[IC] Wealth and Warpstorms

[Penny]

7 Days Later....

“He cannot STILL be sulking?” Camilla demanded as she lounged in her command throne. The dozens of bridge stations were empty, save for where gilded servitors in the form of gleaming armored footmen. The words echoed around the cavernous space, utilizing the excellent acoustics designed to carry the captain’s words to the bridge crew during the chaos of a battle. Camilla’s words were tinged with nearly seven days without more than a few hours sleep. She had been on the bridge nearly every hour, not because she was a hard task master but because she was the only one with the right plugs to interface with the Navarre. Jocasta had performed on the fly modifications to her own implants that Camilla suspected would border on heretechial if any of her cults higher members ever learned of them in an attempt to help but even this only allowed her to access some system. They needed bridge officers immediately, so that was their first stop.

“I’m sure he is merely busy with his duties as Seneshal,” Jocasta replied soothingly. Camilla snorted and tossed her hair in disdain at that suggestion.

“As my Seneshal he should be on the bridge when….” Reality lurched violently as the Navarre burst back into real space, twenty seconds ahead of the chronometers. Jocasta let out a stream of binaric that Camilla was pretty sure was entirely curse words and leaped to her feet, immediately close hangering herself because she hadn’t properly disconnected her implats. Trailing sparks and more colorful curses she began running around the bridge furiously swinging a censor of lit incense and splashing sacred unquents in all directions.

“Lord Captain, we have exited the Immaterium,” the cultured voice of Chandra, her navigator informed her.

“I see that,” Camilla responded tartly as she touched the controls to begin withdrawing the great shields which protected the bridge from gazing into the horror of the warp. The vast sheets slid back slowly, the leading edge still trailing the liquor of the warp in long greenish gold tendrils from which Camilla averted her eyes. In the distance she could just make out the pale green dot that was her target, a bright star against an endless starfield.

“Why were we early?” she demanded. For a moment she didn’t think Chandra was going to answer her, the Navis Nobilitie were a close mouthed lot at the best of time.

“We are never early, nor are we late, we arrive precisely as the Emperor wills,” Chandra replied.

“Very helpful,” Camilla retorted as she cut the vox link.
“Cam… that is Captain,” Jocasta broke in as she stared over the shoulder of a warbling servitor. “We have two vessels bearing down on us, range….uhhh 1.5 million kilometerish. Camilla cocked an eyebrow at kilmoterish but stood from her throne and stepped down into the shimmering actuality sphere, placing her hands on the lectern. A three dimensional view of the space around them sprang into existence, locating the nearby planet and the approaching ships. They were a Sword class destroyer and what looked like a half rebuilt cobra class corvette. The destroyer was flying the name Provost, and the corvette Hound of Perdition.

“Unidentified vessel this is the Imperial Navy Vessel Provost,” a scratchy voice piped into her ears. “Heave to and prepare to be boarded!” Camilla felt her frustration surge up inside of her like bile. She adjusted the engines and the Navarre began to heel to port, moving out of their intercept triangle onto a reciprocal course with Provost.

“Jocasta dear, be so good as to drag my Seneshal up here so that he might announce me before I teach these peasants a lesson?”

[POOHEAD189]

"Open it."

The electric-pneumatic tools whirred loudly as the crewmen meticulously opened the crates one by one, the decades, if not centuries of dust particles and dead air stung the nostrils. The stench of idle rust permeated the confined space. Servitors were finishing the last of the excavation from the old quarter, placing the final container down next to the others. Alcander breathed through the cloth he had managed to find, eschewing the bulky re-breather he had been offered thrice by the voidsmen he'd requisitioned for the payload. Beside him stood Blegywryd, a guide and suspected psyker of some skill but ill-repute, having fallen out of favor from the de Trantio two generations ago from a "misunderstanding" with Lord Captain Mondego de Trantio. Alcander hadn't asked, he didn't really care.

The past four days, he had busied himself by delving into the bowels of the Navarre, getting accustomed to the sounds and ways of the ship. He had an inkling there might be some pockets of resistance still left, but his main goal was to merely grow used to the idea of being a seneschal to such a powerful lady of the Imperium, no matter how much he was currently pissed at her. Old habits took hold, and before he knew it, he found a few imperfections in the current maps, which led to passageways not seen in decades, and some locals who pointed him in the direction of Blegywyrd's hut in the habs where the Navarre's refuse found its home. Using his authority, he'd gnabbed a small force to follow him. With some quick detective work, and a will, they had uncovered a small vault.

A voidsman flinched back as the first ancient crate popped open a hair's breadth. The other patted the top of the crate, and on the count of three, both men hauled the opening back, accompanied by cracks of old steel hinges. The crate's top hit the ground like a small anvil, and Alcander gave out a sultry, appreciative whistle. It was quickly followed by a laugh of incredulity and disbelief.

Blegywyrd nodded in satisfaction as Alcander hopped down into the vault and took a closer look at the archeo-tech. It was a melta-drill, perfectly preserved. An ancient, almost forgotten tool, remarkably efficient. Its original design was pieced together from fragmented archeotech descriptions of an attempt to create a melta melee weapon. The result is a device capable of continuous, short-ranged, thermal melta energy emissions, permanently connected to a hefty, backpack-mounted energy source. It was excellent for fast, reasonably safe excavation into all but the hardest of materials. Almost invaluable, despite himself he swelled with pride at the discovering. He felt a hand clap his shoulder, and glance to see the captain of the local void militarus, Rankos Vos, beam at the discovery.

"The lady will be proud." Vos said.

"M' reasen fer livin'," Alcander remarked, not advertising the sardonicism in the comment. A the crates continued to open, they began to realize it was a small collection of the devices. Forty in all, with fresh power packs. Any rogue trader would see it as a moderate boon, and the smaller traders would be set for life. Just as Alcander was about to direct the servitors where to take them, he received static on his comm.

"Terra to detective grumpy bones, come in." Jocasta's familiar voice pipped in. He tried to respond, but it was clear she had redirected the signal to reach him through other channels, making it a one way street. "Your presence is being requested on the bridge by our leader. We've left the warp and made contact. See you in a few, hotshot."

He ran a hand along the melta-drill's archaic ceramite skin, appreciating the discovery for a moment longer before he rushed away, leaving it in Vos's capable hands.

[Penny]

"Navarre, break off at once or we will be forced to fire upon you," the communication servitor grated, relaying the transmission from the approaching destroyer, complete with an attempt to render a static crackle with a human voice box. Camilla stood with her arms spread to manipulate the holographic inlays of the actuality sphere. The Hound of Perdition was boosting hard to close the distance, coming in from above and to starboard.

"They are powering up their lances," Jocasta reported, running back and forth between consoles to furiously tap out commands.

"Light the void shields and inform Jagermeister Caldwell to prepare his wing to launch," Camilla responded, twisting slowly to roll the Navarre onto her side so she could present her port weapon batteries towards the onrushing destroyer. The ventral and dorsal lances would also bear which reserved the starboard batteries for the corvette. Despite the numerical advantage the Navarre was an older, larger, and more powerful vessel which went someway to evening the odds. Unfortunately the lack of bridge crew meant that her fighting efficiency was severely compromised.

"Terra to Camilla, you could try to talk to them!" Jocasta called.

"I can't talk to them unless I'm..."

"Ware and tek heed! Ye have the absolute pleazsher of addressin' Camilla Seraphina Lucretzia Fiamenta Belladona de Trantio Dechess of Cabreze, Hierophant of Colton's World, Cap'n General of Spinward League, Hereditry Colonel of the Coldface Dragoons, Laird of Breka, Cemmedure of the Illiadyen Argosy, by the Grece ef the Immertel Emperer, Cap'n and Rogue Trader! Ye'll shew proper respect." Alcander boomed the words out in an appropriately impressive tone. There was a noticable pause as the incoming ships digested that.

"You have impeded the passage of my vessel unlawfully. Break off now or you will be fired upon, I warn you that I am not in the best of humors right now," Camilla instructed. Her hands flew across the actuality sphere, furiously tapping out the orders of several bridge officers. Jocasta continued to sprint about, her robes flapping in a most undignified manner.

"Rogue Trader, Thyrum is a penal world under the jurisdiction of the Adeptus Arbities, I must insist that you..." The vox went to hash as Camilla touched her firing control. The entire Navarre from prow to engines lit up as her lances and macro cannons opened fire. The ship thrummed with the discharge and continued to rumble with the roll of fresh shells up the ammunition lifts. Pin pricks of light flared as both Imperial ships were struck almost simultaneously. In both cases their void shields collapsed as they overloaded and shorted.

"Fer Terra's sak mist we fire on our o'n people?" Alcander demanded.

"Sensors report, shields down but no serious damage," Jocasta reported breathlessly.

"Gentlemen, I consider honor to be satisfied, alter course and I shall not feel the need to destroy you. Any trouble I have with the Arbities is mine by right of my warrant of trade. Be advised that I can and will destroy you and that I do not bluff," Camilla declared.

"You bluff all the time," Jocasta declared from the side lines, but it wasn't picked up by the vox. A minute passed, then another. Camilla arched an eyebrow at Jocasta who was watching the sensor outputs.

"They are breaking off," Jocasta reported triumphantly. Amber runes on the control boards began to blink back green as active weapon locks faded.

"Captain Trantio, we are complying, but must protest this heavy handed behaviour, we will be..."

"Navarre out," Camilla said, closing the link and stepping back from the actuality sphere. She watched the sensor screen for a few seconds, making sure that the ships were indeed breaking off. She wondered if it might be possible to subvert some of their officers with the correct plugs. That would be so much easier than what she intended but there was no way either of the Imperial vessels would come anywhere near her after the punishment she had just unleashed upon them, and no captain on a backwater like this was willingly going to give up trained crewmen. Camilla resumed her seat in the control throne, rotating it so she looked down at Alcander.

“I suppose there is something to be said for a dramatic entrance, if not a timely one,” she observed archly. Alcander opened his mouth to respond but Camilla was already rotating her chair back to face the viewport.

“The good news is we are going to see some friends of yours…”

Thyrum was an icy hell. Massive ice caps reached from both poles to grip at vast forested taiga regions. Ice sheets covered the oceans most of the way to the equator and there was only a narrow band of open water. There were few settlements, only a handful of mines strung around the equatorial belt. According to the Navarre’s records, dreamstones were produced here under Imperial license. The labor was provided by prisoners from all over the sector. The guards didn’t put enormous effort into controlling their charges. They had a monopoly on heat, food, and the weapons needed to survive against the fearsome predators which inhabited the icy wastes. That didn’t stop prisoners from running and there were numerous semi-barbaric societies living in the wilds. Sometimes starvation drove them back to the mines, sometimes as raiders, sometimes as supplicants. Mostly they just died of weather, disease or wildlife.

Camilla dressed in a white and gold thermal body glove. A cuirass of gold etched silver ceramsteel was fitted over it, glittering with inlaid scrollwork. A pristine white fur cloak was slung over her shoulder, balancing her weapons belt.

“Are we ready?” Camilla asked as her team assembled on the shuttle deck.

[POOHEAD189]

It was a piss poor team, Alcander realized as he rammed the magazine into his bolt-pistol.

Jocasta, swathed in wool and thermal wear, along with a loud scarf, bounced from foot to foot as if they were about to step into a warm bar and not a frozen land of endless tundra. Hugging Camilla's skirts was a refurbished utility-combat servitor, though how it was going to traverse the terrain was beyond Alcander's abilities to fathom. Behind them, three voidsmen were checking their gear, each wearing winter coats that would not look too out of place on valhallan guardsmen, down to their (likely bartered) ushankas.

Alcander had on his usual, though covered by a greatcoat befitting his office, shanghaied though he might be. Alcander held up a hand to hold the shuttle up for a brief spell, as two of the ship's crewmen stepped from the corridor accompanied under the watchful eye of a high guard in the Trantio regalia. Between the two crewmen was a plasteel crate, heavy by the looks of how they moved it. Camilla quirked an eyebrow, and stomped forward.

"What's the meaning of this? If you're going t-"

"Et's a melta-drill." He said simply, without a hint boasting. While he took pride in his work, he knew everyone had their strengths. Mucking about in slums finding things he shouldn't just happened to be lucrative if you marketed yourself correctly. Though he admitted he did have a small amount of satisfaction from the look that twisted onto Camilla's face. He raised an eyebrow. "D'ya thenk I wis jest twiddlin' m' thumbs the pest week?"

Camilla regained her poise so quickly, most people without a background in acute observation might have missed it entirely. She tossed her hair back with a quick flourish of her head and stepped beside him, watching the cargo being loaded onto the shuttle. "Where did you find it?"

"Hab 14 Gamma," Alcander answered. After the announcement on the bridge, he'd needed to take a good shower and find some recaff. It had been an exhausting few days, and he hadn't gotten as dirty as that since his time in the Underhive of Chima Lomas. Much like then, the corridors had been thick with gangers and verm, but he'd gained a rapport with the guardsmen of the Navarre ever since the coup. A firing line and a well ordered march and the scoundrels scattered like rats. "There's aboot three dozen o' th' things. Frem what I ken tell, they've been there fer two centuries."

Alcander knew they would be invaluable on a world covered in thick ice sheets, especially for reconnaissance for resources. Oddly enough, they could also be impressive weapons in a pinch if they found anything too hulking for their small arms to handle.

"Well, I need you closer. You're a seneschal, not a probator, anymore." She said, somehow succeeding in towing the line between a gentle reminder and speaking to a particularly slow child. Alcander gave her a neutral look, but it miraculously spoke volumes of the muddied thoughts between them. "However...good work."

Her compliment was accentuated by the gleeful squeal of Jocasta from the sight of the casket. How she knew what it was, Alcander could not know. But engineers had their ways he supposed. She hurried over to the crate as it was being set down, her hands out and her eyes wide as if she could not even begin to guess how to open it without offending the archeo-tech.

Alcander inclined his head at Camilla's approval. He remember when he had first laid eyes on Camilla, he was certain he couldn't trust a beautiful woman. Then later, they had become somewhat acquainted and gained a certain modicum of respect, followed by days of various dashing rescues and firefights, and then the imprisoning promotion of becoming her second in command. He felt vindicated from his first impression, but at the same time, he knew she had done it out of necessity. Well, he was not going to appear cheery or even congenial until she apologized or asked, but in the meantime, he would do as he was bid.

"So, wet's on the docket when we lend, Capt'n." He asked her, before the shuttle thrummed to life, and the motley crew began boarding. Jocatsa began to babble about the Melta-Drill, and while Alcander was at first amused, by the end of the flight he was hoping one of the voidsmen could use their auto pistols to grant him the Emperor's Peace.