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Liaison-officer Gratius McNespey of Outpost 3-12/19 rushed through the corridors of the Imperial station with all haste, faster in fact than he had ever moved in his entire life, for he was overweight and his body strained to break free from his cream-coloured uniform even as he barged past a more slender worker to reach his goal; red-faced and sweating, stains visible in his armpits and crotch areas, he got to the personal chambers of Station-Commodore Perry Harker and rapped against the metal of the door with one of his hammy fists.

“My Lord, please, there is an urgent matter I must appraise you of!”

Perry Harker was not one to be roused lightly, not only because he was a notorious drunk and severely hard to bestir anyway, but mostly because he was a short-sighted man in his eighties – he had once commanded Battlegroups from one side of the Imperium to the other, now he was a dusty old relic, a fossil in the Naval hierarchy, who had been given command of this outpost in the Segmentum Ultima for the very reason that he wouldn't get up to any mischief there. Now some fool was knocking on his door, and he knew it was that fat oaf McNespey.

“Coming,” he groaned from his pillow, already dressed in his full dress uniform – including a row of clinking medals and his red striped trousers - “give me a moment, Throne take your eyes!”

With deliberate slowness he made his way to the door, pushing on the entry pad and letting out a heavy breath into the face of the Liaison-officer full of alcoholic fumes.

“What do you want, fatty? Can't you see I'm busy.”

Oh how he wanted to smack that old fart right in his stupid wrinkly face, just one blow would probably snap his neck in two...he could make it look like an accident.

“Of course, my Lord,” replied Gratius in his most slippery tone, “I am sincerely sorry to disturb you, but a ship has entered our region of space and I thought you ought to know about it before any actions were taken.”

“A ship?” Answered the Commodore in mock surprise, “a ship! In this area of space? My God-Emperor, whatever shall we do?!”

Just one strike, one hammering blow that would end his life...

“Yes, Lord, it is a ship of some antiquity. A Hulk in fact.”

This [b]did[/b] rouse the interest of Perry Harker – Space Hulks were rare, as was what they may contain, but often times they also bought with them the most unwanted things; Genestealers...Orks...and Chaotic forces. - now he sobered up surprisingly quickly and eyed the piggy with more seriousness than before.

“Well don't just stand there, McNespey, tell me what we know.”

“Sir, it transmitted into realspace not several hours ago, and as far as our limited scans can tell it is composed of parts of over a dozen ships of varying classes and manufactures. The largest sections are without a doubt composed of two Astartes vessels from before the Great Heresy, one showing the markings of the Word Bearers and the other of the Emperor's Children.”

“Astartes...interesting.”

“Not only that, sir, but our Astropaths tell us that it is emitting some form of message through surrounding warp space. Ripples in the Immaterium, so they say.”

Now the Station-Commodore was on 'high alert', his mind – which remained as sharp as it had always been, in spite of his outward appearance – racing with possibilities.

“Get on the vox with the Ultima Strategic Reserve and request they send ships and men to aid us, as we are going to take a look at that wreck ourselves.” He announced proudly, “what is the closest Astartes world to our position?”

“Preyspire, sir. Homeworld of the Hawk Lords Chapter, although much of their strength has gone into the defeat of the most recent Black Crusade.”

The Commodore gave a slight nod of his head, “send a message anyway, tell them we would request aid but do not demand it. Make sure it sounds as if we are grovelling, the Astartes like that sort of thing.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Stop standing there then and get on with it!”

Events were in motion, but would they ultimately help or hinder the eventual fate of the Hulk and the Outpost both?



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[i]Merciless Aquila[/i] had served within the fleets of the Third Legion for centuries on end, a battle-barge carrying multiple companies and bringing death to the Emperor's foes everywhere it went...now nothing more than a twisted wreckage, it's innards entwined with vessels of Ork, Eldar and Imperial origin. Yet there was another vessel, one of even older age and vintage, from which a signal...[i]something[/i]...now emitted a call to others; it was [i]The Dawn of Truth[/i], a Desolater-class Battleship used by the Word Bearer Legion since their re-naming from the Imperial Heralds, now no more than scrap metal and the secrets it held within itself.

As far away as the next Segmentum over the signal could be heard, or felt, by those that knew how; something...or someone...was aboard the [i]Dawn[/i] and was seeking to draw others to it, but who or what would answer could not be know. What would the prize be if they did? Would there be anything to salvage?

That was for Fate and the Gods to decide.