Jealous that Horus is Warmaster
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Okay, I've spent a good afternoon reading other peoples fiction, so I thought I'd add one of my own. Think 40k vs Aliens. Oh, and enjoy!
The thin air echoed through the long, black corridors and the faint hissing of steam vents answered Brother-Captain Benedict’s footsteps. The dark and empty ship matched his mood; it seemed that there would be no action and he was getting restless.
He had volunteered the instant that Celestin had asked for a captain, especially as it had been over a year since the Sarrah victory and his men were hungry for battle. His finger flexed across the trigger of his stormbolter as his squad moved towards the main bay of the vessel. Although they wouldn't show it, he knew that his men were impatient because the vast hulk appeared deserted and they were denied their quarry. The sweep of the outlying corridors had not revealed a single life form or any technology of worth. Most of the hardware was stripped or damaged beyond repair; its secrets lost forever.
He called a halt to his men in what would have once been a prep. area for Warhawk and Thunderhawk gunships. The vehicle racks were broken and twisted and only dead wires hung from them, their copper innards exposed to the near vacuum. At the rear there was a vast hatch that would take them further into the heart of the craft. Its hydraulics and cogwheels were all burnt orange in colour, and the great Aquila embossed upon it was the size of a Land Raider. Benedict stood thoughtfully before the huge pressure door, as its archaic symbols were covered in rust he wondered if the mechanism would still function.
‘We are going to proceed into sector six,’ he relayed over his vox com, knowing that their cam feeds were being thoroughly scrutinized by Icor, a tech-priest from the forge world Chemaxion.
‘Yes, yes, you must go further inside and secure this vessel. You must,’ the Adeptus Mechanicus enginseer enthused from his pict relay-orb on the Battle Barge Gallant.
‘That blast door, umm; a mark four-eighty-three. Let me think, aha; the lever will be a skull on a bar of twisted bronze,’ Icor said, struggling to keep his mechanical voice level, - such was his excitement. It caused a wry smile to play across Benedict’s face. Typically he had little time for men who preferred science over warfare. However, he was glad that Icor was advising them as his knowledge of ancient technology was second to none, despite the rabid and humourous manner in which he fussed over it.
Two weeks earlier, four separate astropath’s aboard transport barges in the Fortura Corridor had sent reports of a great darkness in the Warp. The news was important enough for Chapter Master Celestin to summon Benedict and all the company captains to a consultation with the Imperial Navy. Most feared a warp storm was brewing or that the tendrils of a hive fleet were approaching. Icor had counselled against this, saying that it could be a lost remnant of the Gothic fleet, but was shouted down by nearly all those assembled. However, the shadow vanished from Warp space as quickly as it had appeared and the point seemed moot. Nevertheless, not long after, the long range scanner at Fortura Prime reported a large craft, powerless and adrift, entering the sector. A cruiser was sent to intercept the vessel and what it discovered was something that nobody expected; an enormous ship, fifty eight times the size of itself that bore Crusade-era Imperial insignia.
Captain Benedict had read of the great Hulks that drift through Imperial space from time to time. Some infested with Pirates or Orks, some filled with horrors that are much, much worse. However, he also knew that ancient vessels such as these could contain any number of powerful artefacts or forgotten STC blueprints. The worth of such discoveries could be invaluable to the Imperium. Indeed, the Adeptus Mechanicus at Chemaxion could barely hide their glee at the discovery, regardless of the risks involved. Their usually secretive tech-lords had rendezvoused with Celestin’s Space Marine fleet a mere fourteen hours after the discovery, offering their services.
Captain Benedict returned his attention to the door, trying to locate the release handle. His squad lined up in assault formation beside him with clockwork precision. Despite his great artificer plate, he was still dwarfed by the hulking marines in tactical dreadnaught armour that flanked him. The Terminators of the first company waited in silence, each aware of their duties and the potential threats that lay deeper within the vast ship. Despite the eerie emptiness of the derelict vessel, none would let fear take them. They had all served in the Vanguard during the Sarrah Campaign, witnessing carnage that no man should have to endure in his lifetime. Despite that, Benedict had been the only captain to proudly report that none of his men had fallen on that first brutal day. Benedict smiled at the memory, but was broken from his reverie by a presence at his shoulder.
‘It is so quiet, Brother-Captain’ said Elias, the squad sergeant, absently running his eyes around the outline of the door. Benedict looked over at the big Marine and smiled, recalling the hour that Elias had smashed asunder the Orkoid command posts and raised the Blue Knights banner.
‘Yes, not even the machine spirit whispers here,’ replied the Captain.
‘So we must speak his name into these dark places!’ Elias said.
Benedict nodded and turned to face all of his men, ‘I do not know what we will see or what we will confront, but the Emperor’s light watches over us. Trust in that.’
‘I trust in my assault cannon,’ grunted Elias as he shifted uneasily back into his position.
‘We all trust in that,’ the captain laughed. He looked back to the door and let out a grunt of satisfaction as he located the lever, complete with a skull, just as Icor had described.
‘Close stance by twos on me. Here we go,’ Benedict said and activated the rusty handle. The bronzed door slowly rumbled up into its housing and the steam that rushed from beneath it billowed out in great clouds temporarily blinding the men.
‘Curse those Marines! I can’t make out anything! What can you see Benedict?’ Icor said wiping the pict monitors futilely, far away on the Gallant.
‘Icor… Stand by,’ replied the Captain. The tech priest checked Benedict’s feed and through the wispy clouds of smoke he saw the tantalising sight of banks of untouched instrumentation panels.
‘Yes, take a closer look at those stations,’ Icor said, craning his bionic eye right up to the screen.
‘Icor… Can’t… Hear… Squad ho…’ Benedict’s voice disappeared in a hiss of electricity.
‘Captain, There is… Coming…’ Brother Elias’ gruff voice cut in on the vox.
The brief glimpse of ancient technology Icor had seen vanished from the screens as the mist continued to cloud around the Marines. Icor thumped his fist down on control grid in frustration. ‘Can you not clear that accursed vapour!’ the enginseer snapped. He scanned over the various displays to see if there were any other traces of a clear sight of the panels. He set his myriad servo arms and fine manipulators to twisting dials and punching buttons to improve the picture quality. Just as he was about to give up in frustration, he thought he could see something on a deep ultra wavelength. He turned up the contrast, hoping to bring the arcane technology into focus; instead he saw strange shapes moving agilely through the mist. They were far too swift to be the Terminators. His eyes opened with horror as he realised that the team were compromised. Before he could warn them, his earpiece erupted with the sudden sound of storm-bolter fire.
‘Brother-Captain…’ a Marine said amidst the confused shouting, before being cut off in a horrid, rasping gargle.
‘Switch to vox com theta; it’s clear.’ Benedict’s voice crackled over the radio link, ‘Xeno’s incoming. By His light, from the floor! Defence pattern Falcon! For the Emperor, Dorn and Glory!’
Icor returned his eyes to Benedict’s feed, but all he could make out were the muzzle flashes of weapon fire and ominous bestial shadows. He jumped back in horror as a huge clawed hand raked across the screen.
‘Captain Benedict? Sergeant Elias?’ he stammered as three monitors blinked to static snow. Through the com link he heard the assault cannon open fire over strange, guttural noises.
‘Icor? Captain Celestin? We need... What in the Emperor’s name…?’ Benedict’s voice was drowned out by a loud reverberation on all the vox channels. The bolters were instantly silenced and the remaining pict monitors flicked to static.
‘Benedict!’ Icor stammered, but there was no reply. He tapped in the mag code for the commander of the fleet and shakily lowered his mike to his lips.
‘Admiral Calerphron, this is Enginseer Icor; priority alpha. Tell Master Celestin that we need an immediate tele-vac of the sweep team; expect fatalities. Oh, and Cal, run a pulse to Chemaxion, tell them that the survey will be delayed by several months due to possible Genestealer contact. He took off his headset and looked at the rows of blank monitors. He sat in the dim white light for a long time with his human hand clamped over his mouth in disbelief.
‘Well Celestin,’ Icor murmured under his breath, ‘I was wrong. The tentacles of the Hive fleet have reached us. I hope for both our sakes you’re the equal of them.'
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People shouldn't be afraid of their Government's, Government's should be afraid of their people. 