Join Date: Sep 2012
Location: Deepest, darkest Buckinghamshire...
“The door’s locked, Lieutenant,” Borski whispered through his vox link, although his voice sounded loud to his ears as it reverberated inside his helmet. They’d been tip-toeing nervously through a maze of passageways and had reached a wide blast door, constructed in the 10,000 year old industrial gothic style of Old Terra. Except for the hard-nosed officer, the men were fearful of what might lurk inside this dead vessel.
Churian spoke curtly, his voice loud in Borski’s ears. “Open it”.
The technician grimaced at the loudness of his voice and he could see the other crew members flinch. He remembered the grim faerie tales of his childhood, when his mother spoke of warp-spawned doom ships drifting in the void, and the fools who would try to unlock their secrets, in the vain search for fame and fortune. He recalled that the adventuring heroes invariably came to a sticky end, and the moral to these stories was always the same: Ware the things you seek; lest other, unspeakable things seek you.
He shook his head from the brief reverie and set about the task of unlocking the blast door.