kings.

 

A handful of the closest have been forced open, displaying stocks of Astartes-grade weapons and munitions. Cases of boltguns, Umbra-pattern, oiled and racked in neat rows. More crates, with stencils indicating that they hold bolt shells by the thousand. One has been opened and a few loose rounds that have escaped their packaging float around the container, unconstrained by gravity.

 

Achard and Holger, wearing custom void-gear far superior to that of the crew, have joined the boarding party. Lang is also there, against his will. His suit is borrowed, of no better grade than any of the lowest Ratings. The Captain looks around the massive chamber and lets out a long, low whistle of approval over the vox.

 

"Astartes, even if this were all there was, it would still be a treasure beyond comparison! Congratulations." Then his voice returns to its usual businesslike tone. "Now, how do you want to proceed?"

 

 

Odysseus: Your time with the unfortunate denizens of the Geller Chamber has allowed you to better focus your mind on the strange warp interference. Now, oddly, as you stand re-armoured in the Pride's cargo hold with the rest of the Kill-Team, watching as Achard's crewmen set up their beachhead of blazing light, the echoing buzz seems louder than ever before? Even more weirdly, it seems to be coming from one of the bosuns, waxing and waning as the crew chief moves nearer or further away from you?

 

Edit: Any of you might recognise this bosun as the commander of the squad that aided you in cleansing the Dagger's Engineerium.

 

***

Edited May 15, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

+Odysseus why are you watching the crewmen, is there something wrong?+ enquired Draak.

[Mazer Rackham]

Orphiel turned his head from the stockpile of arms and equipment to roll down and stow his cowl, although he did so reluctantly; the lack of gravity necessitated it.  He was interested in the Umbra pattern weapons and ancient ammunition aboard a conveyor, undecorated and unmarked.  A feeling of connecting with something distant, beyond that of ten-thousand years of torn and tattered human history.

 

This was a myth given form, and unsettling in size and scale - almost beyond that of a mortal mind to comprehend.  he wondered sometimes if that was why humans stared at Titans as they stomped ever closer - the Mechanicum might decry it as awe for the purity of the Omnissiah, but Orphiel suspected it was the sheer, mind-blowing scope of a thing with a small hive built on its shoulders.

 

He could feel that sense of displacement now, dogging the edges of his thoughts, threatened by the ominous, endless darkness of the compartment beyond.  A darkness so whole, the autosenses in his faceplate rendered any advantage moot, forcing his senses to try and perceive the space.  Orphiel imagined floating in the lake by the village, the glimmering dapple of sunlight his only guide to which way was up.  here, there wasn't even that.  It would be so easy to lose bearings, to panic.  At least if mortal.

 

An Occulobe, Lyman's Ear and two-hundred kilograms of Mk IV warplate would prevent that.

 

The Ironclad threw a question to Odysseus, and Orphiel's eye followed the exchange.  Certainly, the witch was preoccupied, but such men were a strange kin at best.  Maybe he was feeling the aura of the Pride more keenly than the Marines around him.  Who could guess?

 

He checked his weapons and equipment, grasping the Siege Auspex in one hand, and keeping the other near Argo.  He depressed the lever on the side of the device, and a small set of probes extended, one unfolding into a small augur array, a metallic upside-down fungoid.

 

The screen illuminated in soothing blue, the relays connecting with sensoria in his helm.  He could hear the pings and ciphers of the machine, making sense of them with cues from his visor.  All was functional. He stood loosely, exloading his readiness condition to the squad noospheric interface.

[A.T.]

"This is no place for the humans, they slow our progress". If one the crew was suspect then communications were also unreliable.

 

Astartes battle signs were limited for this use, but would suffice, "we are tracked, witchcraft, human, east, third of six"

[Necronaut]

Vesalius could scarcely believe his eyes: the sheer magnitude of the crimson-tinted hulk defied reason; its majesty caused one to neglect to draw breath. This was no ordinary ship of the line, this was an Imperial battleship, the grandest of the grand. To his eye, it dwarfed even the twin battle-barges that made up the core of his parent chapter's purgation fleet. How something this gargantuan could have remained so apparently hidden and unmolested for so long…

 

Let us not precede ourselves…

 

He recalled Lang's tale of the discovery of the derelict capital ship, of the easily-secured lucre, and of the two lost boarding parties. Something yet dwelled upon the ghost ship, standing watch over its mighty tomb.

 

Ghost ship, indeed!

 

The apothecary snorted at his brief flight of fancy. Such superstition was the province of pirates and warp-seers, and was beneath one such as him. He was a man of reason, after all, one who lived in a world of verifiable outcomes, of axiomatic governing laws, of cause and effect. He acknowledged the heinous existence of the Primordial Truth and its horrible implications, but everything he had ever encountered in this wretched galaxy bled and therefore could be slain.

 

The Pride of Kings was no myth, in any event. There was no escaping the inevitability of steel and ceramite. He looked sidelong at Lang and his insufferable snugness. They would soon know the full extent of Lang's claims. And his lies.

 

+++

 

Dagger Thrust's umbilical snaked out across the inky black gulf between the two ships like a parasitic growth, latching onto its new host with a dull thud that reverberated through the smaller ship's hold. The walk between the two vessels took only a few minutes, and soon they emerged into utter darkness. The spotlight mounted on his backpack lit up the cargo hold, casting eerie shadows across its vastness. Ammunition crates, dozens of them, and racks upon racks of pristine bolters.

 

He gazed around the cavernous chamber, somewhat bewildered by the obscene bounty of military hardware ripe for the taking. He found himself reaching for an errant bolt shell floating aimlessly across the room when vox chatter amongst the rest of the boarding party caught his attention. He turned to look back at his allies, while turning the shell over in his hand. He had encountered all manner of strange occurrences in his time alive, but this was the peak so far.

 

Odysseus's hands flashed standard Astartes battle signs while he rebuffed Draak over the vox. Without moving his helm, Vesalius picked out the crewman in question and mag-locked his bolder to his leg-plate while easing Lancet out of its scabbard on a whisper.

 

+Agreed. Let us see to securing the Pride. Something yet haunts these halls if the good lieutenant is to be believed.+

 

One-handed, he responded to Odysseus's warning while he spoke, "I have sights on him; prepared to take him. Who tracked us?"

 

His leg muscles tensed and his vision narrowed as he prepared to release the magnetic soles in his boots and send himself hurtling across the hold toward the doomed bosun.

Edited May 16, 2022 by Necronaut

[Machine God]

"This no place for the humans, they slow our progress" said Odysseus over the vox.

 

Draak noticed the psyker using his hands to throw battle cant "We are hunted, target base of lone tree, sniper!"

 

Trees, we're in a starship? thought Draak. Still something wasn't right.

 

Draak ignored a feedback whine from Eisen, he blink-clicked a overlay to his HUD. ~It must be from that accursed book~

 

Playing back the footage of Odysseus' battle cant using a codex filter gave "We are tracked, witchcraft, human, east, third of six."

 

Alerted by Odysseus' battle cant Draak studied the Dagger crewmen, the Bosun from the Engineerium.

Draak moved steadily towards him...

 

 

Edited December 17, 2022 by Machine God

[Lysimachus]

The word is given and Cutlass moves with Astartes speed and precision, isolating and bracketing the crew chief in the blink of an eye. The bosun, when he realises what is happening, cringes back and freezes in confusion and fear. He seems nothing out of the ordinary; a dirty thug, somewhere between gang boss and squad sergeant. Searching him reveals little… until you remove his sidearm from its holster.

 

The laspistol is an impressive piece, totally incongruous for a lowly crew chief. Matte black, with a hotshot power pack, reinforced barrel and built-in red dot sight. Beautiful and deadly. There are no markings on it, except on the grip where a long, thin badge of some sort appears to have been crudely scratched off.

 

 

Odysseus: As you take the weapon in your hand, the buzzing increases. The gun actually seems to vibrate very faintly, as does something fixed to your vambrace.

 

***

[Mazer Rackham]

Will move/alter this to accomodate AT's reply.

 

Orphiel did not understand the situation at anything other than face value.  The incongruity was striking.  The man was genuinely confused by his own weapon, although he'd never seen it before.  Suspicion laid a cold hand around the lower warmth of his guts.

 

His free hand flickered in Astartes Battle Sign.

 

/Apothecary/Sedative/Target/

 

He added emphasis by snapping his hand shut into a fist.

 

/NOW/

[Necronaut]

Vesalius nodded once to Orphiel and keyed the command runes for a strong tranquilizer into his narthecium. He clamped down on the poor man's shoulder with an iron grip and calmly slid the needle of his gauntlet's injector home into the human's neck. With a pneumatic hiss, the chemical cocktail was discharged into the crewman's blood-stream and a few moments later he was as limp as a fresh corpse.

Sleep and live for now, you fool.

 

As he squatted over the incapacitated human, he looked quizzically up at the rest of the squad and cocked his helm at a slight angle, giving the rest the impression of a predatory avian staring down a rival over a recent kill.

Edited May 16, 2022 by Necronaut

[A.T.]

Odysseus picked up the weapon. It was only through fortune, or perhaps ambition, that he had sensed the device at all. Though if one amongst the Iron Gods had planted it they would no doubt have other eyes.

/Tracker/Observasion Suspected/

 

He paused a moment.

/Objective Time Critical/

 

Whatever information the bosun would give, time was not a luxury they could be sure of.

[Lysimachus]

Achard has missed some of what has happened, cut out of the loop by both your private language and the blinding speed with which you have acted.

 

"What is the meaning of this?"

 

He looks down at the fallen bosun, then at the errant hellpistol and then finally up at the bosun's squad.

 

"Where did that come from?"

 

The closest Rating responds, fear making his words race and tumble.

 

"We tol' 'im, Cap! We tol' 'im the Gods said not t' keep anyfin' them Impies 'ad brought aboard. But 'e saw that pistol layin' on the deck an' said 'e 'ad ta 'ave it! I dunno what came over 'im, 'onest! Like 'e was 'alf asleep! Then once 'eed got it, 'e seemed t' forget 'eed taken it! But it din' seem t' do any 'arm… spoils of vic'try, like...? An' 'ees the boss, sir! What was we gonna say t' 'im?"

 

Captain Achard replies with an angry curse and gives the recumbent form on the deck a vicious kick.

 

"The damn idiot! Pick him up and put him in the brig for now, I'll deal with him - and all of you - later!"

 

He looks more closely at the weapon.

 

"What did he allow to stay aboard my ship?"

 

Odysseus: As the Captain chastises his crew, it takes you a matter of seconds to field strip the looted Scion pistol in order to find the source of the noise. As the pieces of the weapon come apart, a tiny ball of dark metal only a few millimetres in diameter floats free into zero-g. The buzzing grows louder still, loud enough to be heard by others as an actual noise.

 

A Locus Caller. Part of a matched set, just like the Seeker and Caller fixed on your armour. The means by which these arcane trackers work is poorly understood, and they are so unusual that the effect of putting unmatched pairs in close proximity has rarely - perhaps never - been observed. But it seems clear that these two sets at least do not sit well together, causing the psionic feedback you have been hearing. However, even as you explain these things to Achard and your squad mates, there is a far more important consideration than scientific experimentation. Where is the Locus Seeker that is paired with this newly uncovered Caller?

 

***

[Mazer Rackham]

"But it din' seem t' do any 'arm… spoils of vic'try, like...? An' 'ees the boss, sir! What was we gonna say t' 'im?"

 

Ah yes, whoever was on the other end of this puzzle was clever.  He expolited the weak.  The fact the weapon was fit only for human hands meant the Marines would overlook it - but the humans...the fallible, greedy humans...

 

They knew the kith and kin of the Iron Gods well.  Pirates, thieves.  Orphiel could guess the Bosun's motivation.

 

Just a small thing, why throw it away?  It's in good order, no-one will miss it.  Them's the perks ain't they?  And why shouldn't I?  I'm in charge! Thankless job this...

 

How many times had he heard it?  He refrained from shaking his head.

 

He observed the recumbent deck hand.  Orphiel didn't mention anything to Vesalius, or anyone else as to his reason for the order.  The mention of the man being in a daze could have suggested many....problematic causes, from drug use to implanted directives.  The sedation was the best way, preserving the subject for interrogation - and if the man was merely stupid as opposed to guilty, Captain Achard couldn't complain they had murdered one of his crew without attempting alternatives.

 

He wondered how much the distraction had cost them.

[Machine God]

INT 44. Result: 31, Pass 1DoS

 

Draak recalled from his tech background what the miniscule buzzing device was, he picked a small piece of candle wax from a belt pouch.

 

"A Locus Caller that is paired to a Locus Seeker. These devices have ranges of Galactic Sectors! This was why I instructed for the remains to be spaced. Odysseus, may I?"

 

Draak grabbed the Locus Caller with his hand and crushed a piece of wax to it, he then pressed the Caller onto the decking plate.

 

WS 48 - 30 (Miniscule) = 18. Result: 02, Pass 1DoS.

2D10 +5 +14 Pen 9, Power Field (75% chance to destroy something that doesn't have the Power Field quality)

2 + 7 + 5 + 14 = 28

 

Quickly Draak swung Grond and flattened the Caller into the decking plate, as the Thunder Hammer impacted the Caller there was a flash as if from a lightning strike.

 

"That ought to do it!" said Draak.

Edited May 16, 2022 by Machine God

[Necronaut]

The tiny metal orb floated damningly before the librarian. He had to squint to see it clearly, even through his helm’s advanced augur system, but once he was able to focus on the device, he understood its purpose, and his eyes widened. Vesalius let out a resigned and heavy sigh and rose to his feet, his mind working furiously to devise a plan to account for this new variable.

 

And then Draak’s thunder-hammer came down on the locus seeker with a thunderous crash, leaving a great dent in the deck plate.

 

+What a pity. We could have sent the Inquisition on a merry chase with that in hand. Now they know we found the tracker. Hopefully the good Inquisitor is not far behind with his private fleet, hm?+

 

He shrugged and turned away from the rest of the kill-team, drawing and arming his bolter while watching the shadows cast by his backpack spotlight dance against the distant walls.

 

+There is only the task at hand now. Let us hope Talek Varn's fleet is en route.+

[Lysimachus]

Achard nods.

 

"Indeed it should, Sergeant. As long as they're still a long way away. But if they're close behind us, if they've already zeroed in on this system…"

 

Then the Captain growls in frustrated realisation as Vesalius speaks.

 

"You're right. It's bloody Von Lombart again, isn't it? It has to be! His Stormtroopers, his pistol... he'll be coming. I've already had our Astropath transmit a message towards Elysium, but now it will be a damn race to see who gets here first! Astartes, with your agreement, I'm going to leave a skeleton crew aboard the Dagger and bring as many men over here as I can. We need to get this ship in as defensible a position as possible and that means seeing if we can find a way to get any of her systems fired up. May I suggest you take Mister Holger and try to find the Bridge?"

 

***

Edited May 16, 2022 by Lysimachus