POV: Lady Arianwyn Drakios The transition was near instantaneous as they exited the Webway. Arianwyn stood on the bridge of the Argent Drake next to her grandfather's command throne as they passed through the massive shimmering portal of the Eldar gateway. The Farseer's vessel, the Starlight's Ghost, was dead ahead, and took up the majority of the forward viewport, it maneuvered gracefully upward, positioning itself directly above the massive gateway as their fleet pushed forward, the rippling surface of the Webway portal faded. Arianwyn gasped sharply. She had heard Nicole's description of the system, all the command staff and a good portion of the crews had, but the sight before her left her breathless. An oppressive silence fell across the bridge as everyone gazed out. In the far distance was the Turbulent Star.. Pitch black yet somehow it radiated a chilling light that filled everyone with a deep-seated sense of dread. From this far out, it almost looked like a gas giant with a massive ring around it. That illusion was swiftly shattered as the Deep Void Auspex returns came in. A layer of jagged, creeping frost creeps across every single one of the external viewports across the entire fleet. Arianwyn felt goosebumps form on her arms as the air briefly chilled before the temperature control systems of the Argent Drake forced it back with a deep growl. The silence was broken as the vox channels suddenly came to life. A low, burbling static hissed out even as the operators flinched and worked to quiet it, but not before everyone got a brief listen into the static laced with half-heard whispers as it filled the bridge. Her grandfather spoke, his sturdy voice broadcasting to the entire fleet. "Welcome, everyone, to the Processional of the Damned. Keep in loose formation as we make our way through the fragmented cloud. I'll be sending out a message for the locals shortly. Let's get to work." He looked over and smiled at Arianwyn as the ships oriented themselves and their engines flared. "This may be a prime candidate for one of the most unsettling systems I have ever visited." ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel[f]ire.net "Indeed. It is a rather ominous phenomenon." Archmagos Doll said from across the bridge as he studied the readouts with a critical eye. Arianwyn gave her grandfather an incredulous look before she shook her head, but the joke made her feel a bit better. "That is certainly the case for me, grandfather." A few minutes later, they sailed past a massive twisted hunk of warped metal and rock that was utterly unrecognizable. It could have been a ship, a chunk of a space station, or something more obscure, but now it was nothing but twisted remains. "Broadcasting on all channels. I am told you locals call yourselves 'the Carrion'. This is Rogue Trader Arken Drakios of the Drakios Dynasty. My fleet and I have come to this Emperor-forsaken system to conduct a recovery mission on behalf of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Any interference or hostile actions directed towards our vessels will be met with overwhelming force. Stay out of our way. Or don't, I am sure the Astartes would welcome the entertainment. We will be establishing a forward operating base at the edge of the outer sea of space hulks. Further instructions for individuals seeking an audience with us for any purpose will be announced at that time. Drakios out." The main door to the bridge hissed open behind Arianwyn, she glanced back as Nicole gracefully walked in. The Princeps looked oddly frustrated as she rubbed at the back of her hand, her little familiar perched on her shoulder as she walked right up to the main hologram display before highlighting two spots. A flat, barren asteroid in one, and the other was a small pocket with minimal debris. "Either of these locations should suffice for our initial staging grounds. We'll launch all probes once we reach the outer sea. The Void Abacai are unfortunately small on the voidship scale. On average, they only weigh around sixty-five kilograms, but they'll always be integrated with the ship's auspex systems and have a fairly unique energy profile - and we can ignore any non-Imperial vessels. That small size does mean we can and should attempt to procure as many as we reasonably can." Arianwyn personally had a hard time imagining something the size and weight of a small trunk managing to aid them with warp navigation. Still, the archeotech genius of their ancestors was not for her to question. Given how fussy most of the Navis Nobilite was when it came to confiscating such devices, they must work quite well. Lady Lilly was not one of them and had told them outright when the idea was first discussed that any navigational aids they could provide to make up for the lack of the Astronomicon would be welcome. She and her team of Navigators were not eager to chart half-blind jumps. As the fleet pushed further into the system, Arianwyn paid close attention to the auspex returns. The graveyard of vessels was so dense that even the Argent Drake's impressive archeotech sensors could only reach into the outer sea. At least the Drake had the fidelity to pick out individual vessels. The Gilded Scales reported their auspex seemed to think it was a solid mass, and their Enginseer Prime was attempting to rectify the issue. "There is a small amount of orbital rotation. We can approach the boundary layer for the outer sea, moving against the rotation as we deploy the first wave of probes. I'll take my shuttle further in to do some preliminary scouting and to commune with the machine spirits," Nicole spoke softly. "Would you like an escort?" Her grandfather asked. "Gold squadron can come if they feel inclined to do so, and they have the prerequisite skills to navigate the graveyard. This area will be fraught with debris and I do not intend to be out long. If this mission was not time-sensitive, I might not bother. None of the other flights should stray outside visual contact from the ship." She spoke without looking away from the map. "Captain! We have suspicious movement at the edge of our sensors. Looks like a Raider on silent running." The operator announced, drawing the attention of the entire bridge. —------------------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Carrion Outcast Randolph Cross, inside the remains of Watch Station L-996 Randolph sat slouched in the command throne of what little remained of Watch Station L-996. Whatever fate had befallen its crew, the upper ring and central command cabin had endured. For years now, the station had been their home - a patched-together mess made from scrap and scavenged parts in a way that would give any proper Tech Priest a conniption. Yet it held. They had mostly clean air, working heat, a semi-functional hydroponics farm, and, best of all, the W-240 Passive Detection Arrays were one of the finest auspex suites Randolph had ever laid eyes on. "Did you hear that transmission?" one of his men asked, with an uneasy tone. "The whole system heard it," Randolph replied. He leaned forward, drumming his fingers against the cracked armrest of his command throne. "Does anyone recognize the name? Drakios?" "I think I've heard it before," one of the older hands muttered, stroking his beard. "Strong ties to the Lathes, if memory serves." "Do they truly have Astartes with them?" another asked nervously while making the sign of the Aquila. "They've got four hulls," the Auspex operator cut in. "An Isolde-class clipper, a Firestorm-class frigate, a Mechanicus factory ship - looks like a Goliath and…" He squinted at the flickering screen. "What the frak? The system can't pin it down. Either that's the biggest Repulsive Grand Cruiser I've ever seen, or the smallest Arc Mechanicus… maybe even a battleship." Randolph gave a low whistle. His eyes traced the vector lines across the display. "They're angling toward the outer sea? That's Ravage's hunting ground. He won't like that. Any sign of the Hollow Men?" "Not yet. Last reports had them prowling the far side. But after that transmission? I'd wager they'll be drawn in soon enough." The operator tapped the console when the display began to glitch. "There! Ravage's wolfpack is already shifting toward them. The fleet's launching probes, too. Dozens of them." "They just launched something fast," another voice shouted. "Emperor's bones, look at it go, it's nearly outrunning their fighters! Heading into the sea of hulks! What is that?" "Forget that," Randolph snapped. His gaze locked on a different section of the readout. "One of Ravage's raiders just gutted three of the drones that strayed too close." The cabin fell silent. Then the Vox crackled, cold and deliberate: "It would seem my earlier warning has been ignored. Any interference or hostile actions directed toward our vessels will be met with overwhelming force. Was I not clear? Allow me to rectify that." On the Auspex display, the Argent Drake's lance turrets swung into position, and targeted the offending Raider. The smaller vessel crouched in the shadow of a rocky asteroid and a broken, rusting hulk, certain it was hidden. The blazing triple lance volley punched straight through the debris, vaporizing rock and steel alike with minimal loss of energy before skewering the Raider's broadside. Its void shield failed instantly. The burning beams didn't slow, cutting through the hull as cleanly as a trident spears through a fish. Secondary detonations rippled across the vessel, leaving it drifting and broken. "By Saint Drusus's holy wrinkled nutsack," one of the men swore. "Did you see that!?" "We all saw that," Randolph said, awed. "It's not over…" another murmured. His face paled as the Auspex lit up. "They've just launched strike craft. Emperor protect us, those are Thunderhawks." They all knew what that meant. Astartes. The crew watched in rapt silence. The Raider was boarded. Less than an hour later, the strike craft withdrew, and the doomed ship's reactor went up in a brilliant flare that briefly bathed the various wrecks around it in light. Randolph exhaled, leaning back into the cracked throne. "I believe the Lord Trader made his point," on the display Ravage's remaining ships were already in full retreat. He steepled his fingers, thinking. "We don't know what they're here for, but they're after something. Once we get the chance, I say we make contact." One of his men gawked. "What? Why in the Throne's name would we do that?" "Because we missed our chance last time," Randolph's voice dropped to a whisper. "And they may be the only shot we ever have to get out of this cursed graveyard." —--------------------------------------------------------- The Argent Drake, despite being the largest ship in the fleet, had the easiest time. With her ancient and possibly Xenotech Grav Repulsors at full power, the Argent Drake pushes through debris and asteroids with the ease of a shark scattering a school of fish. Acting as the fleet's primary path clearer while the Adamant Hammer, which sports a Repulsor Shield to aid them with avoiding debris, acts as the secondary. While the two nimbler vessels followed in their wakes. Not that the debris bothers me from the cockpit of The Comet of Antiquity. Gold Squadron is having a blast keeping pace with me as we delve deep into the outer sea of hulks. Every five to ten VUs, I release a pair of the servitor probes from the cargo hold. My initial estimate of how many probes I would want seems to have been underestimating the sheer breadth and occupied space of the Procession. After the hold is empty of the sixty I brought with me, I pick a good spot for what's next. I ease off the acceleration and let the next few maneuvers bleed off speed. "Alright, Gold Squadron, I've launched my payload. I'm going to park on the prow of that ruined battleship. I'm not getting energy or life signs, but keep an eye out. This ritual is going to take a while." "Copy that, Platinum Leader. We've got you," Ace replies as the fighters set up a perimeter and enter a holding pattern. Smug little shit thinks he's clever for coming up with that call sign for me. The problem is, I do like it, so I generously allow him this minor victory. "Baldos, you still strapped in back there?" I call out. "You could have gone faster. The ride was too smooth," He grumbles. "Well, sorry, but this next part is going to be extra long and boring for everyone, not me. If you want, you guys can use the airlock and poke around the wreck, but the ship I parked us on is very dead." I offer as I pull out one of the votive ritual candles I was gifted and set up the ritual circle. The ritual itself takes me almost an hour to set up before I finally light the votive candle and sit in the center of the circle. My Mechanicus Icon held in one hand, I glance at the mark marring my other hand, but there is no further reaction as I chant and trigger my psyber-enhancement as I expand my senses outward into the stellar graveyard of the outer sea. "Omnissiah, hear me across the void, through rust and silence. I, Princeps Nicole Cavalerio, beseech the fallen and forgotten. O slumbering machine-spirits, I invoke the Canticles of Awakening. Respond, if function remains. Reply, if memory endures. If thy will remains unbroken and your spirit keen for service. From twisted hulls and shattered keels, from vox-coils drowned in dust. Release unto me the ghost-code of your final transmissions. Those that lie broken, please rest in peace. Your service, acknowledged. I offer these sacred binaric hymns, I give the incense of burning oils. I strike the blessed iron upon the anointed cog. Do not linger in entropy. Speak, if data may still be spoken. Reveal your pain, your death, your woes. So that I may hear them. By the Seal of Mars, by the Rite of Resonant Signal. I call you from silence to give voice. Awaken, awaken, awaken! for the Omnissiah remembers even the lost and the broken." My perception shifts, the flickering candle in front of me shrinks, and other candles appear around me. At first just a few, then dozens, and then hundreds. Each candle represents a vessel within range of the ritual. Most of them are cold, silent, melted, and broken. I reach out, seeing one smoldering and hear its final cry. I note the name and fate of the poor vessel in my logs. A Light Cruiser, her spine broken. As the ember in the candle finally extinguishes I move along from candle to candle. Hearing their stories and helping ease many into their final rest. I have no concept of how long I wander before I find two candidates. Their candles still burn low, one flickers intermittently while the other sits in a pool nearly out of wax. I kneel in, and their spirits take shape. One is a grizzled sea turtle. The other is a great manta ray. The sea turtle's breath is labored as it tells me her name. The Ark of Reclamation, a Mechanicus Salvator Ark, the cruiser-sized vessel is trapped between two asteroids, her reactor is failing, having limped on for two centuries since her crew last breathed. Her hull is broken, her shell cracked and chipped. One eye is clouded and white. The manta ray whispers her name: The Emergency Repairs III. I almost giggle, but remain respectful. She is a massive Megiron Class Forge Vessel. She complains of an infestation in her belly, her main reactor is cold, her secondary reactor is nearly out of fuel, and her Emergency Energy Reserves are dangerously low. One of her wings is torn and bent the wrong way. But her eyes are clear and keen. I get a mental impression through the spirits of their true hulls. The Ark of Reclamation follows the standard mechanicus design doctrine. While The Emergency Repairs III is anything but. The relic ship looks a lot like the USG Ishimura, just stretched out to over ten kilometers long, with additional Mechanicus aesthetics, and missing the massive towers that sat in front of the engines for hydroponics and storage. Instead, the storage was spread out along the keel and sports a single small navigator's spire. "I can only save one," I whisper to the pair. They share a glance, and an unspoken exchange occurs between the pair. After a long moment that seems to stretch, the turtle, Reclamation, turns to me and wheezes. "I go. Take my heart, and my shell. Good, old, strong. My fangs broken, no more claws." They nod towards the manta, "No sting. Know good sting. Good fangs. Good spines. Good fins." I bow my head and I feel the information as the turtle shares data with me. Their heart is a modified archeotech drive, their shell an advanced Castellan Void Shield with Overload Shield Capacitors. The fins are Xeno-tech gravity sails sitting on an old Yu'vath vessel near the edge of the outer and inner seas. The sting turns out to be a Mars-pattern Nova cannon resting on the shorn-off prow of a forgotten cruiser. The spines are a micro laser defense grid and the fangs are a set of short range Pyros Melta-cannons sitting on various wrecks. As I inload some hull information from the Emergency Repairs III, I smile ruefully fate works in mysterious ways, the Emergency Repairs III is listed as having a Void Abacus. Though if it remains functional is unknown. The turtle nods and then lies down, closing their eyes as the candle goes out. I turn to the manta and nod, "We'll come for you soon." She nods back, and I allow myself to exit the trance-state. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. I come to and glance around and hear the sound of the automated point defenses firing. I quickly stand up and walk to the cockpit and get there just in time to watch Baldos vaporize a leaping figure clad in a rotten, old exo-armour suit with a pitch black face plate with his melta. The Hollow Men have arrived. "I'm back, Baldos, and everyone outside, please return to the Comet," I call out as I get seated. "Alright. These things are boring. They don't even scream. Then they just disintegrate if I punch them too hard!" Baldos grumbles over the vox. "Gold Squadron, status?" I inquire. "All green, Platinum Leader, we've burned through a third of our ammo stores picking off these, what did you say they were called? Hollow Men? Gold Nine has a minor dent in his wing where he ran into one of them." Ace replies calmly. "Alright, well, I have good news. I have the location of our first ship for recovery and a list of secondary locations to salvage for parts. I think Master Doll is going to like it." I tell them as I sense the airlock cycling. Once everyone is accounted for, I take off, blasting one unfortunate group of Hollow Men with the lascannons on the way. As the Argent Drake comes back into view, the point defense lasers are firing. Gold Squadron peels off to get involved while I head towards the starboard hangar. The wave of Hollow Men trying to attack the Argent Drake seems to be tapering off as the waves of suits were being decimated. —-------------------------------------------------- POV: Archmagos Akellonon Doll Doll studied the data Nicole had brought back from her scouting trip. He had made predictions and attempted to anticipate the numerous outcomes and options regarding the vessels that she could potentially target for liberation. She had still managed to surprise him with this first choice. "Is it feasible?" Arken asked from across the table. "Yes." Was his instant reply. "The Megiron Class Forge Vessel is massive, longer than the Argent Drake or even a Battle Barge, however, a lot of that is storage space or empty space inside the gantry arms and docking ribs. The upper portion is mostly made of extendable repair arms that form a temporary docking berth. It's a relic vessel, one part massive mobile forge, the other part a repair yard capable of servicing capital ships. We have the means to crew it, though below the ideal number of Mechanicus personnel. The parts Nicole has referenced for salvage are all ideal replacement parts for the vessel." Doll muttered consideringly. "What's more, once the vessel is operational, the facilities themselves will expedite its repairs considerably." Drakios stroked his chin and then nodded, "I approve. We'll get underway. It should only take us a day to get there and two to drag it back here. The bigger issue is the mention of an infestation." "The ship's machine spirit was unfortunately unable to provide details in its weakened state," Nicole added from where she was relaxing. "Captain Bolaar. How long does it take to totally purge a ship of that size?" Drakios asked, glancing over at the Astartes captain. "With just my scales, it would take a few weeks to fully purge each deck, depending on the nature of the infestation. Tyranids or warp-based spores being some of the worst to deal with. With the aid of the Mechanicus, Sisters of Battle, and the Drakios forces? A week at most. The long but narrow profile of the vessel helps there." Bolaar explained. "We'll send your company over with a force of sterilization teams for cleanup when we arrive there for towing. We will bring the vessel back to our staging area while the rest of the fleet works together to retrieve the parts flagged by Nicole," Doll spoke eagerly. "Only once this prize is secure should we risk our inner sea excursion. In the meantime, the probes will continue their hunt for abaci, which the rest of the fleet can salvage. Once we have our hands on a few, we should be able to fine-tune the probes' search parameters." Nicole said with a bright smile while looking pleased with her choice. Doll couldn't fault her for it. The vessel would make a fine addition to the fleet. He messaged Nicole, inquiring about the Gravity Sails that had been marked. He received a series of examples where the Mechanicus salvaged the technology. It was a well-researched and documented component on the approved short list. Installation wasn't that difficult, removing it from the Xenos ship would be the most difficult part. Even replacing the primary reactor wouldn't be that difficult. If anything, mounting the Nova cannon would be the most difficult installation. "The first wave of those Hollow Men were thoroughly repelled by the point defenses and our strike craft." Drakios changed the subject. "We will need to keep an eye out for more of them. The vox ghosts are getting worse the further in we stray. Some of the officers have already reported hearing voices and trouble sleeping." "That will likely get worse. There isn't much we can do about it, unfortunately." Nicole replied. "It's just an… effect of this place. All we can do is keep vigilant." "We will. On a more interesting note, Auspex returns have identified a few interesting wrecks I'd like your opinions on. No abaci, but possible parts of value." Doll looked at the scans one by one. "Negative. This light cruiser shows signs of warp taint. Negative. This frigate is irradiated. Negative. This cruiser has been stripped previously." Drakios didn't look deterred by hearing the wrecks were not suitable, just nodding along and taking mental notes on what to look out for. Finally, he came across one that looked decent. Doll hummed. "Now this battle barge here. Intact drop pod bays. Targeting apertures suggests a quality Targeting Matrix. Intact Bombardment Cannons and a landing bay. No life signs aboard. Located rimward in the outer sea. A prime target for stripping. A shame the aft quarter is gone and the identifying markings have corroded." —-------------------------------------------------------------------- The Argent Drake sails inexorably toward the derelict Emergency Repairs III, her hull aglow with wards and running lights like a cathedral adrift in the void. Around her, the Star Dragons marshal their force, while the Mechanicus prepares sterilization cohorts with all the solemn efficiency of a funeral rite. Naturally, I insist on joining the boarding action, much to Baldos's undisguised delight. "The littlest one is going," I hear him rumble to Bolaar, his voice tinged with harsh amusement. "I would wager we'll have to purge the whole ship." Bolaar glances sidelong at Astrovas, who consults his Emperor's Tarot. His armoured fingers carefully flip a card, then another. With a sigh, the Librarian snaps the deck shut and shakes his head rapidly. "No bet." Bolaar mutters, wisely. The launch bays roar. Two full squadrons of Shark assault boats depart, loaded with the sterilization teams. The Stormbird follows, much like my Comet, it is loaded to the teeth with Star Dragons as I slip into the void beside them. The transit is short. At her present speed, the Argent Drake will bring the derelict hull into visual range within two hours. Even from a distance, augurs report the Emergency Repairs III as wounded. Her hull pitted, power grids flickering, Vox-traffic long silent. I set the Comet down in the cavernous hangar without incident. The vast bay doors gape open, an unguarded maw into space. The void has stripped the place bare; atmosphere gone, gravity absent. Only scattered tools and scraps drift slowly through the stillness. I clamp the landing gear down with mag-locks, lest the ship wander from her perch. Robes gathered, my armor hidden beneath, I disembark among the tide of Astartes. Instead of walking like a sensible creature, I allow my mechatendril tail to latch onto an overhead beam, drawing myself forward in smooth, controlled arcs. It's more dignified than stomping along like the others, and considerably more fun. Behind me, the bass rumble of a hundred magnetized boots reverberates faintly through the steel. Predictably, the hangar doors are lifeless, cold, with no power, and no response. A few seconds of searching reveals the manual override. As I crank it, the seals shriek, and a rush of stale, dead air sighs into the void. Inside, the first of many squads file quickly through, sealing the portal behind us before we continue pressing deeper. The air within is foul, though technically breathable. Condensation streaks the walls, and rivulets of stagnant water bead on conduits. The corridor is saturated in rust and small colonies of mold have started to grow along the walls. Long dried blood is smeared across the deck, across the walls. Some crew, long dead, had scrawled warnings in their final moments. "Don't trust them!" written in shaky crimson strokes beside a smeared hand-print. Farther in is another warning "Monsters! … They're real!" "What a cheery place." I remark, my tone sarcastic, as the Astartes advance with weapons ready. Emergency lighting crackles on as we cross into a zone where gravity plating still functions if barely. I broadcast a Vox message on all frequencies but receive no response. Getting to the last door separating me from the lifesigns I loudly announce as I knock. "Attention crew of the Emergency Repairs III. By authority of the Adeptus Mechanicus, this derelict has been seized. Remain calm. Do not resist. Prepare for inspection." Only silence answers. But my Auspex detects movement clustered in the crew quarters ahead. The biosigns are faint, erratic. AME's sensor suite begins parsing them with cold efficiency. They might as well be naked for all it hides their extra arms, weapons, and claws from AME and I. However there are three humans among the cluster of Genestealer cultists. I remain deliberately visible as I approach the sealed hatch, my robes flowing in the low gravity, Delta-A3 looming tall behind me. The brother Silverwalker stands just out of view, waiting in the shadows, letting it look like it is just Delta-A3 and I. I trigger the protective field in my pendant and open the hatch. The door groans aside, and a lumen beam from my dendrite slices into the dark quarters. Three gaunt humans in threadbare uniforms stand blinking at the light, hollow-eyed and trembling. Behind them, a cluster of cloaked figures hunch and turn their faces away, recoiling as though the light itself burned. "Oh, Throne bless you!" one of the crew wails. "We're saved!" another sobs. "Stay where you are," I order, my voice cutting through the chamber like a scalpel. I wait in silence while AME's bioscanner finishes its analysis on the humans. The data flickers across my visor. My frown deepens. "Problem, Princeps?" Silverwalker vox-whispers. "These three…" I raise my voice so all can hear, "…have Kuru. A prion disease." The three exchange blank confused looks. They do not understand. "What does that mean?" Silverwalker asks. "It means they're cannibals," I reply simply. "Also they are also the only true humans in this room. The rest…" My eyes sweep over the cloaked figures. "…are Genestealer cultists. First through fourth generation." Time slows and my vision sharpens as I crank up my perception. The cloaked hybrids erupt from their positions with impossible speed, claws and weapons flashing as they hurl themselves forward. "Kill. Them. All," I say dispassionately as I deftly step aside as I forward the data confirming the nature of the infestation back to the Argent Drake through the Comet. Delta-A3's plasma rifle roars, filling the chamber with cleansing plasma. Flesh bursts, ichor hisses, and the air is drowned in inhuman shrieks. Down the corridor, Baldos's laughter booms. "I told you so!" he bellows, charging off toward the next cluster of life signs. The ship itself begins to wail, the broodmind roused, stirring its children to frenzy. "You boys have fun," I mutter, my retinue minus Baldos peels away to follow me as I turn down a side passage. "I'm going to find the Abacus." It does not take long before I detect a psychic presence. The Magus has a distinct psychic scent, oily and sour. She's surprisingly close. Just as I round a corner she unleashes a bolt of warp-lightning. It crashes against my shields, hissing, but impotent. I rush forward. I flicker my null field for the barest instant. Her power gutters the protective bubble around her pops, I raise my Wrath pistol and put a plasma round clean through her elongated skull. She collapses bonelessly with a wet crack. Behind her, a cadre of broodkin charge only to be scythed down in disciplined volleys by my retinue. A few try to fire on me but the machine spirits of their guns refuse. Only the few individuals wielding simple and crude solid projectile weapons get a few stray shots off before they are put down. "I just dispatched a Magus," I vox in. "Expect more psykers. Possibly a Patriarch or a Broodlord. Keep wary of Purestrains as well." I step past the pile of corpses as I receive acknowledgements on my update from the squad leaders. I reach out my hand, my gauntlet drags lightly along the wall as I move on. The metal is cold beneath my hand, the weak thrum of what power remains barely noticeable. I give the metal an affectionate pat. "This is indeed an Infestation. It will be purged, don't worry," I tell her. "We'll have you clean again soon." —------------------------------------------------- POV: Rogue Trader Arken Drakios Arken was not surprised to learn the vessel Nicole had chosen was crawling with Genestealer cultists. In this cursed system the wrecks could be hiding anything. He sat back in his command throne, watching the augur-screens bloom with hostile contacts. A wry smile touched his lips. What prize in this galaxy wasn't wrapped in teeth? Trouble was inevitable, but trouble also meant opportunity. Purge the infestation, and the wreck was theirs to claim. They were well equipped to deal with such a threat. The Star Dragons and the extermination teams had the situation well in hand, and the Order of the Silver Lilly had quickly learned of the situation and put in a polite request to join in the purge, which he had just approved. Arken was surprised when his Master of the Vox indicated someone was attempting to contact him using the channel he had set up for the Carrion after his pointed display. He decided to have a little fun and answered the call himself. "Hello? I have an urgent message for the Lord Rogue Trader," a voice spoke hurriedly the moment the connection went through. "Oh? What message would that be?" Arken asked. The line went silent for several long seconds. He could hear the faint spike of panic in the man's breathing. "L-Lord Drakios! You honor me with your attention, sir. Ahem. My name is Randolph Cross. The vessel you are approaching is infested with dangerous creatures, sir!" "You mean the Genestealers? We are aware. They are being exterminated as we speak." Arken said confidently. "I… I see. Good. Very good," the flustered Randolph said as he tried to compose his thoughts. "Was there anything else you needed to convey?" Arken asked him, trying to press before the man fully recovered. "My faction and I were hoping to inquire if your fleet might be open to the negotiation of transport? My faction is mainly composed of outcast family units from the other Carrion factions, and I fear that within the next decade, we will be hunted down. We are trained sailors and can work for our passage back to port. We are also aware you are searching the sea of hulks for something. We may be able to assist you, My Lord," Randolph explained. Arken thought over the offer and stroked his beard. "We're looking for Void Abaci. Small, unique boxes that are typically attached to a vessel's main sensor suite. In the weight range of sixty to eighty kilograms. You've been stuck here, so you likely have not heard, but the galaxy is in turmoil. The Astronomicon is blocked off from the north half of the galaxy by a great rift. We might be open to taking you in. Transmit whatever data you deem important, and we will consider the issue. Be warned, should we agree, you will be subject to strict medicae evaluations, quarantine, and submit to having your souls examined for warp taint," He warned. "Of course. Thank you, Lord Drakios. We will check our records for these Abaci and send over the data as soon as we can. Ah, please do be aware that all your activity will attract larger groups of the Hollow Men, and the leading Carrion faction may also take notice," Randolph explained. "Do they have a battleship or a Nova Cannon?" Arken asked. "Uhh... No. Lord Drakios. I believe they have claimed a cruiser," Randolph admitted. "Then it is not a problem," Arken replied smoothly before he cut the call.