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Hello all. This shall be an in character after action report/log for a campaign I am running for a Dark Heresy group that plays on the instant message function of skype. Some of you might know of some of the characters in some of their previous haphazard escapades across the Calixis sextor. Some of you wont. Either way I shall set the scene for the incoming narrative. The group of acolytes I am GM for have spent about a month recuperating after their last mission working for the Ordo Xenos. Which ended with a teensy bit of a SNAFU. Namely two of the party's characters were declared missing in action as well as accidentally falsely incriminating an local imperial organisation of being under control by an alien life form on the planet they were carrying an assignment out on. Possibly dooming several million innocent imperial citizens to death inadvertently. Needless to say the group need to lay low for a while whilst things blow over. As well as new personnel recruited into their squad.

Here are the characters I shall be GMing for with a brief description of them. They are between rank 2 and 3 so are building in capabilities but aren't powerhouses in their own right.


Jansen Ragnar: Ex arbite officer. Became a vigilante after seeing how corrupt his home planet was. Comes from outside the Calixis sector. Transferred to acolyte cell to replace missing member.

Rasputina: Techpriest. Follower of the Divine Light of Sollex. A Calixian militant arm of the machine cult. An aloof woman even compared to your average mechanicus member. Wears a metal mask in public which hides her features. Assigned to the group following loss of their last tech priest in action.

Var: Scum. A robber and general thief. Now forced to work for the inquisition. This young hiver is resourceful and tenacious. With a silver tongue to back it up. And a pair of autopistol's if that doesn't work.

Solomon: Penal Legionnaire. A proven fighter and survivor. Also a borderline sociopath. Was serving in the imperial guard until an unexplained incident where he murdered his commanding officer. Highly competent at ranged and melee combat as well as being tough.


As the campaign progresses Excerpts/chapters built from the bones of what happens on the skype sessions will be posted here. What new perils and challenges will this motley group of acolytes encounter? Find out soon.

Kudos on those who got the reference of where I've ripped the campaign name off of .

To say that that last mission fell apart would be to denigrate relatively successful missions that collapsed, but still managed to accomplish something. The men were rested, healed up, and only a week back in Scintilla before the Inquisitor had made it clear that they hadn’t simply messed up, but that they had failed in a way that was visible.

“There are those who are out for blood,” was all she really needed to say, and they got the point. It was one thing to come back empty handed. It was another to embarrass your Inquisitor.

The Inquisitor gave them instructions where to report, and they did. This was a smaller team. Jansen, the ex-Arbites, with the new “girl,” Rasputina, as well as Sol and Var. Jansen was looking gruff, and Rasputina’s mask made her tough to read. Sol and Var had an easy way about them that comes from living through danger a few too many times.
The room they had been directed to was large, and had a screen at the front, the kind of room that might have been nice to watch a pict about the Adeptes Astartes, or about the heroic sacrifice of a saint, but this time there was no crowd, no sweet drinks, and only a green tinged image of a man’s face. The man was in a Guard uniform, and he held the badge of a full Inquisitor.

"Greetings and my thanks for your promptness in this matter. I am Inquisitor Hadrian, and until further notice you shall be reporting to me. Are there any further questions before we continue?"

Jansen looked the rest of the acolytes over, and none of them moved. “No questions here.”

The image of the man continued, "My bringing you here is because you are all relative unknowns within the Calixis Sector. Which makes you useful in your next assignment. As I need reliable servants of he on earth that can also not readily be noticed as inquisitorial acolytes. You shall make passage to 41 Pry. A space station orbiting the gas giant of its namesake. Here is the record of it. The files are available for remote download for any of you with data slates or storage devices.”

Rasputina stood and downloaded data from a port near the screen. As the download began, data began scrolling down the screen while the man talked over it.

+++PLANETARY DATA+++

GALACTIC POSITION: 7/7/CS/H.

CLASS: 41 Pry is a Space Station.

SUBSECTOR: Golgenna Reach
HISTORY: Constructed over 500 years ago. The space station (designation 41 Pry) was tasked as a dropoff point for gas harvesting ship crews to sort and sell on their gathered gas and refined chemical products to sell on to merchant chartist vessels. However with the construction of several floating gas harvesting and refinery plants in the outher layer of the gas giant. 41 pry became superflous to the local industry and the Administratum officially abandoned it nearly a century ago to become a derelict. Not finding any buisnesses willing to purchase it.

Since then drifters, gangs and various other souls surviving on the periphery of Imperial society have gravitated towards it. Making it a haven for illegal activity and a wellspring for contacts with underworld societies. Ghostfire pollen is also traded here ilegally. At one point it was nearly targeted for destruction by local naval forces. But destruction was stayed (unnoficially ) by the request of the Inquisition due to its usefulness as a hub for monitoring underworld crime activities.

Over the years the station has fallen into disrepair on many levels. Mainly due to the lack of technical expertise and technology required to maintain such a station. That said the inhabitants seem to have somehow kept the core of the station running and left the outer reaches of it to rot. Leaving 20% of the station approximately habitable. With the rest falling into disrepair and some sections open to the vacum of space.
+++END+++

Var looked up at the screen and a quiet “cool” escaped his lips.

Inquisitor Hadrian continued to talk. "One of my field operatives is.. was stationed on 41 Pry monitoring local contacts for leads on known renegades and xenos fraternizers. That is until recently when he missed his update contact twice. This is unlike him as he has never missed a status update, never mind two. "

"You are tasked with finding him and if possible recovering him alive. Without letting it out that there is an inquisitorial presence on the station if possible. If it became common knowledge our information gathering would become far more difficult to say the least--if not impossible. Jansen will be given a stipend towards your travel expenses."

Jansen spoke up, clearly already thinking the problem through. "What was the situation like before you lost contact? Was there any unrest in the locals or gang problems?"
Var chimed in as well, more concerned with just how to find a person in a place like 41 Pry. "What the the operative's cover? That might help us find him."

Inquisitor Hadrian responded, "The acolytes name is Josef Drynar. Though he also goes by the alias of Varlos at 41 Pry, working as a petty tech dealer and fence. As far as we know there was as much order as can be expected on such a place as 41 Pry. Though nothing happening that should affect someone like him in his position."

Var asked more questions while Rasputina took notes. "Tell me more about 41 Pry... Does Drynar have competition? Might this just be a business deal gone wrong? Or faulty tech?"
"Initially Drynar was installed as a deep cover agent looking into homing in on information and the hiding place of a set of particularly disruptive pirates operating within the subsector,” the inquisitor explained. “Having completed his mission he was kept on assignment due to the huge success in uncovering other information on movements of other parties of interest to not only xenos, but the malleus and hereticus ordos."

"41 Pry is as open a home of scum and villany as one can find in these reaches of space. Whilst there are gangs, minor heretics and all manner of smuggler and pirate passing through. It is a popular drop off, supply and information bartering port for all manner of miscreant and huckster. Various gangs run sections of the station. But for the most part the main players keep an uneasy peace as the stability this offers brings profits for all. Yes there are other individuals and groups working in his field. But we feel he has enough protection from the porminent gangs to shield him from any open attempts on his life, though less obvious plots may be possible."

Rasputina raised her hand. She’s noticed a slight problem. "If the station is mostly full of scum, how is a tech-priest such as myself going to go unnoticed?"

The Inquisitor had considered Rasputina’s appearance. Tech priests were not very rare, but women who chose that path were uncommon. "If there is one thing more valued than money on such a place. It is technical expertise and supplies to keep the dilapidated station running. The mechanicum stopped hosting a presence on the station after it was abandoned by the administratum. So anyone with a shred of technical and station system knowledge are at a premium. If anything your presence in the group may be of benefit to gaining information on Drynars wherabouts."

Var tried to re-assure Rasputina. “The rest of us could pass as your servants or security detail.” Var smiles quickly, stands, and proposes another cover idea to the Inquisitor. “If we would like me to pose as a narco trafficer I will need at least 5,000 thrones in cash to establish my credibility.”

The inquisitor blinked slightly at Var before replying "As .. Interesting an idea as that is I'll have to deny that. This is a strictly low key assignment. On the table is a gelt pouch containing 150 thrones. Jansen is in charge of this as a supplement towards getting you transport by ship to the station. Any large scale use of resources might draw undue attention to your group after your last.. assignment."

Jensen shot the hiveganger a disapproving look… "Understandable. Did Drynar have any friendly contacts inside the station?"

The Inquisitor seemed happier to answer useful questions, "He frequented a local bar off the main promenade of the station. The establishment is called 'Sullivans'. Run by one Jeran Sullivan. It's as good a lead as any to begin your information gathering. Also look into the local Astropath guild. They still run a holding on the station as messages still need to be relayed via there. Though few can afford their services on station themselves. This is how he relayed his information back to us."

The Inquisitor added a final note of warning, “Be careful. Drynar has survived there for years as an agent with no major problems to himself. Whatever happened to him either happened quickly. Or.. he was complicit in it and has decided to go rogue. Though due to his past service record and character. I would find this highly unlikely. In the unthinkable situation that it has happened. You are to put him down. By any means necessary."

The group meandered down the hall to an requisition office, and they were handed a few magazines and charge packs for their weapons. It wasn’t the haul Var had hoped for, but it helped. The men introduced themselves to Rasputina, who seems curt, but professional.

Jansen gathered the team in the hall. “We’re going to need transport to 41 Pry. Once we have secured passage, you might have a little time for last minute preparation, but it won’t be much time. We’re going to the passenger terminal now for reservations.”

The team left the anonymous building, and gets in a waiting car, which has a driver.

Var gets busy with the business of leaving. "Does anyone need anything before we go? We could hit a market quickly before we leave planet,” he said. Jansen grunted. “I don't need anything, but if we do go, I'm keeping a close ey on *you*... Don't want anyone to mysteriously end up without their possessions now do we?"

Var looked up in mocked protest. “I'm not stealing from shop keepers anymore. It's not enough gelt to make it worth the risk.” Janses rolled his eyes. “How Noble.”

The team chated as they cruised along in the car. It’s a plain enough car, a Kyota III Mark with grox leather apolstery and some sign of armor plates in the door. The Driver activated a small speaker to the passanger compartment. “Sorry but theres a massive delay on the interlane highway leading to the space port. Shall I take a shortcut?”

Janses asked the driver how far they will be going out of the way to the space port. The driver assured everyone the detour is minor, and only onto normal surface streets. Rasputina sat quietly, calculating risks. Var loaded a round in one of his pistols, and unslung his autogun. Raputina finished her calculations and drew her las pistol as well.

For a short while the journey moved on with little of note. The back roads and slipways were quiet though and the team was beginning to relax. Suddenly, the car slowed, and stoped in obstructed traffic. Jansen recognized the universal sound of a traffic jam. The driver came back on the speaker. “There seems to be an obstruction.”

Sol poked his head out a window and saw a large truck, not moving, at an odd angle in the path. The truck was blocking passage in two directions. “It looks like he’s stuck, or that truck is fethed the bed,” Sol said.

Var nudged Jansen, who was resting his eyes. “Guns Up, Jansen,” he said while he opend a door and checked out the scene down the barrel of his autogun. Jansen’s eyes pop open, and he moved out the other side of the car, his shotgun in his hand. Rasputina and Sol follow, each with a weapon in hand. The driver is already walking toward the truck, starting to verbally berate the driver. As Var watched the truck closely, he noticed something moving in the bed of the truck, under a tarp. Var ran to catch up with the others. “There’s something in the back of that truck,” he said quickly.

Jansen fliped his old Arbites Badge out and asks the truck owner what was his problem. The driver looked scared. “The Machine Spirit has left this old heap,” he blurted out. Jansen tried to reassure the man, “Perhaps we should have a look at it, see if we can get it fixed enough to get through. We are in a hurry citizen. Our tech-priest can attempt to fix this if you cannot.”

Rasputina walked to the engine spirit compartment, and began speaking in low binary chant to the engine. Jansen peered around the side of the truck and took a few steps toward the back of the bed. Jansen noticed a small hole in a heavy, plastic tarp in the back of the truck, and noticed an eye looking back at him.

Jansen stared directly at the eye, which retreated farther under the plastic sheet. Var had a bad feeling, and kept his gun pointed directly at the truck bed.

Jansen turned to the truck owner. “You have anything you need to tell us?” Jansen asked. He was using his Arbites voice. He wasn’t shouting, but he was loud and clear, the kind of tone the Arbites used to make sure everyone knew why something bad was about to happen.

With a quick nod, Jansen signaled Var and Solomon, who both lowered their weapons and grabbed the man, pushing him up against the truck. “Don’t move,” Var growled in the man’s face, “Or it’s the last mistake you’ll make all day.” Rasputina looks up from the engine block.

Jansen’s voice was even louder. “What, then, is this?” Jansen grabbed the tarp and pulled it out of the bed with a flourish.

Under tarp was a blinking, freighted, child of about 12 standard years. She was human, but the touch of mutation was clear. Her face, head, and back were covered in think, grey scales. Her legs and fingers were too long.

While not the threat Jansen expected, he was no less angry. “Who is this? Why are you here with it?"

The truck driver wilted. His eyes filled with tears. “She… she’s my daughter. I don’t know what happened to her. Are you a Purity Patrol?” the man stammered. He reached into his pocket and produced a small wad of throne geld. “I’ll give you this. It’s all I have. Please just let us go.”

Rasputina suddenly announced, “Repair complete,” and Jansen tossed the tarp back over the girl. “This repair is only temporary. You require a significant amount of help which I cannot provide now.” Rasputina saw the girl covering herself with the tarp. “Weak Flesh is not my concern now.” Var looked to Jansen, looking grave. “Do we have to kill the twist?” he asked.

“Let it slide,” Jansen said. Jansen grabs the truck owner by the collar, “Know this before you leave. We can spare your child, but you will not be so lucky next time. She will never live a normal life, and you will spend every hour attempting to hide her before they finally come for you in the dead of night. That is the fate that awaits her - an outcast, alone and unloved. Take care of her - keep her close, and die for her when the time comes. Do not forget that she was born of a human, and do not let her forget that, else she falls to powers beyond your comprehension. I'm sorry."

The man was beside himself with relief. “Take her down, deep into the hive. It’s the only place for you now,” Jansen said. The team walked back to the car as the driver moved the truck, and they continued on to the space port.

At the space port, Jansen found basic passage is 100 thrones a person, more than the 150 thrones they were given, which irritated Var. “He shorted us!”

Rasputina looked perplexed. “Shorted?”

“Yeah, Ras. He didn’t give us enough money for transport. We’re short thrones.”

Jansen had already identified a solution. “There are jobs on some of the freighters that include passage. I’m looking for a few of those now.”

Jansen sat with a thin piece of paper that details labor details available that day. The team found one aboard an ore freighter that looks promising. The pay looks reasonable, and it seem to be run by an actual company. Jansen talked to two ships via vox relay to low orbit, and after some negotiation, finds a ship that can use some hired guns and a tech priest.
Jansen returned to the group from the vox box, “Right! Who's up for a glass of something at the bar?"

The whole need nods and smiles in agreement. Even Rasputina said “Nutrients would be appropriate at the time.”

Jansen orders an ale, as Sol and Var look over the menu for something to eat. “It’s going to be reconstituted proteins once we get into the void, so I’m getting something fried, with cheese,” Var announced to no one in particular.

A few thrones change hands, and soon everyone has a beer and some food in front of them.

Var and Jansen talked about comms equipment, and Sol told a story about how some of the squads in his guard unit could communicate in code over open vox channels. They used code names and code words which sounded like gibberish to anyone who did not know the code.

Rasputina listened, and drinks some water. As the men talk, she asks a question. “Jansen, at the truck, you seemed to be in command of the team. Are you the leader?”

Var grined, while Jansen says nothing. “It’s not like that Ras,” Var explains. “Jansen’s in charge of the ‘talking to people in public’ work. Sol’s in charge of breaking necks in the dark, and I’m in charge of finding new supplies and funding. In time, once we’ve worked together, we’ll figure out what you’re in charge of, but for now you’re really only in charge of being the tech priest.”

Ras wasn’t sure she understood how this system of command worked, but she knew she would study it further.

A few hours later, it was time to leave. Jansen guides the team to the launch pad for the job. A man in fatigues noded in greeting. The man was maybe in his late 30s standard, with a rough stubble on his face and clean shaven headand well defined muscle. Though not a bruiser, none of the team would want to fight him.

"Well you've come to the right place, Names Gerarld Myers. I’m the security chief and overall second in command. Welcome to Carrington Mining and Industrial. You’ll be flying with us on the Harmodius. Nothing to look at but she’s been flying these parts for nigh on 800 years. Gets the job done."

Myers continued as the team walked toward the launch, "If you've got your gear were prepped to launch when you’re ready. Pick a harness and strap in." Myers motioned to the inside of the cabin up a ramp. Both side walls were lined with seats with a harness fitting to counteract turbulence on atmospheric flight and had stowage underneath for gear.
Solomon grimaced slightly as he ascended the ramp and stored his gear under his seat and buckles in his harness. "I hate flying," he said and then continued on mumbling inaudibly, except for a few phrases about if man was meant to fly the Emperor would have given them wings.

Var mumbled a quiet prayer to the God Emperor. He was never is afraid of space travel until a few minutes before it started.

Janses smiled. He was happy to see Rasputina didn’t have the same trouble with space travel as his two partners.

Myers shouted to the pilots, and motioned to everyone to sit down, and strap in. “Hold tight! Hope this isnt your first time going sub orbital!"

The ramp sealed with an audible clang as the cabin became pressurized and enclosed. Outside a faint whine could be heard as the engines began their pre launch sequence.
Myers handed each of the acolytes a pill before he sat down. "Anti-motion sickness tabs" he explained. “If you feel you need em." Solomon needed little encouragement and swallowed his.

Var raised his voice to be heard over the engine’s pre-flight warming. "Is now a bad time to talk about salvage shares?"

Myers looked confused. "Salvage? Dunno what operation you think were on. But the Harmodius is a straight up mass transit vessel. We buy our cargo and ship it port to port."
Var explained. "Right, but you have security... so say we're attacked and we repell the attackers, who gets the dead attacker stuff? Or say we find a derelict ship... that has to be worth a fortune."

Myers noded. He understood where Var was going with this. "Well whatever you kill is your security details to argue over. Though thank the Emperor we haven’t had any boarders in a good few years. Plus slim chances well find a derelict in the warp, since we travel mostly that way between dropoffs. First time for everything I guess."

Var and Myers talked about security measures and the ships weapons for a while, until the noise of the engines drowned out all voices.

Once into low orbit, the noise drifted off, and Var and Myers continued to talk about life aboard the ship. Myers talks about communites who live on massive ships, more like cities than cruisers. Var took it all in, amazed at the possibilities.

Var turned to Sol "This stuff is amazing! We should have been void born!"

Sol shakes his head. "Hell no! Not much call for a legion of Guards on a ship that never sees planetfall. And what if I blasted a hole in the ship? I like guns. And shooting them."

Eventually the ships engines changed timbre, followed shortly by a brief shunt as the ship touched down.. The landing ramp released with a great hissing and the cabin depressurized to match the outside. Outside the hatch was a wide landing bay with some heavy duty blast doors. There were a few other landing craft in the hangar as well as massive lifters used to convey cargo to and from planets the ship calls to port at.

Myers undid his harness and confidently walked to the ramp. "Welcome to the Harmodius. She might be no destroyer or cruise liner but she does her job well. I can show you's to your lodgings now if you wish. You’ll also have access to the mess hall on your designated level. Where you can get your three inclusive meals a day and spend off time with the crew."
Var was clearly excited. "I'd like to see the lodging and settle in a bit," he said.

"Good!” said Myers, “I like to see people with some eagerness to get started. Follow me." The acolytes left the landing bay via a crew corridor and he led them through a network of service ways, gantries and coridoors. The walls, ceiling and floors were of well worn, but clean, metal. They passed people going about their daily work and business on board, mostly technicians and physical labourers either finishing or preparing for their shifts on duty.

Sol spoke up. "So refresh my memory. Are you expecting any particular trouble or are you just paying more than everyone else because you're loaded?"

Myers noded and responded. "More than everyone else? We prefer to pay for security that knows what they’re doing. Judging by the looks and how well armed you are we shouldn’t be having any issues in that regard. Main reason we were hiring is that the house charter for this vessel requires a minimum number of active security personnel during service runs. We mostly trade ore, promethium, and gas products to planets like Scintilla and on the return leg bring back foodstuffs, machinery, consumer goods and the like to make some returns on the return leg. Your main duties will mostly be patrolling sections of the cargo bays. Keeping thieves and in rare circumstances, Boarders away. Not that we have much trouble with raiders or pirates due to the size of our vessel. She’s got a few defensive armaments."

Sol seemed happy with the explination. "Good to hear. Just riff raff then. Still, dont want to be caught unawares" Sol rubbed his Las rifle gently.

Myers continued, "Well we sometimes get 'Vermin' from the sub-decks and unused levels crawl up and cause trouble time to time. Usually trying to steal food we’re transporting. In a vessel this size it can’t be helped. There must be miles of unused corridors that the crew don’t normally use. But that shouldn’t be of any issue to a group like you. As long as your section is secure you’ll get your full pay, board and food."

Sol was getting more comfortable with Myers, and with the ship, "So what do you guys do for fun when you’re between stops? I imagine it's pretty dull."

Myers thought for a moment before resuming. "Well most of the crew spends their time off duty in the mess halls, usually gambling and some drinking. We don’t have the luxury of proper recreational facilities. But you’re free to use the observation deck as you please. The armoury also has a small shooting range if you want target practice. Were honest souls here on this ship, Just trying to make a living. There’s also the chapel if you feel need to visit it. We currently have nearly 2,000 crew, which includes close to 300 security officers. On a ship this scale they have their hands full, so we regularly take on casual short stint groups like yourself to cover the gaps."

Var slapped Sol on the shoulder. "We'll definitely be able to find a card game."

Var then lowered his voice and faced Myers, all the joking was aside for a moment, "Are you interested in paying extra if we come across anything troubling among the crew? Slaught freaks, smuggled weapons, twists?"

Myers stopped walking and pointed to a door. “That’s your quarters. It’s a four-man cabin, and if I find anything worth giving out a bonus for, that’s my decision. The vox in the room will tell you when and where to report for your shift, but you have about 12 hours before you’ll be on duty.”

Myers walked off, and the acolytes entered the room.

The room was fairly small but not cramped four person bedroom. Four bunks were inset in wall recesses with a communal area with table and chairs. The far end had a door that contained a toilet, sink and shower cubicle. Whilst not shabby it was certainly not palatial. There was a locker on the wall as well.

Var seemed pleasantly surprised. "Way better than I thought I figured we would be in with 50 other smelly fethers,” Var said.

Rasputina picked a bunk and laid down without a word. Var started to empty his pockets of his grox-hide coat. The extra pockets on the inside of the coat were full of autogun magazines, and the pockets on the outside were full of grenades. Var sets down his pistols, club, and the staff Rasputina had given him to sell. Once out of the coat, Var looked immediately thinner.

Var tucked a pistol into his belt, as well as a grenade, and a few extra pistol magazines. “I’ll be back in a short bit. I’m off to look around.”

“No fighting, Var,” Jansen said. Var grinned, as he strapped his mono-blade to his ankle. “I’ll behave.”

Var returned after an hour. The rest of the team was settled in, and resting. Sol had showered, and Jansen was sitting with his eyes closed.

“OK, here’s the story.” Var sat at the table, and Sol and Jansen listened.

Var described an overall friendly rivalry amongst the ships workforce. The crew were organized into "Work crews,” which worked as a sort of a shipboard version of a gang or faction, with the biggest crews getting the most lucrative jobs, best food rations and pay. Smaller crews worked on the periphery of shipboard society with the odd loners who are either that way by choice or ostracized from mainstream society for whatever reason. While not underworld entities, these ad hoc clans formed the social hierarchy below the ship officers and captain. The work crews names are usually modeled after their leaders name or their main strengths. In the back of this decks mess hall can be found regular games of cards being played, with thrones being betted, though most save their pay for shore leave. Whilst Var found a few links that could be possible obscura suppliers they were decidedly cagey about letting an outsider in on such a market. There is a bit time dealer Var found that offers doses of Halo, Decent Lho-sticks and the odd slaught pill.

After some further inquiry Var found a lead that can put him in contact with a salvage merchant down on the lower decks. He might not give top throne, will buy most things; Equipment, weapons and the like, mostly to have spare parts for when he does repairs. The merchant reportedly had very basic selection of weapons for sale. He made most of his living providing these services to the lower level decks workforce, where rumored mutants stalk in uninhabited areas. These were called the 'Ghost decks,’ sections that have been sealed off due to damage, disrepair or any other number of reasons. In a ship the size of the Harmodius, over the generations entire sections have been lost or even partially removed from the ships records. But the adventurous, foolhardy or persecuted still seek them out for scavenging, whimsy or debatable sanctuary. Var says going into the unregulated parts of the ship sounds dangerous, and the crew speaks of it very carefully.

“I’d like to check out this merchant,” Var said, “But I’m not going down there by myself.” Var itches the scar on his chest, as he remembers being alone in the underhive.

Var, Jansen, and Sol chat about the ship, while Rasputina headed off to find the Tech Priest coven for the ship.

She recognized the binary bar code markers, and they directed her to a small corridor, with large thick metal doors that barred her way. Inset into the floor in front was a mechanicus skull cog icon rendered in a delicate mosaic. The tiles that make up the mosaic were different shaded metal pieces. A small pictscreen with rune keyboard was mounted on the wall to the left of the large doors. Rasputina tapped on a few of the keys, and the pict screen sprang to life.
The screen showed a man in Mechanicus robes, with a face that is half cybernetic augmentation. His right eye glows a pale blue. His voice was only slightly affected by augmentation, and crackled for just a second before he spoke.

"Blessings be to the Omnissiah. Who am I addressing?"

Rasputina used her formal name and title addressing the tech priest, in case he was a senior adept, and out of respect for his place on the ship, whatever that might be. "Lairyon, From the blessed sphere of Ironheade and am here by the will of the Omnissiah and the ship’s Captain."

The man’s composure barely shifts but he seems more interested in the conversation now. "Then welcome sister. Allow me to open the path for you. Please we have things to speak of."

The picture winked out back to blank, followed shortly after by the sound of the heavy doors, a cubit thick of plas-steel, began moving on their hydraulics. The sound of squealing cogs and pneumatic tubes hissing reverberated off the walls, floors and ceiling, drowning out all other sound. Beyond the passage continued, as she moved down the hall Rasputina saw niches in the wall, each designed roughly to hold one humanoid. Some were vacant, while others hold servitors on standby for their master’s call. Most are technical and heavy lifter models, though a few are light combat modals with cybernetic limbs or shoulder-mounted bucket-loader-fed autogun racks on them.

Raputina walked to the the shrines inner sanctum. The sentry servitors stood inert letting her pass unchallenged. You are in a circular chamber. Inside was a mind impulse throne, and next to the throne was a Mechanicus from the screen. His staff bore witness to his rank as the senior priest on board.

"Greetings Lairyon. I am head adept. Zharr. It is good to see another fellow child of the Omnissiah. My duties do not leave me much time to get off the ship. Not that i have any need to as such. Is there anything you require before receiving your first work orders? I was to send them to you but since you are here it is most convenient." The priest is efficient, but almost pleasant.

Rasputina returned to the efficient, simple tone Tech Priests used when speaking to each other. Listening to the men from the team was taxing, with their complaining, jabbering, and droning on about food.

"I wish to know some technical history of this vessel. Is there any lasting problems it has or quirks of the machine I should know about before I start?"
Zharr nearly… just for a second… smiled. He was subtly proud of the ship, and the work his small team was able to accomplish on her.

"For a civilian vessel this ship is a most noble creation, tirelessly plying the void to supply manufactorums and trade centers, though it has certainly seen better days. The work of my serfs and I is all we can do to stop any further deterioration, but there is always so much to do. Some decks have had to be shut off entirely due to lack of maintenance of my predecessors. Whilst the ship functions it sorely needs maintenance in several key areas: Namely the atmospherics systems. If we could bring their efficiency back up it would increase air quality dramatically. Other than that I think some of the best benefit could be had if you had a look into environment control on one of the sub decks. We have had filth from the abandoned decks damaging them of late, and my requests for a purge team to be sent there still go unanswered by the captain. of course I leave the decision to you. I am sure there are any number of other jobs we can find for you otherwise. "

Rasputina requested additional information. Zharr continued.

"It is more the filth's destruction that I require. I can send maintenance crews there if it was only cleared out. This sub deck is not a habitation one. It is primarily a subsystem deck. The mutants that dwell in the so called ‘Ghost decks' thrive on the dangerous environment. I believe they are targeting that sub deck to damage the atmospherics for that level so that the environment is more to their liking. Though not having any proof to show the captain has made him loathe to act."

Meanwhile, back at the Cabin, the boys were done talking, and were ready to move.

"We should go and see this Merchant now Var,” Jansen said, “While we don't have duties. Rasputina will probably be some time anyway. Where does this scrap merchant live?"

"Down in a lower level. I can walk you through the directions I was given. It sounds close to the "ghost deck" areas. The guys made it sounds a bit dodgey down there,” Var responded.

"Well, we'd best be sure to take plenty of Ammo then.” Jansen said. They loaded weapons and ammunition, and grabbed key cards for the cabin. Solomon initiated the locking seal as they left.

The guys worked their way down several decks, following the directions Var had been given. They find a utility lift, and took it as far down as it will go. This section was extremely quiet compared to the humdrum of the main levels of the ship. The coridoors were less maintained and showed a patina of grime and decay on some of the metal plating. The few people the men saw seemed less than healthy with a pale complexion and guarded look as they passed.

Jansen cautioned the others. “Keep your weapons close. These people don't look very hospitable. Not the worst I've seen at least, they were in Red Quarter ‘A’ back home..." Jansen gavea hollow laugh as he remembers the events of that day.

Jansen and Var continued down the corridor, with Sol checking behind them. A steady, annoying sound of scurrying feet and scratching seemed to follow them. Solomon kept his lasgun.

Var listens, and sniffs the air. "It's like underhive... but it doesn't sound right."

After another 300 meters of flickering lights and dripping waste water, Jansen stopped quickly, spun on a heel, and barked an order. "Alright, Scum, we know you're following us. Out. Now."

Var raised his autogun and points down the hall, looking over his shoulder to whatever Jansen hears.

The scratching stops and for a few seconds there is no sound in the steel hall but a few drops of water, and the steady breathing of the men. Suddenly, a grate on the wall burst open about 30 meters from the team.

Four things came out. They might have been human once, but the dark bowels of the ship twist and warp a man left down there too long. Their skin was grey, and their eyes were yellow. They bayed like mules with mouths that open too far, and revealed black teeth. They stand and start sprinting towards the men.

Var turned at the sound of the grate smashing, and his low hive instincts served him well. He started shooting before he even really knew what the monsters were, and his first salvo of autogun rounds slammed into the first two things. One died fast and fell, the other took two steps before Jansen’s shotgun roared and it died. Solomon fired his las rifle and hit one of the two remaining things in the arm.

The creatures took another few steps, fueled by poison, hate, hunger, and madness. Var sprayed the last two creatures, and hits one of them. Its body opened as two bullets tore through it’s chest and out the back. Jansen fired the other barrel of his shotgun, and put the shot where the creature was just a split second before. Sol let fly a series of las bolts, which bring down the last creature for good.

Sol kept his rifle pointed down the hall while Var checks the bodies. No money was on them, just a few old knives and a St. Drusses medallion. Var pockets them.
The men rounded two more corners and found their way to the “Shop.” Var knocked on the door, shrugging, unsure of what to do.

“Yeah? What do you want?"

Var stammered for a second before he remembered the shops keeper’s name he had been told. "Is this Klayde's shop? We're here to trade."

Var can hear several locks disengaged before the door opened. A man appears, dressed in greasy overalls. His hair was tied back in a pony tail. His hands were caked in various oils and mechanical lubricant residue. He hurriedly ushered in the guys.

"C'mon in case there’s any packs of those thing about. Quick quick!" He slammed the door shut behind you and rakes the locks back in place. You are in a dimly lit room that seems to have been converted into a workshop. Various scrap and knickknacks adorn various shelves and worktops.

Sol and Jansen looked at Var, a little skeptical this side trip was worth the effort. Var realized he needed to get down to business.
"Hi, I'm Var... these are my friends Sol, and Jansen. We're new with the security team on board. I heard I could trade with you."

The man spoke. "I see then. I’m Klayde. Make me a living of sorts out here in the outer decks. Mostly get no trouble if I stay here. Plenty of buisness from locals wanting to pack a little extra firepower. Now what you got to show old Klayde?"

He cleared some rubbish and half eaten ration packs from a table. He moved some stools and rickety chairs around the table and sits.

Var begins putting his tradable items on the table. Var puts the staff, club, two knives, the trinket, and sharpening stones down. "I'll have more later,” Var tried to seem humble, “But I wanted to see what you needed in case we go exploring."

Klayde and Var chat, barter and negotiate for a few minutes. Var gets some thrones off Klayde for the trickets and weapons, but then bought autogun and shotgun ammo, as well as a sturdy canvas tool bag with a shoulder strap for looting. Klayde looked happy to be trading and selling. Klayde warns the men about the ‘ghost decks,’ and asks for extra food rations, if they can be found.

The men return the Cabin to find Rasputina, who quickly briefs them on what she learned about the ship and the Tech priests’ ideas for an extra assignment.
“These boxes arrived while we were gone as well.” Rasputina said. “One had my designation on it, and inside was an autoquill.”

Rasputina handed one to Var. “This seems to have your name on it.” Var opened the hard, cardboard box and finds a handmade leather belt with leather holsters. The buckles were polished brass, and the studs are nickel.

Sol tore into another box and finds a two handed sword. The sword was tall and heavy, it and it wasn’t an antique, but a recently produced modal from an Imperial world.
Jansen, curious, opened the last box and found a old, but fully functional pump shotgun, as well as some reclaimed and recycled guard issue gear. Jansen finds a dataslate that reads “A little something extra to aid you on your journey. May the Emperor guide you on your travels.”

The team rested before reporting for their first shift, which passes quietly. The job was simple; walk through the massive cargo bays and check for damage to the containers. Each container was as long as a rail car, and three times as tall as a man. They had metal and plasteel seals on access doors. Some of the containers had clearly been damaged in the past, but for this shift, none of the seals were broken. The team saw a few other wandering crews doing their rounds as well, but they are in the distance, and they never spoke to them.

After the shift, the men collapsed. 10 hours of walking wears a man out if he is not used to that kind of walking.

After 6 hours of sleep, the team began to stir. They had plans for today.

Rasputina briefed the men that the sub-floor they were going to was low in the ship, but still had atmosphere. They needed to clear debris from around a malfunctioning atmospherics section, and do whatever repairs they could. With plenty of time before the next shift, the team loaded weapons and ammunition and headed down to the sub deck.

Out of the lift, the team formed up into a tactical line, with Jansen and the Tech Priest up front, Var and Soloman behind. The team looked about, and found a filthy, barely functioning deck. The light flickered, strange sounds and smells drifted from the bowels of the ship, and no one felt much like chatting.

At Jansen’s order, Var drew his knife and made a series of marks on the wall and floor, testing the surfaces. Var found he can scrape the grime and soot off the walls well enough with his mono-blade, and started marking as the team creped along. This was an old hive trick, which Jansen had told Var people did outside as well, but Var couldn’t imagine such a place.

It wasn’t long at all before the sound of bare feet slapping on metal decks, as well as scratching and faint yelps were heard. The team tensed, and drew weapons.

At one point, the team paused, and listed to the silence of the deck. Var heard a scrape, and then another.

“Movement!” Var hissed, quietly… he pointed and the others saw a shape as it shifted a grate out of place.

“Don’t shoot it if we don’t know what it is!” Sol pleaded.

The grate popped out, and a man, or what used to be a man, crept out. It stood on two legs, and was wearing something like pants, but it’s body was covered in burns and scars. Only a few wisps of hair were left on it’s scalp. The think looked at them, and then pointed.

Any hope that it was a harmless victim vanished with it’s scream. The thing howled high and clear. This was not a shout of rage or of fear. The cry was a signal.

Feral beastmen, more savage, thin, and pale than the howler, bounded around a corner behind it, and a few appeared from a passage on the other side of the team as well.

Var opened fire and gunned the howling man down. It took two rounds to the body and slumped to the side of the corridor. The rest of the team opened fire as well. Hard shot, buck shot, and las bolt slammed into the beasts, but they were fast, and in a matter of seconds a few survivors were on them. As the ferals attacked, they clawed and reached, and tried to bite, but Jansen drew a club, Var a knife. Sol gunned one more down as it lept, and Ras blocked filthy hands as Jansen beat the last one down.

The howler was still bleeding, looking up, and blinking when Jansen shot it in the head.

Ras suggested a trap with a grenade, and rigged a quick trip wire as the team continued down the hall. A few minutes later the distant hollow crump of a blast could be heard echoing down the halls.

The team found an old security station, which after several tries Jansen and Var were able to open the lock. Ras saw a cogitor, and went to work trying to activate the interface, her desire to understand what happened here nearly overwhelming.

Jansen set down to looking through paperwork left spread around the room while Var found some rope and a secuiryt officer’s helmet, which he quickly put on his head. It included a glare shield that could be lowered over the face. While the fit was good on Var’s head, the helmet made Var’s head seem huge on his body. Sol gave him a look the suggested that Var should lose the helmet.

Rasputina suddenly looked up. “Turrets. I found turrets in the halls.” Jansen brought up pict screen camera feeds from hallways, as Ras’s fingers moved quickly over the keyboard of the interface. “I had to bypass the initial access screen, and now I am checking weapons status… a number of them are still responding to commands, and have sufficient ammunition to be activated.”

“I don’t want those things shooting at us,” Jansen said.

Rasputina nodded curtly. “Modifying target parameters to exclude known crew members.”

In the pict screens, Jansen, Var and Sol could see walls opening to reveal servitors on small turrets, their arms removed to make space for autoguns and flamers. Jansen cycled though the pict feeds until he found one with a feral in a hall. The feral was being followed by a few others of it’s kind. They loped along like stray dogs until the rounded a corner in front of a servitor turret. The twin autoguns fired long bursts that cut the ferals down.

“There’s only one way to test the targeting,” Var said. “Cover me while I find a turret to check me.”

“I’ll go,” Sol interrupted. “I at least have some Guard issue armor. You’re just in a jacket.”

Var feigned hurt feelings. “I like this jacket.”

Sol found a turret and stepped in front of it. It seemed to look at him and then ignore him. “It’s working!” he called back down the hall.

“Good work Ras,” Var said.

“We should keep moving,” Jansen growled.

After a few hundred more meters of wrong turns, blind alleys, and sealed hatches, the team found a door marked “Atmospherics.” There were two functioning servitor turrets guarding the door. Sol and Ras covered the hall while Jansen are Var tried to bypass the lock. The door opened suddenly, and the startled team pointed their weapons in unison.
The room was dim, but not dark. Even in the lower light, the first thing the team saw were the wide eyes. There were no shouts, no howls this time, just blank, frightened stares. The room was large and open, but in a semi-circle around the door had been built crude barricades… furniture, cabinets, rebar, plating from decks, walls, and ceiling piled together. It looked like a fort a child might make, if given the contents of a scrap yard to play with.

“You’ve had it now mutant scu… HOLD FIRE!!” came booming from behind the barricade. “Who are you?”

“Jansen Ragnar, ships security, we are clearing this deck of a mutant infestation.” Jansen’s time as an Arbites, even though he hated it, had taught him the calming, authoritative voice of man not afraid to take command of a situation.

A young security officer stepped out from behind the barricade. His face was smudged with carbon and grease. “I’m Dhrana, Sergeant, Deck 6 Security Team Epsilon. I’m in command.”

Var and Sol lowered their weapons and stepped inside the room. It smelled like a physical training hall and waste water barrel, mixed with dirty socks. This was the smell of a dozen men who had not left this room for quite some time for any reason.

Jansen stepped forward as well, “How long have you been here?” Dhrana stepped out and extended a hand to shake. “Two weeks, roughly, but the lights never go off and we’ve been cut off from communication in the security office. The mutants broke through a vent shaft and overwhelmed the whole deck, eating anything they could… I sent runners to the lift a few times for help, but none of them must have gotten through. If they had, there would be 30 more security officers with you.”

Ras stood stoically by as Var and Sol talked to the men, and checked them for injuries. The men were not hurt, but there were only a few working weapons left… three autoguns, a few shotguns… the rest of the men were armed with rebar clubs and sharpened scrap knives. They hadn’t eaten in two weeks, and were thin, tired, dirty, and frightened.
“Don’t worry boys,” Sol said. “You’re going to be fine. We’ll figure this out in a bit and we’ll get you out of here.”

Var and Jansen were talking to each other and the other chatted with the surviving team. Var seemed irritated, and Jansen was as well. They were doing a good job of disagreeing quietly, until Jansen’s voice rose. “We’re not here to fix any atmosphere machine!”

Dhrana looked lost. Var walked behind the barricade and Jansen spoke to Dhrana. “Get your men ready to move. We’ll take you to the lift. If anyone wants to stay with us at that point, we’re going to find the source of the mutants and destroy them.”

A long, low howl came drifting down the hall into the room, and the frail men’s eyes all stared out the door.
“I think we might not make it to the lift,” Var said.

Jansen and Ras started talking and pointing quickly. Ras started rigging another grenade trap on the door. Var found a crate with a industrial nail driver, and ordered some the the men to help him break up the last of the crates and secure the barricade. Var found two flares as well, and one Dhrana told him they had flamer fuel, 3 tanks of it, but no flamer.

“We’ll make it work,” Var said. Var was driving nails in the wooden blanks from the crates, and telling the men how to open the flamer fuel. Var and Jansen told them to pour it outside the door.

Var handed a flare, also from the nail gun crate, to Dhrana. “When they hit the door, they’ll have walked in the promethium. Throw the flare over their heads, and let the fire pin them in.” Var kept one of th flares as well.

Jansen shouted to Var. “Do you still have that photon grenade?” Var nodded as he dug it out of a pocket on the inside of his coat. “Sure… it’s right here!”

“Get it ready.” Jansen ordered. Var hung it off his belt to keep it close and easy to access.

Another howl came down the hall… louder that time, and a few bursts of turret fire could be heard. The fire only lasted about 20 seconds before only howls and scratching could be heard. The sound was building.

The team stood together in front the door as the last of the surviving crew members from that deck finished pouring the flamer fuel on the deck in the hall. The fuel was thick, like jelly, and was smeared on the floors and up the walls about a meter. The men had spread it around with rag mops. The smell was strong.

Jansen gave instructions. “Let them hit the door, and let the grenade trap go off. Hopefully that will light the fuel, but if not, throw the flares and the photon grenade. We will catch them between the fire and our weapons, and we won’t leave any of them standing.”

“Any Questions?” Jansen asked in the way that made it clear there was no more time for questions.

Another urgent growl of servitor turret fire signaled that the time for questions was over, and the time for fighting had begun.

Ras and Jansen wound the final wire on the grenade trap, while Sol and Var got the survivors beind the barricades. “Aim low, and pick your target.” Sol told each of them, some of them twice. Var patted Dhrana on the shoulder. “When you see me throw my flare, throw yours. Easy?” Dhrana’s eyes were wide with anticipation and fear, but he felt, for the first time in two weeks, like he might live through all this.

The doors were closed, so everyone had to wait for the last set of turrets to activate, screaming hot lead death at whatever the guts of the ship had to offer. The mass of mutation hit the door like a ram, and it nearly buckled under the weight of the crowd running straight into it.

Ras had estimated distance, time, foot speed of the average mutant, and the affects of the size, shape, and layout of the tunnels, as well as the effect of the turret fire. All of this has been built into a modal that her machine brain had translated into a countdown. When Ras’s brain told her the time was up, the grenade trap should go off.

When the door burst open and the grenade trap exploded Ras’s brain as at -0.0028 seconds to detonation. Ras was comfortable with this margin of error, as it fell within her observed standard deviation of grenade timers.

The white, hot flash and shrapnel of the frag grenade did it’s work well in the tightly packed confines of the mutant pack. When he heard the concussion, Var’s left hand slapped the bottom of the flare, and he threw it straight back, over the front mutants. Var has happy to see Dhrana’s flare following his closely.

The suddenly burning promethium pushed the air away from itself, a split second before the heat and smoke sucked the air back in. The ignition sounded like a large puff of air, but the sound of air was drowned out immediately by the sound of screaming.

The mutants were packed together in the hall, and had run, slid, and smeared through the promethium for about 10 meters leading up to the door. Some slipped and then tried to stand after the grenade, but once the flares bounced of a mutant’s head, another’s shoulder, and yet another’s knee, there was nowhere to go. There were only mutants ahead, steel on both sides, and fire below.

Jansen and Var looked at the burning mass with some small amount of pride. The sound was terrible, but it was the result of planning. This is what they had made happen.
Ras paused, ever so briefly, to incorporate her observations on the effects the fire had on the mutants. Pants burned faster than feet. Ignition to blistering of skin: 4.8 seconds. Ignition to charring of skin: 8 seconds. They seemed to try to climb each other to get away from the heat. Some of them kept screaming, even when they had to inhale smoke and fire to scream again.

The sound of the fire, and the screams, and the smell took Sol’s mind back to another place; another battlefield, another fire, another mass of screaming people. Most mutants are still 97% human, biologically, and in this case the mutation had not damaged the lungs or vocal cords. The sound of a mutant screaming when burning was identical to that of the most faithful, most pious Imperial citizen. The kind of citizen who had heard of far away wars, but who had never seen one, and didn’t know what to do once one of those far away wars hit their home. The kind of citizen who loved the Imperial Guard, and trusted them, and believed with every ounce of their being that if the Guard was with them nothing bad would ever happen. But no Guardsman in the universe can stop a plasma bomb fired from half a continent away, and when the plasma heats the air in a refugee camp to 500 degrees, there is nothing to do but wait for the screaming to stop. Sometimes it takes a second, and sometimes it take hours.

“FIRE!” Jansen screamed, pointed through the flames at even more of the mutant throng. The survivors autoguns and shotguns popped, and Var’s gun rattled, spraying rounds into the heat and smoke.

Through the smoke something moved. It was larger than the other mutants. It would have been taller by a head if it stood up straight, but it’s skull was large and heavy… as was it’s neck, shoulders, and arms. It moved with large strides, bellowing and pushing the mutants forward with gestures, sound, and force.

Jansen saw it first for what it was, and fired his shotgun at it.

Var kept to the plan, and lofted his only photon grenade into the hallway. The grenade made little noise as the burning metal inside was vaporized and expanded, turning the hallway into the light of a supernova. The team had been warned, and looked away, but the mutants couldn’t comprehend what was happeneing. The massive brute howled and covered it’s eyes.

Sol was lost in his thoughts mumbling to himself. "Oh god the captain's gone. Not again. I wont let it happen again!" The bright light of the photon, as well as the distinctive metallic smell it made, brought Sol back from his far away planet, back from that night year ago. He looked at the brute, and the other mutants bounding from around it to the barricades. His heart was full of rage, Sol hefted his massive new sword and vaulted the barricade. "For the Captain...AND FOR THE EMPEROR!" He charged straight at the monster, screaming with the full fury of vengeance realised.

Jansen fired another shotgun blast and the creature, and Var and Ras sprayed the other mutants with solid and las shots. Some of them stumbled and kept running. A few fell.
Sol moved in close, spun low, and arced a powerful cut at the beast. The thing was still covering it’s face after the photon glare and did nothing to stop him. The sword hit the monster high in the left arm, and cleaved down into the bone. Sol pulled and twisted away, wary of when the monster’s sight might return.

The wave of mutants with the savage boss reached the edges of the barricades, just inside the door. The Mutants swarmed over the low walls and began to fighting with hands and teeth with the surviving crewmen. Most of the crew had no training, and they started to die.

Jansen, Var, and Ras continued to fire, picking targets or groups of mutants. A few more fell.

Sol got one more good stab into his foe before the beast blinked hard and looked right at him. Sol knew the creature wasn’t blinded any longer. The monster took a step and swung with a massive club, which was really nothing more than a heavy steam pipe from the guts of the ship. Full of rage and pain, and sliding on the slippery deck, the pipe swing wide and high over Sol’s head. Sol let the weight of the pipe drag the animal’s arm past him, and suddenly the creature was looking at Sol over it’s own shoulder. Sol’s sword came up fast and true, and dug into the side of the brute’s head. Sol watched the rage drain out of it’s eyes.

The crewmen were falling, and nearly all had fallen. Dhrana was still keeping one creature at bay with his own sword, while Jansen, Ras, and Var picked targets. As the last of the crewmen fell, Ras and Var opened fire and cut down more of the mutants. Sol charged and smashed into another one, cleaving it nearly in two.

Var turned quicly and fired a single round at the creature that was trying to eat Dhrana’s face, but the round sliced through Dhrana’s uniform and into his arm as Dhrana spun and impaled the mutant on his sword. Sol finished the last of the standing mutants with and heavy chop from his sword. He turned, looking for something else to kill, and looked a little surpised there were no more mutants standing.

Suddenly, it was quiet, with only a few groans from dying mutants. The team worked quickly, quietly, and with purpose.

“Where should we put the crew? We can’t carry them out, and I won’t leave them here,” said Jansen.

“Help me move them into the lockers. We can come back for them,” Dhrana said, as Ras bound and patched his arm.

“Sorry about that, pal,” Var said. “Shot went a bit wide.”

Dhrana asked them men to take him to the lift, and they did, bringing a few functioning guns, some crude axes the mutants had, and a small pouch of shiny bits Sol found on the big monster. Sol hacked it’s head off it’s shoulders and lifted it onto his back to show the ship’s crew what they were dealing with.

Back up in the main decks, the team reported back to the head Tech Priest, who was very thankful to Rasputina, but a little concerned about Sol’s trophy.

Head Adept Zharr presented Ras with a Miverva Aegis Las Carbine in a nice wooden box. The weapon had clearly been made by techpriests, for techpriests.

“Sol, sell him the head,” Var suggested.

“I’m not giving this away. It’s my first kill with my new sword!” Sol’s line of logic was clear, but the fact that he believed it, and that he didn’t seem the think anything of it was a bit baffling to Var.

“You’re not actually going to KEEP that, are you? I mean, we don’t have a home. You’ll have to carry it around.” The inconvenience of an oozing, bloody mutant head seemed more of a argument to Var.

Jansen was even more practical. “As soon as I smell that thing, I’m going to burn it. Understand?” Sol set it down and gave it to Zharr “to show the captain.”

Zharr looked into the distance for a second, and then looked back to the team. “You have been excused from the next security shift. My thanks to you all.”

The team strolled down to the mess hall and had some food and a few beers. Jansen drank a few of the ship’s own distilled grain drink, and even Ras treated herself to a beer. Before long the adrenaline buzz of combat wore thin, and they started to get tired. They headed back to the cabin.

“I’m going to talk to the scrap merchant before I sleep. I’m taking one of this shotgun, the muttie axes, and some baubles to trade.”

Sol fished out the shiny bits from the creature. “See what these are, but don’t sell them right away.”

Jansen called out from the shower. “Ammo and magazines for the autogun I kept!”

“Will do!” As the team settled in, Var packed up his bag and headed out into the hall.

Var ended up spending a several hours with the old scrap man. The Axes and Blades the team had found were not garbage. Klayde was particularly interested in them. Var and Klayde talked at length about how to tell a quality metal from scrap, and how to recognize good machining techniques on a gun. Klayde told stories of old coins, ornamental armor, and all kinds of fortunes he had seen, bought, sold, won, and lost.

Var let the converstaion drift to Grevious, the narco dealer. Klayde was cautious, but more at the talk of dealing in narco than of Grevious. Var was warned that while Grevious was small time, he did little to hide himself, so someone must be allowing him to peddle his trade. Var got the impression Klayde might have been a man mixed up in the narco trade once... or maybe a man who used what he sold at one time. Var was understanding of this. He had seen the affects of years in the clutches of those little shots and pills. He had seen what it took to detox and avoid the temptations.

Var thanked Klayde, but still went to visit Grevious.

He wore a workmens blue overalls but with a leather coat over that. He had glare shades and was bald. As Var Sats across the table Var asked him about halo and its price. To which

"That depends on the colour of your money and if I can 'Quite recall' what in the emperors name you might be on about boy," Grevious purred. Var thought he seemed a little drunk.

Smoothly he leaned back and takes a drag on his Lho stick, giving the impression its just another day and he had all the time in the world.

Var's voice lowered. "My thrones work as well as the next man's." Var had switched to his first language, a form of low, low, low Gothic common to the deep parts of th underhive. While total gibberish to most people, those who spoke it used it as a sign to others of their kind.

Grevious did not miss a beat, and responded in a similar yet not identical dialect. Var could make out common root phrases but he accenuated certain meanings more than others. Var got the gist of what Grevious was saying, "Then I can get you some for the low on price of 130 thrones a pop. But thats a downer. A relaxer. Your missing out on the main ride!"

Var acted interesting in this offer. "What's the main event on this cruise?"

Grevious perked up just a bit. He was selling. "A mind spanning journey on the cosmos. You try this and you gain some meaning of you, the universe and yourself. Of course I'll need to see if your able to be in the market for such a chance of a lifetime." He casually tiped the burnt ash off his Lho stick into a tray.

"I'm interested," Var said. "How much is one ticket for this ride?"

"The ticket is 300 coins. So you game?"

Var had a small wad of thrones in his pocket, but he knew it wasn't 300 yet. "That's more than I have on me right now, but I'll have more once we get to 41 Pry."

"Well you seem to know where I am. You change your mind and well get you fixed up." The man seemingly lost interest in Var, Though its was hard to tell as his head barely moved and Var couldn't see his eyes.

Var returned to the cabin. He handed out short stacks of thrones to the others, each stack had 50 thrones. "Those Muttie axes were some kind of good metal, and they fetched a good price," Var announced. He handed the rings back to Sol. "Klayde and I looked these over. You'll want a real appraiser, but I think most of those are crap, maybe 30 thrones worth for all but one." Var pointed out one ring in particular. This ring was gold, but not soft, and the time in the lower decks had not decreased it's shine or the detail on the metalworking. "That one's nicer."

The team kicked back and talked, resting on and off for a few hours. Sol wanted to get back into the depths, with an idea for a suit of armor. Var was thinking about something to buy at the next planet that he could sell on the ship before they got to 41 Pry. Rasputina talked about her homeworld, and explained the details of her people's complex naming traditions, which Sol and Var listed to with actual interest. Jansen slept soundly, weapon next to him, and snored quietly.