Warning claxons blared at full
volume as overhead emergency indicators flashed rapidly in the darkness. The
sound so high pitched it caused anyone not accustomed to the wailing to clamp
their ears in an attempt to block it out.
This is what Trooper Thorpe was doing when the yells of men and the
clang of boots reached the nook he was hiding in.
“It’s not a hull breach you mutts!
Looks like we got ourselves a fraggin’ stow away!” a voice bellowed in the red
flashing gloom.
More boots thundered into the holding
bay.
The unmistakable hum of a plasma
rifle being powered up forced Trooper Thorpe to look up from his hiding place.
“ Lower that damnable thing before
you blow us into the Black you moron!” another voice growled.
“ On yer feet boy, lest you want to
die on your knees!” A third voice rang
out, followed by the barrel of a lasgun pointed square in his face.
The claxons stopped and the
lighting went fluorescent. Three men now towered over him, inches away, guns
ready to end him.
“Take this boy to the bridge, let
the Captain deal with him.” The man
pointing the lasgun ordered.
“Get up you scum!” The largest of
the three hoisted him to his feet and began hauling him off.
He immediately regretted his
decision in sneaking onto this ship.
As the three men and their new
prisoner stepped onto the bridge, Thorpe realized he had indeed, made a huge
mistake. A large Ork stood over holoslab
table barring the biggest set of gold teeth at him. On either side of him stood
more, hard looking men and a woman with eyes like cold, carved ice. Directly behind them stood
what appeared to be an Adeptus Astarte and another man facing the view port.
The darkness of space and the light of stars just beyond the ships glass.
Trooper Thorpe was dripping with
sweat.
“Wot av we ere den mates? The Ork
said, pulling a large blade from his hip as he trudged towards them.
“Put that thing away Gwarbadd,
before the boy pisses himself.” The man near the Astarte boomed.
The Ork snarled at Trooper Thorpe
and sheathed his blade. Golden tusks shining in the gloom.
“Well, then. It would seem you are
what the trouble is on my ship. Tell me boy. What in the name of the Emperor
are you doing on MY ship?”
For a moment the silence seemed to
echo and grow. All eyes upon him he finally mustered his nerve and spoke.
“Trooper Thorpe, sir. I was
separated from my platoon during the fighting with the rebels. My unit was
ambushed in the initial attack and I lost my rifle in the melee. I ran for
cover when the artillery bombardment began and made my way to the port. I
thought this was an Imperial freighter and decided to hold up for the night. I
beg your forgiveness for my mistake, my Lord.”
I’m not a Lord, Guardsman. What outfit are you
with?”
Thorpe flinched and got his bearing
again.“ 5th Gallatin Rifles.”
Thorpe announced.
“I see. Gallatin is a long way from
here soldier and I won’t be returning back to that mudhole from where we came.
Uprisings just don’t pay very well, you see.”
Thorpe did not understand his
meaning and it was on his face as plain as the night was dark.
“You have two options, Trooper
Thorpe. I can blast you into the Black and that will be that….or…. You can earn
your keep as part of my crew, if they accept you, until we reach Gallatin.
Though I’m not sure what kind of a reception a deserter gets…”
Thorpes’ face went cold. “Sir, I did not desert my unit.”
For what felt like an eternity to
Thorpe, his mind ran the chain of events that led him here. So much carnage, so
much death. He could still hear the bombs and screams.
The man finally came face to face
with Thorpe. His face was crossed with scars where his beard did not cover and
he wore an eye patch with an emblem designating he was a Rogue Trader.
“Call me Captain, boy. Captain
Rikard De Duenez. Welcome to the Void Hawk.” He said.
Thorpe nearly gasped but caught
himself. He had heard tall tales about the crew of the Void Hawk and their
exploits, but never in a hundred years did he expect to be joining in them. Yet
here he stood. The newest member of the infamous Rogue Trader pirates this side
of the Galaxy. Emperor help him.
The older man who had leveled his
lasgun at Thorpes face earlier patted him on the back with gusto.
“Cheer up boy. You’re lucky to have
made it onto our ship. Nothing against the Gallatin Rifles but it looks like
you lot were not doing so well down there. You may just have saved your own
life.”
Thorpe shook his head, not knowing
what else to say.
“ Aye, Pops is right. If we didn’t
need to refuel we wouldn’t have stopped at that mudhole anyhow. Bloody rebels
make things harder in our line of work. Ain’t that right Cap’?” a short, stocky
brute in a faded leather Guard jacket chimed in.
“Right as rain,Crow. Why don’t you and Pops take Thorpe here to
get some recaf and chow. I’m sure he needs it.
Show him around and then bring him back here. The rest of you lot can get back to work.
I’ve got plans to discuss with Gwarbadd and Barabus.” The Captain motioned towards
the Astarte that was now starring right through Thorpe.
He had seen Space Marines before,
but none like this. His white armor had a patina to it, almost like rust.
Despite the aged look to his ceramite, he was pristine, with the exception of
the dozens of battle damage. He bore no insignia of any kind. No ranking or
motifs that he was used to Space Marines displaying. Not even Aquilas. Thorpe
looked away. He could feel the Astartes’
eyes behind that menacing helmet.
Barabus.
The name alone chilled his very
soul.
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