Chapter 3 here, not finished yet though.
- Chapter 3 – On the usefulness of chainswords -
Thought for the day: Ruthlessness is the kindness of the wise
30 KM above Malbrede V
The pilots in the cockpit were having a hard time as they tried to retain control over the shuttle, as turbulent winds were throwing them from side to side.
“Shield readings normal, engines are operating within usual parameters. How long ‘till we are in, Seyan?”
“ETA twenty minutes to Old Gates spaceport.”
“Hey what’s that? Are those friendly?”
The radar started beeping.
“Two unidentified fliers approaching, bearing three-two-seven!”
The voxcaster crackled to life, and both pilots listened intently. “This is Skyshark Alpha Zero-One, identify yourself!”
Seyan grabbed the microphone “This is an Imperial shuttle, designation B4D96S. What’s happening?”
“There have been reports of planetside fighting; all incoming and outgoing transports are now required to be escorted.”
“Roger that. Over and out.”
“Hmm, what do you think’s happening?”
“An Ork Waaagh? Dark Eldar raid? Chaos incursion?”
“Maybe. But let’s put that aside, okay? We both got a shuttle to land.”
With a pair of Thunderbolt fighters besides them, they could see the spaceport through the clouds. It was more magnificent than they could have imagined. They saw countless vessels zooming between different parts of it, the vast servicing bays, and hundreds of Lightning and Thunderbolt fighters patrolling and practicing in dogfighting. They could also see hundreds of docking bays, most of them never at peace.
“Some sight, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
The vox crackled again “Shuttle B4D96S, follow the radar beacon, it will guide you to your docking bay. Over.”
“Roger, Old Gates.”
“This is Skyshark Alpha Zero-One; we must return to our patrol duties, have a nice day. Over.”
“Roger, Skyshark, thanks for the escort. Over.” The Thunderbolt duo peeled away and accelerated upwards. The shuttle made its way to its designated bay, slowly slid into the docking braces, and as they locked the transport firmly in place, Ventory became aware that he was clutching the armrests of his seat. Sighing, he stood up, got hold of his container, and joining the other passengers, went on to the doors. He heard a hiss and felt the air stir.
The shuttle door slid aside, giving way to a plasteel walkway that connected to the shuttle with a clang. The excited passengers were murmuring at the sight of the spaceport’s immense size. Their shuttle was only one amidst hundreds; all manners of noises could be heard, from conversations to the banging and roaring of tools. Pulling the container with renewed vigour, he realized that he will not be thrown into any more meat grinders, that he will have a long vacation, get his mind clear, and only then he will go back to the frontline.
He heard a shout. It sounded faint and breathless, even with the enhancements the Warhawks’ apothecary had gifted him with; it was difficult to hear in this place. Squinting, he saw a man running towards him. He was wearing a blood red robe, trimmed with golden colour.
On his chest was a cross that reminded of the Black Templar’s chapter symbol, but in the centre of it an image of heart was displayed. He saw the man wave and shout again, but to no avail. The shuttle dock was simply too loud. As the rest of passengers walked away, Ventory stood and waited for the old man to reach him. As he approached, he became aware that the old man had a big staff with a heavy-looking Ecclesiarchy symbol on top of it. He stopped in front of Ventory, bent over and breathless.
After a minute, he stood up. “Ah, Ventory, is it not? Inquisitor Vail told us that you were coming. Follow, I will take you to our convent.”
“Our? What do you mean?”
“Oh, there’s dozens of Sororitas’ convents on this planet, and I’m taking you to the one I belong in; The Saviours. Have you heard of us? No? Then let me tell a bit about our order. We are both a Hospitallers and Militants order, and we are renowned for many successful surgeries. We do not relent until we have healed a soldier, be he one of the Astartes, Sororitas, or even an ordinary Guardsman. We have earned the gratitude of many soldiers and warriors throughout the Imperium. But if their injuries are beyond our abilities, we always give them proper burial.”
"How many are there in your order?"
"Ooh, about ten thousand. We have convents throughout all of the Imperium." As they were talking, they reached another transport. "This shuttle will take us to the convent. Shall we?"
"By all means, yes." They climbed inside and Ventory was dumbstruck. Despite the shuttle’s exterior looks, the interior of it was breathtaking. Murals depicting Emperor, prayers inscribed on slips of parchment, burning censers, and also, a pair of hefty flamers strapped to the rear bulkhead.
“Like it? This transport is the one our Canoness uses. She specially requisitioned for this occasion. I heard she is looking forward to meet you.” “So, when are we going?”
“Ohh, not just yet. I heard that one of our servitors had done something terribly amiss. I saw our Techpriest earlier. He went into hysterical fits when he found out that the servitors had been swapping exhaust pieces. I think that he’s praying to the Machine God for mercy now.”
And, as he uttered the last words, a hatch opened in the floor, letting a greasy Enginseer out, his mechadendrite clinging to the hatch.
“Ah, Amnito, how are you? Have you solved the problem?” The man before them bristled somewhat, but spoke politely.
“It is repaired, and should fly now, if Omnissiah wills so.”
Without a further word, he went to the cockpit, muttering darkly something about ‘the brainless fools’. Minutes later, they felt the shuttle tilt slightly, as they sped towards the Sororitas’ convent.
She was running. The pursuing Arbites did not stop. And all this because of a bottle of amasec she’d snatched. “STOP!!!” she heard a maniacal shout. “Not likely!” Mikhaels answered. Running with renewed vigour, she failed to notice a rock on the road. She felt the jolt as she tripped. It was like everything had slowed down. She crashed heavily on her shoulder, rolled over twice and came to a stop when she smashed into a wall of a house.
“OOF! Ow, now that’s going to leave a mark…” She groaned. Then, dazed but unharmed, she tried to get up, only to be grabbed by her neck by one of the Arbites.
“You have just earned yourself a one-way ride to a penal world.” He growled.
She spat back at him “Like it’s anything new to me. I don’t care, send me to anywhere…” her voice trailed off, as she stared past the Arbitrators’ shoulder, her face ashen with terror and shock.
“What?” The Arbitrator made an unforgivable mistake, releasing his grip on Mikhaels when he turned his head to see behind him. Quick as a lightning, she dropped the charade and grabbed his chainsword from its holster. Revving it, she swung it around her to gain momentum. The power armour of the Arbites is able to take much abuse and still hold together. But nothing could have prepared this unlucky man, as the teeth of his own chainsword ground in his greaves, sending sparks, sinew and blood flying everywhere.
It cut through the leg as a hot knife through butter would. Then it met the other leg, which provided no resistance as she sliced it off too. The massive brute of a man roared and howled in pain as he lay on his back, blood flowing from stumps where he recently had legs. The other Arbitrator had drawn his bolt pistol and was busy aiming it at her, when his head swelled and became bright red and exploded, showering everything nearby in gore. She looked around, confused. The headless corpse was already collapsing to ground. Behind it, a few meters away, was Green, his lasgun's barrel smoking.
“I heard a bit of commotion here.” he spoke with a smile.
“Just the perfect time for you to show up. I couldn’t have timed it better myself."
She looked down on the other, legless adversary. He was twitching, the blood loss and shock slowly killing him.
"Want to do the honours, Mikhaels?"
"Love to!" She hefted the chainsword, held the throttle and drove it deep in the chest of the Arbitrator. He let out a gurgling scream as the massive weapon embedded itself in his body. He tried to grab her with his gauntleted hand, but she was out of reach. Then his hand fell limp. He was dead. Mikhaels was breathing heavily, the heavy chainsword having taken its toll on her.
“You know what, Green? I think I like this. It feels good.” She looked up, her face covered in blood of the Arbitrator.
“I think I’m going to keep this. A nice chainsword.” She took the holster off its former owner and tied it around her waist.
“Doing a Yarrick, are we?” she heard a voice from an alley. She swung round, the chainsword at ready.
“Oooooh, how brave.” the voice was still toying with her.
Screaming, she charged down the alley. Putting all her strength in it, she swung an uppercut at the shadows. The chainsword’s engine growled like a pack of Fenrisian wolves. But after a couple of minutes, she could not keep it up. Her invisible adversary mocked her at every swing of the chainsword. Now she was on her knees, exhaustion forbidding her to get up.
“You know, if we are going to have a talk, you REALLY have to stop that.” The voice still continued talking. Mikhaels desperately wanted to change that, but she couldn’t still locate the source.
“You know that if I find you, I’ll fuck you up REAL BAD!” The voice was chuckling. Mikhaels stood up, anger filling her. As she started the chainsword again, she felt a blade press against her neck.
“Drop it.” It was that voice again. She noted it sounded like two people talking at once. It also sounded synthetic, like her adversary was wearing a helmet. Nevertheless, she let the chainsword out her hand.
“Good. Now we can act in a civilised way, right?” Mikhaels felt the blade drawn away from her neck. She noticed something was wrong. She had failed to notice in her killing frenzy that Green had vanished.
"Where's..."
"The other mon-keigh? Oh, he's safe. You just be nice and you'll see him again. So, we have a deal?"
Mikhaels retorted "First, show yourself. Only then we have a deal."
"Sounds fair. So be it." With a shimmer, she saw a figure appear in front of her. It had a conical helmet, its exquisite armour was mixture of pale blue, dark blue and yellow. The being before her reached for the locks on the neck, fiddled with the clasps and pulled its helmet off. A curtain of red hair fell down, two emerald green eyes looking at her.
“Eldar? I’m not really surprised to see you here. If your kind is here, then trouble’s about, am I right?”
“Indeed. I am Farseer Dar'Hael of Venarel Exodite world. I have foreseen that Necrons will reawaken on this world. But this is nor the time or the place to talk. Come.”
“So, where we goin’?”
“We’ve set up a camp nearby. Our Rangers have transported that friend of yours to there along the other captives.”
“What makes YOU think that I’m a captive?” Mikhaels lunged at the Eldar, chainsword flying through air. The Eldar sidestepped the lunge, almost lazily, and swung her Singing Spear at Mikhaels’ legs, knocking her flat on the back. The Eldar was on her in a flash, the heavy blade at her throat.
“Well, I have a good reason. Listen, we do not mean any harm to your Imperium. We want peace. Well, at least our world wants. We are a dwindling race. We cannot endure any more wars. So stop this nonsense or experience severe pain and blood loss.” The blade at her neck served to merely reinforce the Eldar’s point.
Mikhaels threw her arms up as a sign of defeat “Fine, I’ll go. But don’t try any of your mind tricks on me.” The smile on the Eldar’s face was barely noticeable, but she noticed it anyway, as she grasped the outstretched hand.
.
