This is a little 40K fan fiction I'm working on, with the generous assistance of NecronLord. Please feel free to comment.
At the edge of the Halo Stars, at the very fringes of Imperial Space, Imperial law is just a memory. A tradition one adheres to out of respect or because servants of the Imperium have deigned to show their faces and enforce the will of the Master of Mankind. Here, at the fringe of human space, one paid more attention to survival and profit.
There are many strange things in the Halo Stars. Alien civilizations too unimportant or non threatening to be the targets of Imperial Crusades. Desolate ruins of cultures and civilizations long dead, some of them human from the Dark Age of Technology. Forgotten worlds fallen to barbarism or struggling to hold on to what they have.
Adrianne Venam new these worlds better than most. A rogue trader and the daughter of a line of rogue traders, her family had traded in the fringes since before the Imperial reconquest. Some times her family prospered, other times whole branches were annhilated. Always, some of them survived to take root and spread their descendents among the stars.
Her ship, The Trailing Star, was technically an armed merchantman. At two and a quarter kilometers long and including weaponry batteries and shield generators forged by the Tech Masters on Arceros, she could give a light cruiser a fight. And fought she had. Her long flanks were marked by Ork cannon fire and S'hele particle beams. But always, she had survived whether by standing and fighting or running for the warp. The Trailing Star was a lucky ship, a prosperous ship, and so no one was surprised when luck favored them again.
J'vain Screed was monitoring the readouts by the ships auspexes and data streams produced by the logic engines and cogitators. Two skeletal servators, their corpse-like chassis of steel gleaming in the bridge's half light, worked at ajacent stations. An alarm beeped. A planet vanished from his scopes.
J'vain's eyes shot open. His hands played across the stacked crystal slab in front of him, sending orders to sensor systems and scanning devices. The planet reappeared. He played data back. Yes indeed, it had vanished. For a moment. On some scopes. Some active scopes.
"Captain," he called out. Adrianne turned her throne to face him. She was a handsome woman, who looked only a fraction of her one hundred seventeen years. Rejuv had done that. Some men might have been put off by the gold plated interface links on her temples and wrists, but not J'vain. Ebony cables snaked from the command throne were attached to those links and through them she was connected to the ship.
"Report," she said crisply.
"Something ate our active scans for a moment," he said. "Something that was between us and that miserable ball of ice Geligg VIII."
She didn't need to check his panel for conformation. Her interface links gave her that. "Some kind of stealth field."
A rich baritone voice interjected. "Eldar perhaps?" First officer Daven O'ccall was as big as a bull Ork and almost as strong. He was a ferocious fighter and one of the best educated men on the ship. A perfect second for Adrienne Venam.
"Maybe. But why hide there? It's too far from optimal travel paths from the system."
O'ccall grunted in affirmation as he checked Screed's boards. The captain had already refocused a number of sensors on the area. "Maybe they want to lure us in?" O'ccall replied.
"They were hiding too well and we are now on our guard. No, it's not that."
Screed spoke up. "Maybe they are wounded and hiding while they make repairs."
The captain smiled, revealing unnaturally white teeth. Far from all of Venam's business was honest trading. "I think we shall find out. Set intercept course for the object, best as we can. Bring the shields to combat strength and heat up the guns. Just in case."
------------------------------------------
The mighty engines of the The Trailing Star fired, sending a sword of plasma into the void as the mighty ship altered course. Cogitators and logic engines confirmed the necessary orientation and burn time as the rogue trader headed toward the outer system.
Instruments, both passive and active, were focused on the ghost. Data streamed though arcane instruments and appeared as glyphs and sigals on Screed's screen or dancing in Adrienne Venam's brain. Screed watched as more information was compiled. Over his shoulder, Daven O'ccall did the same.
The ship was there, if you looked at it the right way. It's hull was invisible to a telescope at this distance and it ate scanning beams. But it was marginally warmer than the area around it and it bled heat into the void. But that was all. Not a singal indicator of power or life.
The Trailing Star ate up the distance. The main drive cut out and secondary thrusters fired, slowing her down. The great ship coasted towards the mystery ship. But the activity on other decks did not match the calm of the bridge.
On other decks, damage control teams stood by. The ventral turrets of heavy lasers and fusion beamers tracked towards their targets. Along the ship's flanks crew stood by to manage the monstrous macro cannon and plasma devestators should the machinery failed. Capacitors hummed at full capacity, ready to dump energy to the guns or the void shield generators. Heavily armed shock troops awaited at strategic positions for the possibility of boarding action.
In front of them, their target came into view. She was alien, of that there was no doubt. The Trailing Star was a typical example of human design, a cylinder encrusted with a baroque profusion of decorations, practical equipment, and combinations of both. The target ship was barely half her length, a spear head of smooth metal that drank all light that touched her hull. If the masters of the ship, if there were any masters of that ship, were aware of the humans' presence they gave no sign.
--------------------------------------------------------------
"Weird," said Screed. "I would say that she was dead if she wasn'rtwarmer than she should be."
"Could it be just the hull soaking in rays, warming it up?" O'ccall asked.
"Could be," Screed said. "I think the hull is acting like some kind of solar cell, soaking up all the rads and turning them into power. It think that's why it ate the active scans. If so, that juice is running something and that something is producing heat."
"Everything produces heat," O'ccall said. It was a physical law, an ancient one that had not yet become the exclusive preserve of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Everything became heat in the end. "Drifting, but not totally dead. A sleeper ship?" They were little more than legends, but occassionally someone stumbled across them. It was rarely a good deal for the sleepers.
"Could be," Screed said nodding. "Sucking up the free juice, just running on enough power for the cogitators, auspexes, and freezers. But a few things don't fit."
"Yeah," agreed O'ccall. "The design is wrong. No flaming huge tanks or cannisters for fuel. The fancy hull is really advanced for a slow ship. The shape, not optimal for that job."
Screed chewed his lip and then touched a holo of the ship. "Look at the aft. Jagged and torn up, though the way it drinks light it's hard to tell. Maybe she got into a fight and got hurt so bad she had to take the slow ship route."
O'ccall nodded. "That makes sense. I'll tell the captain." He strode across the bridge. Adrienne Venam's throne swivelled to face him.
"What is your analysis?" she asked. Her smile was blinding.
"She got hurt and had to limp away. No telling how long she's been out here. Some systems running inside. Could be really fine plunder."
"Then I suggest you assemble a boarding team, Mister O'ccall."
O'ccall smiled back. "Thank you ma'am." A chance to get a first hand look on xenos tech and the first officer's share of a potentially huge haul. What was there not to be happy about?
Sarcophagus
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Imperial Overlord
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Sarcophagus
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Two shuttles detached from The Trailing Star. At least they were classified as shuttles in the ship's manifest. A cynical observer might call them assault ships. They were nearly one hundred meters long and blocky. Thick armour protected the shuttles and a large engine section gave them respectable speed. A ventral turret housed two las cannons and a chin turret mounted double autocannons. Their scarred hulls were slate grey marked with the aquilla and a motif depicting a star with a comet tail. Blocky letters spelled out their names: Venture and Seeker.
The small craft coasted long the sides of the alien ship, scan lights playing against the hull. Data displays in their helmets picked out and magnified the half invisible features of the alien ship's hull. In the Venture, Commander O'ccall watched on a repeater screen. "Darya, what do you make of that?"he asked and touched the vid plate.
"I'm not sure," the ship's pilot replied. Stimen, her navigator, was the one who was actually running the scan beams. "Looks like a decoration of some sort. A bunch of lines of different lengths, some vertical, some horizontal. A decoration?"
"Or a name. They're at evenly spaced intervals, like letters."
"No colour though," she replied.
"Only one colour you want if you are sucking down steller rads," he replied. "Doesn't match anything in the data base."
"I wonder if the Inquisition has anything about it in its library?" she mused.
"Don't go there," he growled. He didn't want to think about what the Ordo Xenos had squirrelled away in its vaults. He didn't want his men thinking about the possibility of getting dead too much either. These things could be bad enough without morale going into the recycler before you stepped foot on board.
"Think I found a hatch!" Stimen said excitedly. O'ccall checked the repeater and smiled. "Bring us over and extend the docking tube," he commanded.
As the Venture moved into position by an airlock, a cold intelligence watched and calculated. It had been observing the primitives as they approached and considered it's orders. The boarding approach confirmed its course of action. It had to wake its masters.
In an chamber sloped chamber deep within its armoured hull, heating units whined as they went to full power. The icy air, only a few degrees above freezing into liquid, began to stir. Convection currents stired the air as other systems in the room came alive as power was routed in.
It was an unspectacular, rectangular room. One wall sloped down from the ceiling and a consol of three command stations in the middle faced it. Behind the stations was the door and two large cylanders in recessed niches. One of the cylanders emitted an electric blue flash. The front slid back, revealing a humanoid figure.
It was suited in a silvery-grey enviromental suit or armour. It was tall for a human or average for an eldar. It had the bulk of a human, but that could have been the suit. It's gloved fingers were slim and agile. It had five fingers, like a human or an eldar. Its head was an elongated oval, but some eldar helmet designs were like that.
It approached the consol. The slopping wall came to life, projecting a display over its entire expanse. One corner displayed the solar system, another the relative positions of the ships. The third showed their position in the galaxy and the fourt showed the boarding operations in detail. The center was filled with a display of The Trailing Star. Columns of cyan dashes, bars, and lines trailed down the screen.
They were being boarded. The alien ship outmassed the Nemarken by a factor of ten, but it was clearly the product of a technically inferior civilization. The Nemarken was not a warship, but it was armed. Perhaps the aliens in the unfamiliar ships would offer assistance, but a lifetime spent in a hostile universe argued against it.
The small craft coasted long the sides of the alien ship, scan lights playing against the hull. Data displays in their helmets picked out and magnified the half invisible features of the alien ship's hull. In the Venture, Commander O'ccall watched on a repeater screen. "Darya, what do you make of that?"he asked and touched the vid plate.
"I'm not sure," the ship's pilot replied. Stimen, her navigator, was the one who was actually running the scan beams. "Looks like a decoration of some sort. A bunch of lines of different lengths, some vertical, some horizontal. A decoration?"
"Or a name. They're at evenly spaced intervals, like letters."
"No colour though," she replied.
"Only one colour you want if you are sucking down steller rads," he replied. "Doesn't match anything in the data base."
"I wonder if the Inquisition has anything about it in its library?" she mused.
"Don't go there," he growled. He didn't want to think about what the Ordo Xenos had squirrelled away in its vaults. He didn't want his men thinking about the possibility of getting dead too much either. These things could be bad enough without morale going into the recycler before you stepped foot on board.
"Think I found a hatch!" Stimen said excitedly. O'ccall checked the repeater and smiled. "Bring us over and extend the docking tube," he commanded.
As the Venture moved into position by an airlock, a cold intelligence watched and calculated. It had been observing the primitives as they approached and considered it's orders. The boarding approach confirmed its course of action. It had to wake its masters.
In an chamber sloped chamber deep within its armoured hull, heating units whined as they went to full power. The icy air, only a few degrees above freezing into liquid, began to stir. Convection currents stired the air as other systems in the room came alive as power was routed in.
It was an unspectacular, rectangular room. One wall sloped down from the ceiling and a consol of three command stations in the middle faced it. Behind the stations was the door and two large cylanders in recessed niches. One of the cylanders emitted an electric blue flash. The front slid back, revealing a humanoid figure.
It was suited in a silvery-grey enviromental suit or armour. It was tall for a human or average for an eldar. It had the bulk of a human, but that could have been the suit. It's gloved fingers were slim and agile. It had five fingers, like a human or an eldar. Its head was an elongated oval, but some eldar helmet designs were like that.
It approached the consol. The slopping wall came to life, projecting a display over its entire expanse. One corner displayed the solar system, another the relative positions of the ships. The third showed their position in the galaxy and the fourt showed the boarding operations in detail. The center was filled with a display of The Trailing Star. Columns of cyan dashes, bars, and lines trailed down the screen.
They were being boarded. The alien ship outmassed the Nemarken by a factor of ten, but it was clearly the product of a technically inferior civilization. The Nemarken was not a warship, but it was armed. Perhaps the aliens in the unfamiliar ships would offer assistance, but a lifetime spent in a hostile universe argued against it.
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Ford Prefect
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Hmm, intriuging. Rogue Traders are always fun to play around with. And a new menace? Ready to be purged by the loyal men and women of the Emperor! Ave Imperator!
Now seriously, I can't wait to see this new menace, although it does seem they're outmatched. Oh well.
I especially liked this:
Now seriously, I can't wait to see this new menace, although it does seem they're outmatched. Oh well.
I especially liked this:
The Techpriests are taking away our physical laws!"Everything produces heat," O'ccall said. It was a physical law, an ancient one that had not yet become the exclusive preserve of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
What is Project Zohar?
Here's to a certain mostly harmless nutcase.
Here's to a certain mostly harmless nutcase.
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Imperial Overlord
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Imperial Overlord
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O'ccall watched through the pic screen as the crew men cut at the lock. The Venture had extended a collapsable docking corridor to seal the airlock when they breached it. It hadn't responded to any attempts to use the control pad, other than with a burst of electronic static over the vox. The next step was to cut.
And they had been at it for fifteen minutes and it was taking an agonizingly long time. Ceramite would have yielded long ago to the torches, which only scarred the metal. If the progress had been any worse, O'ccall would have ordered the placement of melta bombs and retreating to a safe distance. But it wasn't quite that bad. It was just taking too damn long.
On this side of the docking corridor waited Nezram Nissal and his crew. They had suited up as even if the ship had a breathable atmosphere, it would be deadly cold inside. The armoured suits restricted mobility, but gave excellent protection. The boarding crew was armed with chain blades and monoedged heavy cutters for close in work and door breaching. Heavy duty shotcannons, large calibre stubbers, and rapid cycle lases for distance work. A varying assortment of tools were attached to their suits. Nissal's men were expert at their work whether it was a shore raiding party or seizing a prize.
The airlock door finally yielded to Davvy's and Mekal's attentions. The inner airlock proved to be equally stubborn about resisting their commands. They set up their cutters and got to work.
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Alkel Nethrazar touched a control on the consol in front of him. Power flow was increased and channelled into the Nemarken's internal monitors. Ancient machines in storage facilities began their start up sequence, despite having been shut down in an era that predated the existence of the human race. Start up procedures were followed, overrides obeyed, rerouting accomplished, and new orders were recieved. The doors of their cells slid open.
Behind Alkel Nethrazar there was the blue flash of a dissapaiting stasis field. The other cylander began to open.
------------------------------------------------------------
Finally, the inner door yielded to the plasma torches. Serensen and Nissal scuttled forward, shotcannons at the ready. The full auto weapons had alternating loads of flechette shredders and solid core armour piercers. Very little short of powered armour could survive a volley from those guns and that was the way they liked it. The lights attached to their gun barrels swept the corridor ahead. It was as dark as a tomb and as cold as an inquisitor's heart.
"Clear ahead," Nevad shouted back. O'ccall watched as Nissal lead his men inside. Rank had his priviledges and one of his was that he didn't wear an armoured vac suit. O'ccall's harness was a gleaming brass finished suit of power armour from his home world of Tordran. Mind impulse units in the helmet controlled the splendid suit, a marvel only slightly inferior to those of the famed Adeptus Astartes. It had cost a small fortune, but O'ccall placed no small value on his own life. He and his crew would wait here as back up and technical support for the boarding team.
The advance squad took point as they walked into the cold, dead ship. The builders were far closer to humans in aesthetics than they had expected. The scale was a little off, but the builders appreciated symmetry and right angles, which made it easier on the boarding crew. Some of the ships they had boarded had been incomprehensible, making no sense to a human mind.
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"How long?" asked Rasphys es-Nethrazar.
"Too long," her husband replied. He pointed to a series of glyphs.
Her helmet dipped for a moment. "Then the drive could not be repaired. Why did it not find us a suitable planet?"
"Our location on emergence was less than ideal. The damage was so widespread, even with repairs the ships options were quite limited. Repairs did not go as well as we projected."
"We are being boarded."
"Yes. The monitors have just been brought back on line."
"They are quad limbed bipeds. Interesting. Coincidence?"
"Current theory supports the likelyhood of intelligent life of being bipedal."
"True. The proportions are wrong for them to be members of our species."
"Take a look at their ship," he said, directing her attention to the monitor.
"They are primatives."
"Heavily armed primatives. The power levels from their reactors are not contemtable. Their ship outmasses us by ten to one."
"We should wake the others," she said.
"Agreed," he said touching the controls. Power surged in other sections of the ship.
"They may not be hostile," she said.
"They are heavily armed."
"From there point of view we are a mysterious, dead ship. Precautions would be sensible."
"True. What do you propose?"
"This," she said as she touched a control.
He felt a warm surge of affection and then repressed a shudder. The Slaves would have traded that away along with everything that made life worth living so much did they fear death. They had embraced monsters and called them gods when those beings had promised them immortality. Immortality as what was a question they did not ask. Slaves to their greed, slaves to their fear, slaves to the gods they had chosen. They deserved those gods, but the rest of the universe did not.
Rasphys put her gloved had on her husband's shoulder. "They are a space faring species. They are humanoids. It is not unlikely that they might listen to reason."
"You could say that about our race," he replied. "What if they are just like the Slaves?"
"Then we will kill them," she replied.
And they had been at it for fifteen minutes and it was taking an agonizingly long time. Ceramite would have yielded long ago to the torches, which only scarred the metal. If the progress had been any worse, O'ccall would have ordered the placement of melta bombs and retreating to a safe distance. But it wasn't quite that bad. It was just taking too damn long.
On this side of the docking corridor waited Nezram Nissal and his crew. They had suited up as even if the ship had a breathable atmosphere, it would be deadly cold inside. The armoured suits restricted mobility, but gave excellent protection. The boarding crew was armed with chain blades and monoedged heavy cutters for close in work and door breaching. Heavy duty shotcannons, large calibre stubbers, and rapid cycle lases for distance work. A varying assortment of tools were attached to their suits. Nissal's men were expert at their work whether it was a shore raiding party or seizing a prize.
The airlock door finally yielded to Davvy's and Mekal's attentions. The inner airlock proved to be equally stubborn about resisting their commands. They set up their cutters and got to work.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Alkel Nethrazar touched a control on the consol in front of him. Power flow was increased and channelled into the Nemarken's internal monitors. Ancient machines in storage facilities began their start up sequence, despite having been shut down in an era that predated the existence of the human race. Start up procedures were followed, overrides obeyed, rerouting accomplished, and new orders were recieved. The doors of their cells slid open.
Behind Alkel Nethrazar there was the blue flash of a dissapaiting stasis field. The other cylander began to open.
------------------------------------------------------------
Finally, the inner door yielded to the plasma torches. Serensen and Nissal scuttled forward, shotcannons at the ready. The full auto weapons had alternating loads of flechette shredders and solid core armour piercers. Very little short of powered armour could survive a volley from those guns and that was the way they liked it. The lights attached to their gun barrels swept the corridor ahead. It was as dark as a tomb and as cold as an inquisitor's heart.
"Clear ahead," Nevad shouted back. O'ccall watched as Nissal lead his men inside. Rank had his priviledges and one of his was that he didn't wear an armoured vac suit. O'ccall's harness was a gleaming brass finished suit of power armour from his home world of Tordran. Mind impulse units in the helmet controlled the splendid suit, a marvel only slightly inferior to those of the famed Adeptus Astartes. It had cost a small fortune, but O'ccall placed no small value on his own life. He and his crew would wait here as back up and technical support for the boarding team.
The advance squad took point as they walked into the cold, dead ship. The builders were far closer to humans in aesthetics than they had expected. The scale was a little off, but the builders appreciated symmetry and right angles, which made it easier on the boarding crew. Some of the ships they had boarded had been incomprehensible, making no sense to a human mind.
-------------------------------------------------------
"How long?" asked Rasphys es-Nethrazar.
"Too long," her husband replied. He pointed to a series of glyphs.
Her helmet dipped for a moment. "Then the drive could not be repaired. Why did it not find us a suitable planet?"
"Our location on emergence was less than ideal. The damage was so widespread, even with repairs the ships options were quite limited. Repairs did not go as well as we projected."
"We are being boarded."
"Yes. The monitors have just been brought back on line."
"They are quad limbed bipeds. Interesting. Coincidence?"
"Current theory supports the likelyhood of intelligent life of being bipedal."
"True. The proportions are wrong for them to be members of our species."
"Take a look at their ship," he said, directing her attention to the monitor.
"They are primatives."
"Heavily armed primatives. The power levels from their reactors are not contemtable. Their ship outmasses us by ten to one."
"We should wake the others," she said.
"Agreed," he said touching the controls. Power surged in other sections of the ship.
"They may not be hostile," she said.
"They are heavily armed."
"From there point of view we are a mysterious, dead ship. Precautions would be sensible."
"True. What do you propose?"
"This," she said as she touched a control.
He felt a warm surge of affection and then repressed a shudder. The Slaves would have traded that away along with everything that made life worth living so much did they fear death. They had embraced monsters and called them gods when those beings had promised them immortality. Immortality as what was a question they did not ask. Slaves to their greed, slaves to their fear, slaves to the gods they had chosen. They deserved those gods, but the rest of the universe did not.
Rasphys put her gloved had on her husband's shoulder. "They are a space faring species. They are humanoids. It is not unlikely that they might listen to reason."
"You could say that about our race," he replied. "What if they are just like the Slaves?"
"Then we will kill them," she replied.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Ford Prefect
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Chris OFarrell
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Imperial Overlord
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You can understand why I have the big thank you to NecronLord up top. I'm writing this baby in the Writer's Guild and posting it here after the big man has gotten his two cents in so I can do the necessary revisions.Chris OFarrell wrote:Necrontyr?
Wow.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
You beat me to it.Chris OFarrell wrote:Necrontyr?
I always wondered what the original Necrons looked like, before they became machines. I've seen pics of living C'tan but never living Necrons.
One minor nitpick: this being 40K if my ship was being boarded by aliens I wouldn't consider the posibility that they were friendly. There is no such thing.
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Imperial Overlord
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The ship appears derelict and that the Rogue Traders might simply be salvagers is the consideration going through the head of the Necrontyr. That doesn't mean they are right about their beliefs.Junghalli wrote:You beat me to it.Chris OFarrell wrote:Necrontyr?
I always wondered what the original Necrons looked like, before they became machines. I've seen pics of living C'tan but never living Necrons.[/qoute]
Educated guesses based on the body shape of Necrons and conversations with NecronLord.
[qoute]
One minor nitpick: this being 40K if my ship was being boarded by aliens I wouldn't consider the posibility that they were friendly. There is no such thing.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
They are simply salvagers, right? It's just that I imagine in cases like these SOP is to kill the crew and turn their bodies over to the Ordo Xenos. Judging by everything we know about the Necrons pre-C'tan contact their own procedures would likely have been similar (everybody in 40K thinks that way except the Tau, who will ask you to convert to their philosophy and then kill you if you say no). After all, they only allied with the C'tan because they were loosing their wars.Imperial Overlord wrote:The ship appears derelict and that the Rogue Traders might simply be salvagers is the consideration going through the head of the Necrontyr. That doesn't mean they are right about their beliefs.
Edit: Necrons being one of the major alien species you'd think some of the technicians on the Trailing Star would be able to recognize their technology. Although that might ruin the fanfic because I wouldn't explore a Necron wreck without a heavily armed platoon or three of IGs, to say nothing of five or six warships ready to blast it to pieces should anything funny start happening.
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Imperial Overlord
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They haven't ID'd the ship as a Necron ship. It doesn't have what they recognize as Necrontyr script on it and it isn't the same shape as documented Necron ships. They are rogue traders and have liscence and history with trading aliens. If they turn it over to the Ordo Xenos they make no money, if they recover valuable alien technology they make a fortune. As for how the Necrontyr behaved in the past, we only know they had conflict with the Old Ones and their client races, before they became the slaves of the C'tan. After they became the C'tan's slaves, it is a different story.
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NecronLord
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The evidence suggests that the pre-War in Heaven era was a far less intolerant age. While the Necrontyr are according to the Eldar, who both weren't there and are biased, responsible for the war due to their hatred of those with longer lives than themselves, that is by no means reliable, and is a fundamentally unconvincing excuse.Junghalli wrote:Judging by everything we know about the Necrons pre-C'tan contact their own procedures would likely have been similar (everybody in 40K thinks that way except the Tau, who will ask you to convert to their philosophy and then kill you if you say no).
It was a tad more complex than that.After all, they only allied with the C'tan because they were loosing their wars.
There were millions of years between the time this vessel left Naogeddon and the 'modern' necron technology base. We know that the C'tan improved and expanded on necron technology. It's not unlikely that such a vessel would look completely different.Edit: Necrons being one of the major alien species you'd think some of the technicians on the Trailing Star would be able to recognize their technology. Although that might ruin the fanfic because I wouldn't explore a Necron wreck without a heavily armed platoon or three of IGs, to say nothing of five or six warships ready to blast it to pieces should anything funny start happening.
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O'ccall checked his instruments again. Definite heat blooms over the ship. Just two degrees at the moment but rising. "Nissal, heat spikes all over the ship. Something's waking up."
"Affirm," Nissal replied. "Registering a three degree spike in our vacinity and rising. Also venting gas into our compartments. Bioscanner indicates breathable mix, no contaminents." The slim man barked an order. "Davvy, be ready for trouble."
"Don't have to tell me twice," said the big blonde. His thumb rested by the safety of his industrial chain blade. It was designed to cut open airlocks and and slice through wreckage. It also mangled flesh and shredded space armour. A heavy duty naval pistol was in his other hand.
Serensen pushed ahead, a full half step, his shotcannon ready. Nevad barked. "Motion sensors detect movement."
------------------------------------------------------------
In heavily armoured chambers near the core of the Nemarken, lighting flickered on and enviromental controls activated. Heat was blasted into those three armoured rooms that contained row upon row of sarcophagi. In one room, blue light flashed around the metal coffins as the stasis field deactivated. The lids slid aside to reveal their metal armoured occupants.
In other parts of the ship, ancient machines completed their activation checks and stirred to life. They had maintained an alternating vigil over their sleeping masters. Now, for the first time in tens of millions of years, they stirred en mass. Metallic legs stretched and twitched and sensors glowed with eldritch light. Instructions were recieved. They scuttled along the corridors of the ancient ship, obediant to their maker's will.
---------------------------------------------------------------
"Three contacts dead ahead!" Nissal yelled.
"Throne! I don't see a damn thing!" Davvy yelled. "Ser?"
The light beam on the shotcannon sweapt the corridor. A dark shape swept through one. "Incoming!" Serensen yelled. A crackling noise carried through the the thin air. A shape materialized, wreathing with energy discharges. It was was humanoid, but built like a low geer or and Eldar, if its armour matched its proportions. The helmet resembled those of an aspect warrior.
"Eldar!" Davvy screamed. "Throne!" There was only one kind of Eldar that invisibly stalked derelict ships. Corsairs. Davvy raised his gun, knowing it was too late even as he did, and fired. His weapon had no effect that he could could.
Serensen opened up with his shotcannon. The weapon fired three rounds a second and possessed a punishing recoil, even with its compensators. Alternating volleys of iridium tipped armour piercers and tungsten flechettes flew through the air towards the shimmering figure. Two men behind them with a clear line of fire opened up. They tore up the wall behind the holo and punched through the carapace of the mechanical bug projecting the image. The bug slumped. The image flickered and died. The humans hosed the corridor for another five seconds. Only the shattered remains of the ship 'bots remained.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rasphys turned towards her husband. "We have our answer."
He looked away from the wall screen. "Yes we do."
"Affirm," Nissal replied. "Registering a three degree spike in our vacinity and rising. Also venting gas into our compartments. Bioscanner indicates breathable mix, no contaminents." The slim man barked an order. "Davvy, be ready for trouble."
"Don't have to tell me twice," said the big blonde. His thumb rested by the safety of his industrial chain blade. It was designed to cut open airlocks and and slice through wreckage. It also mangled flesh and shredded space armour. A heavy duty naval pistol was in his other hand.
Serensen pushed ahead, a full half step, his shotcannon ready. Nevad barked. "Motion sensors detect movement."
------------------------------------------------------------
In heavily armoured chambers near the core of the Nemarken, lighting flickered on and enviromental controls activated. Heat was blasted into those three armoured rooms that contained row upon row of sarcophagi. In one room, blue light flashed around the metal coffins as the stasis field deactivated. The lids slid aside to reveal their metal armoured occupants.
In other parts of the ship, ancient machines completed their activation checks and stirred to life. They had maintained an alternating vigil over their sleeping masters. Now, for the first time in tens of millions of years, they stirred en mass. Metallic legs stretched and twitched and sensors glowed with eldritch light. Instructions were recieved. They scuttled along the corridors of the ancient ship, obediant to their maker's will.
---------------------------------------------------------------
"Three contacts dead ahead!" Nissal yelled.
"Throne! I don't see a damn thing!" Davvy yelled. "Ser?"
The light beam on the shotcannon sweapt the corridor. A dark shape swept through one. "Incoming!" Serensen yelled. A crackling noise carried through the the thin air. A shape materialized, wreathing with energy discharges. It was was humanoid, but built like a low geer or and Eldar, if its armour matched its proportions. The helmet resembled those of an aspect warrior.
"Eldar!" Davvy screamed. "Throne!" There was only one kind of Eldar that invisibly stalked derelict ships. Corsairs. Davvy raised his gun, knowing it was too late even as he did, and fired. His weapon had no effect that he could could.
Serensen opened up with his shotcannon. The weapon fired three rounds a second and possessed a punishing recoil, even with its compensators. Alternating volleys of iridium tipped armour piercers and tungsten flechettes flew through the air towards the shimmering figure. Two men behind them with a clear line of fire opened up. They tore up the wall behind the holo and punched through the carapace of the mechanical bug projecting the image. The bug slumped. The image flickered and died. The humans hosed the corridor for another five seconds. Only the shattered remains of the ship 'bots remained.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rasphys turned towards her husband. "We have our answer."
He looked away from the wall screen. "Yes we do."
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2005-08-09 08:41pm, edited 1 time in total.
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"The others will not be ready immediately," Alkel said. A small number of them were fighters, veterans or recruits of an insane war that had long ago lost its purpose and degenerated into genocidal visciousness on their side. What the Old Ones felt was open to question. Traveller's Star had been settled mostly from the city of Fari-Kelan and had thought the war futile and needless. Most of the inhabitents of Traveller's Star had been terrified of the monstrous C'tan and as much as they desired to live forever, to do so as the slaves of Star Vampires was insanity. The others had not given them much choice.
So they had organized and fled in the Nemarken, but the slaves of the C'tan had not let them go. Their weapons had damaged the Star Drive badly enough to wreck itself when activated. Before they had embraced stasis, a select number had garbed themselves in armoured suits, ready to awake if needed. Alkel and Rasphys had been in that number.
"The bipeds had sent two more teams through the hatch," Rasphys said, dragging her husband's attention away from reawakening volunteers.
They were not ready yet. They needed time. "You have activated the machines?" he asked softly. He hated this armour. He longed to see his wife's face again, to stroke her skin and hold her in his arms.
"Yes, but they are only maitenance models. Not war machines."
"A cutting torch still cuts."
---------------------------------------------------------------
They scuttled forward rapidly like the metallic crabs they resembled. Six mechanical legs carried the robots along the walls and floor of the corridor at full speed, which was about equal that of a joggin human. Manipulator arms were deployed. They ended in powerful gripping claws, charged blades and multipurpose torches.
The beams of the gun mounted lamps swept accross the advancing mass. "Throne!" swore Davvy. The pistol in his hand roared. Serenson's shotcannon joined it. The heavy slugs and flechette's tore through the armour of the lead crab. It sparked and fell as the swarm scuttled past it.
Davvy inched back. He had killed Orks and Je'lan Alfar in hand to hand as well as countless men. But these scuttling bugs were another thing entirely. Nevad's las fired full auto, hosing down bugs off the right wall. "Back!" Nissal shouted as he bounced a grenade forward. "Back!"
The crabs poured forward. Then the grenade went off with a pop and a sizzle. They seized and died.
"Haywire," Davvy breathed. "Nice one boss."
"Can it," Nissal said. "Nevad, motion sensor?"
The small man let go of his las and picked up his motion sensor. "Guielman's bones! Blips right on top of us!"
"What the hell?" Davvy swore. "I don't see-"
A screetching noise from above interrupted him. Everyone looked up. A dozen holes were being sliced through the deck on top of them. Davvy raised his chain fist as crabs began to rain down on top of them.
-------------------------------------------------------
Armoured Necrontyr moved around, forming loose lines in front of the weapon lockers. Some of them had fought in the wars, but many had not. Their commanders handed out weapons. A few plasma pulse pistols, old tech but servicable. Several were issued deadly area of effect lightning arcs. The rest were given sinister long barrelled rifles that resembled human designs. They were sheru-heza, or loosely translated, impact lances. The crewmen checked the charge and setting ratings on the gravity pulse weapons and assembled into squads. Data poured into their armour systems, displaying enemy positions, and friendly units.
----------------------------------------------------------------
"They are assembled, my husband."
"Begin," he said with sorrow.
So they had organized and fled in the Nemarken, but the slaves of the C'tan had not let them go. Their weapons had damaged the Star Drive badly enough to wreck itself when activated. Before they had embraced stasis, a select number had garbed themselves in armoured suits, ready to awake if needed. Alkel and Rasphys had been in that number.
"The bipeds had sent two more teams through the hatch," Rasphys said, dragging her husband's attention away from reawakening volunteers.
They were not ready yet. They needed time. "You have activated the machines?" he asked softly. He hated this armour. He longed to see his wife's face again, to stroke her skin and hold her in his arms.
"Yes, but they are only maitenance models. Not war machines."
"A cutting torch still cuts."
---------------------------------------------------------------
They scuttled forward rapidly like the metallic crabs they resembled. Six mechanical legs carried the robots along the walls and floor of the corridor at full speed, which was about equal that of a joggin human. Manipulator arms were deployed. They ended in powerful gripping claws, charged blades and multipurpose torches.
The beams of the gun mounted lamps swept accross the advancing mass. "Throne!" swore Davvy. The pistol in his hand roared. Serenson's shotcannon joined it. The heavy slugs and flechette's tore through the armour of the lead crab. It sparked and fell as the swarm scuttled past it.
Davvy inched back. He had killed Orks and Je'lan Alfar in hand to hand as well as countless men. But these scuttling bugs were another thing entirely. Nevad's las fired full auto, hosing down bugs off the right wall. "Back!" Nissal shouted as he bounced a grenade forward. "Back!"
The crabs poured forward. Then the grenade went off with a pop and a sizzle. They seized and died.
"Haywire," Davvy breathed. "Nice one boss."
"Can it," Nissal said. "Nevad, motion sensor?"
The small man let go of his las and picked up his motion sensor. "Guielman's bones! Blips right on top of us!"
"What the hell?" Davvy swore. "I don't see-"
A screetching noise from above interrupted him. Everyone looked up. A dozen holes were being sliced through the deck on top of them. Davvy raised his chain fist as crabs began to rain down on top of them.
-------------------------------------------------------
Armoured Necrontyr moved around, forming loose lines in front of the weapon lockers. Some of them had fought in the wars, but many had not. Their commanders handed out weapons. A few plasma pulse pistols, old tech but servicable. Several were issued deadly area of effect lightning arcs. The rest were given sinister long barrelled rifles that resembled human designs. They were sheru-heza, or loosely translated, impact lances. The crewmen checked the charge and setting ratings on the gravity pulse weapons and assembled into squads. Data poured into their armour systems, displaying enemy positions, and friendly units.
----------------------------------------------------------------
"They are assembled, my husband."
"Begin," he said with sorrow.
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Slugs from Davvy's pistol bounced off the carapace of the bug dropping on him. Screams sounded in his ears, drowning out the booms of his comrades weapons. His chainfist howled to life and he sliced open the on his arm bug in a shower of sparks. Another landed on his helmet, it's claw tipped legs stabbing in for a grip. A cutting beam flashed to life and began to cut open his face plate.
With a scream of fear and fury, Davvy impaled it on his howling chainblade. Sparks flew and lightning hissed as he hurled the machine off of him. And then pain exploded and his left leg collapsed. He fell and saw a bug had seized his knee with a clamping arm. He slashed down and severed the arm. The bug swivled and activated it's other limb. A thirty centimeter jet of plasma sprung to life. Other bugs closed in from the side, tool limbs powered and huming.
-----------------------------------------------------
O'ccall watched as his men died and the pic screens went to static. He flipped a switch to speak directly to the captain, who was undoubtedly watching the same thing he was.
"Automaton resistence captain. Maitenance models, by the look of it." The remaining screens flashed all at once and then went to static. Melta bomb detonation. Better to die in a flash and take them with you than have them cut you up piece by piece.
Adrienne Venam's voice came through with a touch of wry irony. "Not quite what we would expect from Eldar Corsairs, is it?"
O'ccall furled his brow. She was right. Lightning fast, heavily armed warriors who were whirlwinds of death, stealthy assassins, and obscene war machines were the tools of that breed. Maitenance automatons pressed into battle were not. "We may have misjudged the foe. The lighting was poor, the contact was brief."
"Put your skills to the test and analyze those images. And deploy your remaining men. I'm dispatching an additional wave of borders. This prize could make us as rich as ecclesiarchs."
As she spoke short range shuttles and close boarding pods were queing up to launch from The Trailing Star's' bays. Inside tough, experienced spacers and mercenaries prepared to engage in battle.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
"They are dead, my husband."
"I see," replied Alkel Nethrazar. He pointed to part of wall screen where The Trailing Star was displayed. Data points were connected to labels and probability points. "Their launch bays have increased in activity and powrer use over the quarter period. Activity levels are continuing to rise."
"More boarding parties," replied Rasphys es-Nethrazar. "The first section is being deployed to resist boarders." It was a statement, not a question. "I must go with the second section."
Alkel did not argue with his wife. He knew she was correct in this matter. As much as he hated to send her into harm's way, she must go. "Stay safe, my love."
"I will try, my husband." She drew a plasma pulse pistol from the arms locker and ackwardly strapped it on. She paused for a moment and then turned for the door. It slid open as she approached and closed behind her, sealing Akel Nethrazar back into his tomb. Alone.
---------------------------------------------------------------
The second section split off from the first and headed towards a point just forward the slagged Star Drive. It was a long, dark corridor that ended in a bank of machinery. Advanced model scarabs awaited them with tool limbs full to sensor equipment and interface tools. Rasphys was with the scarabs. The Necrontyr had ordered themselves in two single file columns to depart. Rasphys watched a screen displaying targeting data and adjusted the target point touched a plaque marked with the cuneiform script of Fari-Kelan.
To her side, there was a low hum. A device that resembled an arched doorway set into a wall came to life. Cables snaked from it to several different panels as well as to the main powerlines. Interrupters marked several cables and one control panel was non-functional, the consequence of the jury-rigging which rendered the portal's long range functions non-functional. It was a necessary piece of sabotage, otherwise the Slaves could flood the ship with a limitless number of souless abominations by way of their own portals.
A sudden flash and the portal was filled with emerald light. The second section began to march forward.
With a scream of fear and fury, Davvy impaled it on his howling chainblade. Sparks flew and lightning hissed as he hurled the machine off of him. And then pain exploded and his left leg collapsed. He fell and saw a bug had seized his knee with a clamping arm. He slashed down and severed the arm. The bug swivled and activated it's other limb. A thirty centimeter jet of plasma sprung to life. Other bugs closed in from the side, tool limbs powered and huming.
-----------------------------------------------------
O'ccall watched as his men died and the pic screens went to static. He flipped a switch to speak directly to the captain, who was undoubtedly watching the same thing he was.
"Automaton resistence captain. Maitenance models, by the look of it." The remaining screens flashed all at once and then went to static. Melta bomb detonation. Better to die in a flash and take them with you than have them cut you up piece by piece.
Adrienne Venam's voice came through with a touch of wry irony. "Not quite what we would expect from Eldar Corsairs, is it?"
O'ccall furled his brow. She was right. Lightning fast, heavily armed warriors who were whirlwinds of death, stealthy assassins, and obscene war machines were the tools of that breed. Maitenance automatons pressed into battle were not. "We may have misjudged the foe. The lighting was poor, the contact was brief."
"Put your skills to the test and analyze those images. And deploy your remaining men. I'm dispatching an additional wave of borders. This prize could make us as rich as ecclesiarchs."
As she spoke short range shuttles and close boarding pods were queing up to launch from The Trailing Star's' bays. Inside tough, experienced spacers and mercenaries prepared to engage in battle.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
"They are dead, my husband."
"I see," replied Alkel Nethrazar. He pointed to part of wall screen where The Trailing Star was displayed. Data points were connected to labels and probability points. "Their launch bays have increased in activity and powrer use over the quarter period. Activity levels are continuing to rise."
"More boarding parties," replied Rasphys es-Nethrazar. "The first section is being deployed to resist boarders." It was a statement, not a question. "I must go with the second section."
Alkel did not argue with his wife. He knew she was correct in this matter. As much as he hated to send her into harm's way, she must go. "Stay safe, my love."
"I will try, my husband." She drew a plasma pulse pistol from the arms locker and ackwardly strapped it on. She paused for a moment and then turned for the door. It slid open as she approached and closed behind her, sealing Akel Nethrazar back into his tomb. Alone.
---------------------------------------------------------------
The second section split off from the first and headed towards a point just forward the slagged Star Drive. It was a long, dark corridor that ended in a bank of machinery. Advanced model scarabs awaited them with tool limbs full to sensor equipment and interface tools. Rasphys was with the scarabs. The Necrontyr had ordered themselves in two single file columns to depart. Rasphys watched a screen displaying targeting data and adjusted the target point touched a plaque marked with the cuneiform script of Fari-Kelan.
To her side, there was a low hum. A device that resembled an arched doorway set into a wall came to life. Cables snaked from it to several different panels as well as to the main powerlines. Interrupters marked several cables and one control panel was non-functional, the consequence of the jury-rigging which rendered the portal's long range functions non-functional. It was a necessary piece of sabotage, otherwise the Slaves could flood the ship with a limitless number of souless abominations by way of their own portals.
A sudden flash and the portal was filled with emerald light. The second section began to march forward.
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Imperial Overlord
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- Location: The Tower at Charm
Down in the guts of The Trailing Star, her engineers laboured over her plasma reactor and power systems. Redundancies and safe guards were built into the systems as cables and conduits carried power and data, the ship's lifeblood, to all of its part. In addition there were the enviromental systems ranging from water pipes to atmosphere scrubbers to grav control systems that kept the ship habitable for human beings. At any given time there was something that needed fixing and another something that needed urgent maitenance.
Junior Enginseer Kal Veloth was not just an rote trained mechanic who half understood ancient mechanical and electrical systems. He had been initiated into the deeper mysteries of stacked crystal systems, Gellar fields, and warp drives The greatest secrets of technosorcery that one could learn without being a member of the occult brotherhood of the Adeptus Mechanicus were at his fingertips. The experienced engineers sometimes laughed as his naivety with the simpler systems, but they were secretly awed by his command of the greater mysteries.
He caught the green flash out of the corner of his eye. The engineers under his command wore and armored suit to withstand radiation leaks, but he only wore an sealable body glove with anti-radiation weave. More comfortable, but less protective. He turned towards the flash, thinking it might be another capacitor blow out. Then his eyes went wide.
A green doorway stood on the deck. Marching double file out were tall humanoid creatures, slightly stooped, with enlarged skulls and armed with long tube weapons. Impossible! The Geller field was still intact. No teleporter should have worked without puncturing that. A more rational part of his mind began cataloging the differences between this and standard teleportation.
One lowered his tube at Engineer Teran. There was a ripple in the air and Teran was flung back, his chest caved in as if by a power fist. One of the intruders raised his tube at Veloths. His head exploded like a ripe melon.
The rest of the engineers were already moving. An intruder alert arm was triggered as they scrambled for the armories. A klaxon began to howl. More Necrontyr poured through the portal. And then came the scarabs.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"Captain!" Mikelos Molak shouted. 'Intruders in the engineerium! Teleport boarding."
Adrienne Venam swivled her throne towards her Master at Arms. "Numbers?"
"Uncertain," was Molak's reply. The small man was nervous.
Venam did not seem to be. "Dispatch a full company of troops to reinforce engineerium. Reinforce with two companies of armed ratings. And double check the Gellar field. See if therre was an unnoticed failure."
"Yes captain."
"And send Krugar Holt."
Molak's mouth went dry. "As you say ma'am."
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Davin O'ccall watched his indicators as his reinforcements arrived. He quickly divided them up into four groups. Three prongs and a batch of reserves. His orders were simple. Sweep and kill. As his troops coalesced into units under their officers, O'ccall secured his helmet latches and double checked the ammunition clip in his bolter. There came a time when the commander's duty put him in the fore front.
Stimen spoke up. "Communication for you sir. It's the captain."
He stomped towards the airlock. "Route it to my armour."
"O'ccall."
"We have an enemy boarding party," said Adrienne Venam in a cool voice. "The enemy appears to possess non-standard teleport technology. Be avised."
"Understood. Any matching to anything in the records?"
"To little as of yet. Nothing closely matches any species we are familiar with."
O'ccall grinned in his helment. "Autopsy should shed some light on them," he said as he flicked on the bolter's targeter.
Junior Enginseer Kal Veloth was not just an rote trained mechanic who half understood ancient mechanical and electrical systems. He had been initiated into the deeper mysteries of stacked crystal systems, Gellar fields, and warp drives The greatest secrets of technosorcery that one could learn without being a member of the occult brotherhood of the Adeptus Mechanicus were at his fingertips. The experienced engineers sometimes laughed as his naivety with the simpler systems, but they were secretly awed by his command of the greater mysteries.
He caught the green flash out of the corner of his eye. The engineers under his command wore and armored suit to withstand radiation leaks, but he only wore an sealable body glove with anti-radiation weave. More comfortable, but less protective. He turned towards the flash, thinking it might be another capacitor blow out. Then his eyes went wide.
A green doorway stood on the deck. Marching double file out were tall humanoid creatures, slightly stooped, with enlarged skulls and armed with long tube weapons. Impossible! The Geller field was still intact. No teleporter should have worked without puncturing that. A more rational part of his mind began cataloging the differences between this and standard teleportation.
One lowered his tube at Engineer Teran. There was a ripple in the air and Teran was flung back, his chest caved in as if by a power fist. One of the intruders raised his tube at Veloths. His head exploded like a ripe melon.
The rest of the engineers were already moving. An intruder alert arm was triggered as they scrambled for the armories. A klaxon began to howl. More Necrontyr poured through the portal. And then came the scarabs.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"Captain!" Mikelos Molak shouted. 'Intruders in the engineerium! Teleport boarding."
Adrienne Venam swivled her throne towards her Master at Arms. "Numbers?"
"Uncertain," was Molak's reply. The small man was nervous.
Venam did not seem to be. "Dispatch a full company of troops to reinforce engineerium. Reinforce with two companies of armed ratings. And double check the Gellar field. See if therre was an unnoticed failure."
"Yes captain."
"And send Krugar Holt."
Molak's mouth went dry. "As you say ma'am."
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Davin O'ccall watched his indicators as his reinforcements arrived. He quickly divided them up into four groups. Three prongs and a batch of reserves. His orders were simple. Sweep and kill. As his troops coalesced into units under their officers, O'ccall secured his helmet latches and double checked the ammunition clip in his bolter. There came a time when the commander's duty put him in the fore front.
Stimen spoke up. "Communication for you sir. It's the captain."
He stomped towards the airlock. "Route it to my armour."
"O'ccall."
"We have an enemy boarding party," said Adrienne Venam in a cool voice. "The enemy appears to possess non-standard teleport technology. Be avised."
"Understood. Any matching to anything in the records?"
"To little as of yet. Nothing closely matches any species we are familiar with."
O'ccall grinned in his helment. "Autopsy should shed some light on them," he said as he flicked on the bolter's targeter.
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Imperial Overlord
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Jerkan Voss's headless body toppled backwards as blood and brain matter splattered over Zelko. "Sanguinus's Bones!" he swore as he scuttled back. "Boss, they're on the other end of the corridor and they didn't show on the auspex!"
O'ccall swore over the vox. "Vanth's Bloody Brood!" His autosenses showed a previously empty area crawling with blips. Voss and Zelko Haas had been leading the advance party through the dark corridors leading to the coffin ship's interior.. "More bugs?" His auspexes showed something different going on, but he wasn't exactly feeling excessive confidence in them at the moment.
"Neg boss. Some kind of xeno with some kind beam gun. Blew Jerkan''s head apart."
"Alright, here's what we do. Feed them some grenades to cover our avance and get up right in their faces. Give them a taste of human steel and shove it down their throats."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lightning flashed in the compartment. Two ratings fell, their flesh charred and sloughing off the bone as armoured engineer writhed under the baleful touch of the Necrontyr lightning arc. The arc wielder fell back and another advanced, blowing open the chest of the engineer with his impact lance. He advanced over the dead and tried the hatch. It resisted. He raised his impact lance and fired. Chips of white hot metal flew from the impact point. There was a minor scar on the door that glowed a dull red.
Meranephis signalled back. "Readings confirmed. Major power systems nearby. Armoured hatch in the way."
"Scarabs on the way," Rasphys replied.
"Affirm," replied Meranephis. Beside him Shahara stripped the old power cell and inserted new one into her lightning arc. "You all right?" he asked.
"Never killed anyone before," she replied. "And they look-"
"Yeah," replied Meranphis. Fighting these aliens was creepy. They looked a lot like Necrontyr. But they were shorter, with small, round heads and running around with crude tech. Chemical slug throwers and blades with thick plate armour. Too much like children playing at war with crude toys and costumes. "Don't let it get to you. They can lay a hurt on you. How they look is just coincidence."
The clanking of scarabs over metal cut off their conversation. A power blade began to cut into the hatch. Tetrarith, Unor-Ha, and Zeletis arrived. Meranphis nodded. Seizing control of the ships main power systems was just moments away.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Two crewmen helped the stocky man put on his armour. The carapace suit was a light grey, scarred and scuffed from usage. The warrior's left arm didn't work quite right, nerve damage from xenos toxin blades nearly ten years ago. The right flexed impatiently, waiting for his armourer's to finish.
One of them handed him his weapon. A ceremonial staff that held a high powered laser. He flicked it on and checked the power cell out of habit. Full. Good, he was ready to go. One last adjustment, pulling on the the vox and rebreather mask. Krugar Holt was ready to go.
Four minders in similar armour followed him. Lasguns were held ready in their hands. They were more minders than troopers. Krugar Holt would do most of the killing. The were there just to watch his back.
The embarked on a car that was part of the ship's internal transport system. With the flick of a switch it was carrying its deadly cargo toward the enginarium.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Seizing control of a totally alien computer system was beyond the abilities of the Necrontyr, of course. Perhaps with study and analysis there would be some method of speed cracking the system. But they did not possess those luxuries.
But they didn't need them. The control system was obvious and crude. Any sane species would design a reactor to such down when it was in danger of suffering cataclismic damage. So having scarabs in position to cut major control lines would give that capacity to Rasphys. Severing all lines leading into the enginarium from outside cut off outside control. Now the aliens couldn't use their crude but enormously powerful plasma reactor as a self destruct device. The prize was preserved. Now the only problem was taking it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Be ready," Krugar Holt barked to his minders. He could feel the alien minds ahead. Three of them. He grinned. They were just beyond that wall. He thrust his mind forward.
The alien body jerked and spasmed, the mind within trying to resist. He brutally overroad it. The body was humanoid, mostly. The basic movements were the same even if it was lacking a finger on each hand. The other two were looking at him. One was saying something in xeno gibberish. He pointed the antenna like barrell at that xeno and held down the firing stud.
Lightning arced straight into the xeno. Smoke came from his armour and he twitched and twisted. Then he fell. The other xeno pointed his lance at him. The air around the lance blurred. Then there was nothing but pain and his feet fell out from under him. Krugar Holt removed his mind from the alien body as it fell to the deck with a hand sized hole in its chest. Then he smashed into the mind of the killer. Within a few moments, the body was his. He turned stiffly towards the enginarium. Time to kill the rest of the xeno trash.
The borrowed body tried to fight him, but it was weak, easy to overpower. Still, the body felt jerky and rebellious. The reactions were sluggish, the perceptions fuzzy. Something was interfering with his control. He rampaged through a lifetime of memories, looking for the answer.
The saw humanoid xenos with dark blue skins and elongated skulls living under an orange sun. He saw alien children dancing and playing. He saw one in particular in a gown of silver fibers, with a look on her face that he somehow knew was a smile. And then he saw horror.
A war that could not be won, waged for a prize not worth the sacrifice. The possibilities of peace and prosperity thrown aside for sake of hubris, wrath, greed, and envy. A war madness so terrible, a thirst for victory so great, that the race was doomed. Star vampires clothed in bodies of intelligent metal. Millions kneeling in worship to an endless hunger. Insanity had become religion, madness state policy. The sane were overwhelmed or fled.
Krugar Holt staggered down the corridor, trying to find what he needed from a sea of alien thoughts. There. A simple procedure. The memory metal hood retracted. The psi-blocker built in was no longer interfering with his control. A pair of xenos stood before him, both armed with lances. One said somthing in their tongue. His mastery of the xeno's brain furnished him with its meaning. "Aristophos, are you unwell? Why have you opened your suit?"
It was female, the xenos knew her. Krugar hit her in the gut with a lance blast. The other reacted, but surprise slowed him down. Holt shot him in the face. He toppled, his helmet crumpled. The female was trying to bring her staff to bear. A memory flashed by. A name. A vision of her in silver gown. Holt shot her point blank in the face. The front of her helmet exploded in a gout of cobalt blood and grey brain matter. He finished the other dispassionately. He had more xenos to kill.
O'ccall swore over the vox. "Vanth's Bloody Brood!" His autosenses showed a previously empty area crawling with blips. Voss and Zelko Haas had been leading the advance party through the dark corridors leading to the coffin ship's interior.. "More bugs?" His auspexes showed something different going on, but he wasn't exactly feeling excessive confidence in them at the moment.
"Neg boss. Some kind of xeno with some kind beam gun. Blew Jerkan''s head apart."
"Alright, here's what we do. Feed them some grenades to cover our avance and get up right in their faces. Give them a taste of human steel and shove it down their throats."
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Lightning flashed in the compartment. Two ratings fell, their flesh charred and sloughing off the bone as armoured engineer writhed under the baleful touch of the Necrontyr lightning arc. The arc wielder fell back and another advanced, blowing open the chest of the engineer with his impact lance. He advanced over the dead and tried the hatch. It resisted. He raised his impact lance and fired. Chips of white hot metal flew from the impact point. There was a minor scar on the door that glowed a dull red.
Meranephis signalled back. "Readings confirmed. Major power systems nearby. Armoured hatch in the way."
"Scarabs on the way," Rasphys replied.
"Affirm," replied Meranephis. Beside him Shahara stripped the old power cell and inserted new one into her lightning arc. "You all right?" he asked.
"Never killed anyone before," she replied. "And they look-"
"Yeah," replied Meranphis. Fighting these aliens was creepy. They looked a lot like Necrontyr. But they were shorter, with small, round heads and running around with crude tech. Chemical slug throwers and blades with thick plate armour. Too much like children playing at war with crude toys and costumes. "Don't let it get to you. They can lay a hurt on you. How they look is just coincidence."
The clanking of scarabs over metal cut off their conversation. A power blade began to cut into the hatch. Tetrarith, Unor-Ha, and Zeletis arrived. Meranphis nodded. Seizing control of the ships main power systems was just moments away.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Two crewmen helped the stocky man put on his armour. The carapace suit was a light grey, scarred and scuffed from usage. The warrior's left arm didn't work quite right, nerve damage from xenos toxin blades nearly ten years ago. The right flexed impatiently, waiting for his armourer's to finish.
One of them handed him his weapon. A ceremonial staff that held a high powered laser. He flicked it on and checked the power cell out of habit. Full. Good, he was ready to go. One last adjustment, pulling on the the vox and rebreather mask. Krugar Holt was ready to go.
Four minders in similar armour followed him. Lasguns were held ready in their hands. They were more minders than troopers. Krugar Holt would do most of the killing. The were there just to watch his back.
The embarked on a car that was part of the ship's internal transport system. With the flick of a switch it was carrying its deadly cargo toward the enginarium.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Seizing control of a totally alien computer system was beyond the abilities of the Necrontyr, of course. Perhaps with study and analysis there would be some method of speed cracking the system. But they did not possess those luxuries.
But they didn't need them. The control system was obvious and crude. Any sane species would design a reactor to such down when it was in danger of suffering cataclismic damage. So having scarabs in position to cut major control lines would give that capacity to Rasphys. Severing all lines leading into the enginarium from outside cut off outside control. Now the aliens couldn't use their crude but enormously powerful plasma reactor as a self destruct device. The prize was preserved. Now the only problem was taking it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Be ready," Krugar Holt barked to his minders. He could feel the alien minds ahead. Three of them. He grinned. They were just beyond that wall. He thrust his mind forward.
The alien body jerked and spasmed, the mind within trying to resist. He brutally overroad it. The body was humanoid, mostly. The basic movements were the same even if it was lacking a finger on each hand. The other two were looking at him. One was saying something in xeno gibberish. He pointed the antenna like barrell at that xeno and held down the firing stud.
Lightning arced straight into the xeno. Smoke came from his armour and he twitched and twisted. Then he fell. The other xeno pointed his lance at him. The air around the lance blurred. Then there was nothing but pain and his feet fell out from under him. Krugar Holt removed his mind from the alien body as it fell to the deck with a hand sized hole in its chest. Then he smashed into the mind of the killer. Within a few moments, the body was his. He turned stiffly towards the enginarium. Time to kill the rest of the xeno trash.
The borrowed body tried to fight him, but it was weak, easy to overpower. Still, the body felt jerky and rebellious. The reactions were sluggish, the perceptions fuzzy. Something was interfering with his control. He rampaged through a lifetime of memories, looking for the answer.
The saw humanoid xenos with dark blue skins and elongated skulls living under an orange sun. He saw alien children dancing and playing. He saw one in particular in a gown of silver fibers, with a look on her face that he somehow knew was a smile. And then he saw horror.
A war that could not be won, waged for a prize not worth the sacrifice. The possibilities of peace and prosperity thrown aside for sake of hubris, wrath, greed, and envy. A war madness so terrible, a thirst for victory so great, that the race was doomed. Star vampires clothed in bodies of intelligent metal. Millions kneeling in worship to an endless hunger. Insanity had become religion, madness state policy. The sane were overwhelmed or fled.
Krugar Holt staggered down the corridor, trying to find what he needed from a sea of alien thoughts. There. A simple procedure. The memory metal hood retracted. The psi-blocker built in was no longer interfering with his control. A pair of xenos stood before him, both armed with lances. One said somthing in their tongue. His mastery of the xeno's brain furnished him with its meaning. "Aristophos, are you unwell? Why have you opened your suit?"
It was female, the xenos knew her. Krugar hit her in the gut with a lance blast. The other reacted, but surprise slowed him down. Holt shot him in the face. He toppled, his helmet crumpled. The female was trying to bring her staff to bear. A memory flashed by. A name. A vision of her in silver gown. Holt shot her point blank in the face. The front of her helmet exploded in a gout of cobalt blood and grey brain matter. He finished the other dispassionately. He had more xenos to kill.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Ford Prefect
- Emperor's Hand
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NecronLord
- Harbinger of Doom
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* Has a scarab chew Ford's face right off *Ford Prefect wrote:Heh heh. Die foul xenos scum.
Die foul human scum.
Superior Moderator - BotB - HAB [Drill Instructor]-Writer- Stardestroyer.net's resident Star-God.
"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
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Ford Prefect
- Emperor's Hand
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- Joined: 2005-05-16 04:08am
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Well, I can't really argue with that.NecronLord wrote: * Has a scarab chew Ford's face right off *
Die foul human scum.
Actually, I question has just occured to me, referring to the impact Lances that the Necrontyr are pointing at loyal servants of the Emperor. Where do they come from? Were they just made up, or were they taken from other sources, or were they made up with reference to other sources?
What is Project Zohar?
Here's to a certain mostly harmless nutcase.
Here's to a certain mostly harmless nutcase.
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NecronLord
- Harbinger of Doom
- Posts: 27380
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- Location: The Lost City
In one of the early necron stories published in White Dwarf, a necron lord (on a destroyer no less!) uses a pistol that sends a man flying and blasts masonry and a big holy bell to bits, and seems to be a 'simple' kinetic weapon.
Superior Moderator - BotB - HAB [Drill Instructor]-Writer- Stardestroyer.net's resident Star-God.
"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
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Ford Prefect
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 8254
- Joined: 2005-05-16 04:08am
- Location: The real number domain
Cheers for that, but, a Necron Lord on a Destroyer *blinks* and I thought it was a new development. Go figure eh?NecronLord wrote:In one of the early necron stories published in White Dwarf, a necron lord (on a destroyer no less!) uses a pistol that sends a man flying and blasts masonry and a big holy bell to bits, and seems to be a 'simple' kinetic weapon.
