Chapter 4: Godless Prophets and the Migrant Flora (IC)

Wiremu was taken aback by this Korrea. Both in looks and presence.

As she gave the information, and turned on her heel, he was left mouth slightly agape, stammering.

"Ah...sorry miss....umm thanks....."

His words trailed off as he realized she was already well in the distance.

He scratched his head, still watching her leave, before turning to walk towards the living habs, glancing back the way she had gone one last time, muttering slightly to himself.

"Faaaark. Im liking these Bastards already...."

Day 1 - Evening Cycle

The Bastards had gathered nearly one and all in the common area of their living hab unit. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. The talk was lively, the food good, and the drink plentiful. The amasec rations in the hab unit were quickly consumed, but that didn't stop certain individuals from digging into their own stash and supplying more. The food was particularly good due to the efforts of Ruaidhri and Uallachan who, when they wanted to, could create truly outstanding dishes for what they were supplied with. When they had access to fairly good items, then they could bake a pie to die for. Of course, 4th squad stayed away from anymore pies. But even they didn't cause a fuss.

Lt. Bishop turned a blind eye to the excesses being taken this night; he trusted his NCOs to make sure their troops didn't get too out of hand. Those who drank too much were escorted by other members of their units either to the lounge area or their rooms to sleep it off. Most stayed around talking, playing cards, watching entertaining vids on the pict-viewer, or smoking a fruit-flavored lho packed hookah.

The evening was yours because in the morning it was business as usual.

The night became a blur as Bazin took more than his fair share of drink. Toreth would have scolded him harshly but now he had a chance to calm down and reflect. Newt was nearby, but he needed a moment of quiet as he thought of his old mentor.

Where was he now?

What would he say about Bazin's exploits?

They were deep questions and provided much thought. He wasn't sure that he cared much for the answers. As he watches the others enjoy their incredible good fortune, he noticed something he hadn't had happen in a while. His hands began to shake again. He clasps them together to steady them, but it was no use.

Eventually, the drink catches up and he falls asleep.


Newt, on the other hand enjoyed herself more. She sat down to play a few rounds of Emperor's hand with an old ragged deck of cards that they had.
"Deal me in." she says, grinning.

Karsith slid the teeth back onto his chainsword carefully as the ratlings entered in their perturbing glory. He let out an audible sigh as he worked.

"The worst part is how much you love yourselves."

He worked a few more teeth into place and listened to them talk.

"Rook can't help as good as I can. Unless he knows what your friends want. Did you offer to be their pack rats? What do you gain from that? Doesn't matter.

I know how to help you boys. And I want your help in return. I'm looking for stuff, and a little birdie told me you're in the business of finding things."

He finishes the last tooth on his chainblade. He stands and flourishes the blade, pressing down on the trigger and letting the teeth run for a moment before looking through the doorway at Ruaidhri.

Uallachan had his long black pipe out and was knocking the detritus out on the floor in the door way. He paused as Karsith spoke and raised his eyebrows.
"You really think that's the worst part about us? That's pretty decent of you mo chara. I've had doe eyed nuns say worse. Some of those had vows of silence too. As the good book says,
'The sin is not to have an exaggerated sense of your own self; its in not realising that you really don't matter a damn. You gotta protect ya neck'

Ruaidhri was sitting cross legged with his gun across his knees and was looking down at Karsith with a look of calculation.
"Our friends you say? And they want something? Sounds like you got some kind of message in here for us."
He shrugged and gave a Uallachan a look before turning back to the beserker.
"You know how it is, cash rules everything about me. Lets say you speak your piece. How can you help us? And what help can we do for you?"

Karsith gave a nod to Ualla, he moved to his locker, setting the chainsword in it.
"Always impressed by your quoting skills."
He said as he made his way back into the room

"I know you're up to some shit. I may have a few words from them to you. I'll clue you in, and keep my mouth shut about whatever obviously illegal shit you're trying, but you gotta get something for me in return."
He sat at the table again, so he could look at both of them.
"I've got three items on the list, you pick what you get me. A nice, fancy set of armor, any weapon with a power field, or a shield. Not just any shield though, gotta be strong, and one I can deploy for cover."

He smiles a little, excited at the prospect of new gear as much as he enjoyed having a good bargaining chip for once.

"WOOOOOOOOOO BOY!"

Stubbs yells out as he finishes the drink in one massive gulp. The big man was getting there, dat was fuh shuh. He had a high constitution for these things...but even so, there was only so much you could drink befuh you ended up on the flo. He laughs and high fives the person next to him, some random member of the Bastards Stubbs had met, who looked about ready to upchuck afta tryin' ta keep up wit tha big man drink fuh drink. 

"KEEP UP BOY, WE AIN'T DONE YET!"

There was a long moment of silence while both Rattlings looked at each other. Uallachan was smiling but Ruaidhri was expressionless. In the end he shook his head and turned to Karsith again.

"Obviously illegal shit? We've done nothing yet, pure as the driven snow. In any case it doesn't matter. I know who sent the message you received, and if he wants something I can probably guess what that is as well. They mentioned wanting it while we were there. So we need to measure the value of what you are offering against the value of what you want."

Uallachan was quick on the uptake and he leaned in now.
"So if you want this nice set of armour or sword or whatever, we're going to need you to help us acquire this item. We get our hands on that- we'll get our hands on what you are looking for."

Ruaidhri finally smiled.
"Plus if we are all dirty- there's no need for anyone to keep their mouth shut."

Karsith put both feet up on the table and looked at Ualla directly.
"My stuff first, then yours. That's how this goes. If you want my help getting whatever else you need, I'm gonna need payment in advance."

He picked at the dirt under his nails with a long knife.
"Besides, it would be helpful if I had what made me stronger, because honestly my only worth to anyone is in fighting. So, get me something I want, and I'll help you out."

Uallachan let loose a horrible fart and gave Karsith another smile.
"Not a fecking arse of a chance friend. The stuff you are looking for is going to be very difficult to acquire. Proper quality merchandise like that? We'd have to raise some ruccus and do some properly bad things to get our hands on something like a weapon with a power field."

"We laid the deal out for you Karsith. You've stumbled into some information. Information that we need yes. Information that it will take us some time to get ourselves. However no information is ever truly deleted. But you help us and we'll help you. Hell if you need a guarantee you can keep hold of whatever item or servo skull that we need until we get your item for you."

He raised up both hands, shoulder height.
"And I can't say fairer than that. That way we both get what we want. We have a deal?"

Karsith gave Ualla a sidelong glance at his actions, but listened intently. He nods, puts his feet down and leans forward in his seat. "That'll be guarantee enough for me. I'll help, so long as you keep giving me something to gain."

He rose from the table "Unless you want to get a headstart on my end, we'll be waiting until port wander to get started. And I think people are getting drunk without me. We done here?"

Newt sat at the smoky table and looked at all the faces assembled. They were from various squads, but each and every one was a bastard, through and through.

"What're you betting missy? This aint no charity." a gruff guy from 4th squad asked her, lho stick adding to the smoke.
"huh?"
He leans in close, the smell of dried tobac stuck to his frame like cheap cologne. "Place your bet" he says loud enough for her to hear.

She looks at the possible rewards on the table. A charge pack, A mono-edged knife, a frag grenade, some odds and ends. The grenade is what caught her eye. She pulls some of Bazin's gear from her pocket. It was a stimm, she didnt think Bazin would mind, seeing as how he got his ass handed to him by the meat-slab ork and didnt use one.

She tosses it into the pile, and the guy shakes his head.
"We all got some of those lady, gimme all some more and we'll call it even."
"Sorry?"
"More!" he says, annoyed that her and half her squad couldn't hear squat.

She dhrugs, figuring Bazin still wouldnt mind as she chunks the last two in the pile.

"Now, thats more like it" he said with a chuckle.

***

After an hour of playing, it all came down to this last game, she had been up, she had been down, but stayed rather even over all. If she lost this hand, she would either have to gamble her clothes or call it quits for the night.

She looks at her hand.

10 of bolters, good....

Captain of navy, also good....

Confessor of ecclesiarch, very good.....

Arch duke of the rogue trader, excellent.....

With anticipation, she looks at the last card, heart full of an excitement. It was a strong and and the only thing that could cause her to lose was....
The mutant......

Her heart sank as she looked at the last card, but she didnt let it show.

"Call" the dumb brute to her right (Who'd had too much to drink) says. And one by one they lay their hands down.

She was last and she lays her hand down, to the echo of laughter from the smoker.
"Haha. 7th squad losses it all. Its a good thing your so good at stealing our gear since you cant hold up your own." he says, loudly so she could hear it.

She looks around the room, Karsith, The ratlings, and Stubbs were close;
Not close enough for her to reply to the insult, however.

She stands and eyes Smoker as she walks off.

This wasnt over. Not by a longshot.

Wiremu had made his way to the living habs, and followed the noise into the common area.

"Oh shiiiiit. Bastards getting crunk in this shit!"

He had gone up to the closest person.

"Mean party cuz! Can you point me at the 7ths NCO?"

Stubbs downs anotha drink in a flash, the suds of it attachin' all nice like to the sides o' his big ol face and stubble that be reachin' out ta try and get sum air. He laughs once again, boomin' over eerythang cause feth when you can't be hearin' shit, you be loud as shit. 

"DATS 10 MY FUHREND. HA HA, FETH ME, IT BE LOOKIN' LIKE--"

The big man trails off as he be lookin' at sum sap dat damn well be passed the feth out. No mattuh, he cud always be findin' sumone ta drink wit 'im. He knew dat sumone be up to it. Stubbs scans tha room wit his big puppy-dog eyes, lookin' fur dat sumone. He gets an eyeful of Wiremu as the big brute entahs tha room. Sluggishly, due in part to da drinkin', Stubbs makes his big frame move dat way. 

"YO, YOU LIKE DRINKIN'? FETH THE GUY BE SUPPOSIN' TA MATCH ME DRANK FUH DRANK GONE DONE AND PASSED THE FETH OUT! YOU READY TA JOIN ME?"

Rook opened his eyes, after reflecting on his failed attempt to find a workshop he decided it would be time to find a dealer. He had replaced all his gear when he returned from the failed expedition, but he reached back in to grab the stripper clip of manstopper rounds. perhaps this would loosen some tongues. He wasn't sure of the exact time this ship was running on, but if Stubbs wasn't back to get some sleep then that had to mean it wasn't too late. Come Jeevs. Let's see if we can find someone with some knowledge. They went out to the common area to see Bastards drinking and doing what bastards do best, trying to swindle each other. He watched as Stubbs drained another drink, and by the way it ran down his cheeks as he drank he must have been almost a dozen deep already. His gaze was drawn to a card game and he was tempted to sit and try a hand, but he was a poor gambler at best and diabolical at worst. A moment later and the weapons specialist's comrade was cleaned out and she left without a backwards glance. No, he thought, there is too much chance in gambling. Walking over to Stubbs' table he filled himself a cup and sat down to watch the card game. Between hands, he asked no one in particular Do you chaps know where the Chindits' bunk area is? I'm looking for locals who can show me around this boat. He reached into his robes and held up the stripper clip and looked them all in the eye. If your directions are right, this will be yours. After, I find what I'm looking for. He then pulled out his dataslate and gestured, If you could write it down on here, that would also be grand. I assume you all know your basic letters?

Rhone pulled out the magazine and checked the charge; full capacity. With his lips, and a simple jaw movement, he moved the unlit cigar to the corner of his mouth as he performed a quick maintenance check of the weapon.  The compact hellpistol had been pulled from the bodies of the very stormtroopers who made their life a living hell under Commissar Markham back on Hervara. Of course it wasn’t Seventh squad who created those corpses…

“Let me get this straight Phaze. Aside from this, you managed to pull out four suits of carapace, and a hellgun? Not bad you sneaky homicidal shit.  I won’t ask how much lube it took you to keister it all…”

Rhone slaps Phaze on the shoulder before he flips the safety on and tucks the hellpistol in the waistband of his BDU’s. The Sergeant stood up and moved through the crowd of Bastards.  He shook hands, slapped shoulders and the backsides of the occasional female trooper. He moved with a physical power, his steps heavy but precise.  Surrounding him was an aura of charm and a sense of command.  It was that same command that saw the regiment through the worse of Hervara.  But that command was useless without the men and women who surrounded him.

With a jovial grin and booming voice, Rhone points to a plain-faced female bastard.  The woman, originally from the Valhallan 33rd, held an accordion in her hands.

“Oleva…play us something upbeat will you, sweetheart?”

Rhone continues spreading his charm as he moves through the crowded room.

“Korvus, how’s the leg?”  

“Oren, you’d best hide that fuckin’ ear necklace before Sergeant Keppler catches wind of it!”

“Sarella, shaved your head? Looks good on you beautiful…I just hope the carpet matches the curtains”

He finally makes his way to a makeshift table and chairs where Bazin and Newt sat.  Standing behind the two, he clasps each of their shoulders with large, powerful hands. Grinning wide he addresses the whole table.

“These two are deafer than a Grox’s asshole. They can’t even understand the words coming out of my mouth. In fact, I’d wager I could get Bazin to lick said Grox’s asshole if he loses this next hand.”

Rhone puts on a solemn smile and gently pats Bazin as if he just gave some great speech on the young trooper’s accomplishment. Lightly slapping the backs of both of their heads, Rhone scans the crowd, briefly, looking for Seargent Barriks.

[With Rook]

The random Bastards Rook has sat next to wince as his excessively loud voice begins asking about the Chindits bunks. Their annoyance turns to positive anger as he patronizingly asks if they are smart enough to know how to write.

Two of them turn and begin talking to one another, completely ignoring Rook. But not all are that polite.

"Yeah, I know me letters. F-E-T-H O-F-F. What's that spell, you uppidty metal twat? We're having a good time here and aren't at your fethin beck and call."

They then went back to drinking and laughing as a group.

Although Rook couldn't hear a word of it, he could likely get the meaning. The middle finger followed by a thumb to leave should have made that clear.

[With Barriks]

Barriks, 1st Platoon, 1st Squad (1/1)'s leader was standing at a table cheering on two of his squad. Another NCO, a corporal with a thick mohawk was locked in a tough arm wrestling match with a specialist just as brawny. The specialist, a female with her hair pulled back into braids, grinned as she slowly inched the corporal's fist to the table.

Ruaidhri nodded his head and a broad smile broke across his face.
"A deal we have then. We both help eachother and we'll both get what we want. Off to Port Wander we go then. We'll follow you in there. No piss up can truly be called so unless we all get royally shagged."

The smile remained on Ruaidhri's face until Karsith had left the room and they heard him up go up the corridor, before transforming into an angry scowl and he let out a low curse.
"Fecking sheep shagger blackmailing us with our own information."

Uallachan's face was restive as he slowly patrolled the room.
"He agreed though. Up to his neck now. Chuckie as they say"

Ruaidhri looked down at his comrade and after a moment of thought he shook his head.
"This stuff really doesn't bother you does it?"
"A dick and an arse, that's what we are Ruaidhri. One to shit and the other to inseminate"
"And only time to tell which."
"In the end a man will play all the parts"

Ruaidhri had climbed down from his bunk and taken a quick glance at the communication panel before shrugging and rubbing his hands together.
"Time to get everyone sloshed to the gills."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ruaidhri was sitting cross legged on a table with an empty ammo cannister held between his legs on which he was thumping out a heavy drumbeat that was slowly building in tempo. At the other end of the table was a small figure, standing arms raised which were draped with white sheets blocking most of his frame from view. One hairy foot extended beyond the drapes which stamped in time with the drum beats. A wild shrill whistle suddenly started as another bastard joined in, playing a thin metal rod that had once been a gun barrel. The tune spoke of the wilds, of creatures and spirits invisable to sight which pressed in on this small screw. An unconscious shiver made its way around those seated at the table Its player, a tall heavily scarred woman with an eyepatch and unnaturally grey hair, was staring a hole in the wall opposite with her piercing blue eye while she played. It was noticeable that no bastard was sitting opposite her on the table.
A look of momentary surprise had crossed Ruaidhri's face when she joined in but he was already with the music and had little attention to spend elsewhere.

As the music finally built to its crescendo, the standing figures arms were suddenly thrust down to reveal Uallachan, naked as the day he was born, save a vegetable leaf tied around his waist. His chest was a forest of blond curly hair some of which he had curled into points, and he had painted red stripes across his forehead, down his arms and legs. He swaggered forward as the music surged, his  body writhing like a particularly short snake. As he passed those sitting at the table, he thrust his hairy ass at them.
When he finally finished his route, he turned to his audience and held out one finger, while the other hand disappeared into his leaf. He gave it a couple of seconds, before it returned holding a soft red fruit. Holding this between both hands he raised it slowly above his head as the music built again. As the wild chorus finally broke against the shore, he split it in two and started throwing soft juicy peices of fruit towards those sitting at the table. Some of these missed, some hit faces, but others opened their mouths to receive. Once the fruit was done, Uallachan thrust both his hands to his side and Ruaidhri lifted his hands. For a brief moment silence returned to the table.
"Reborn as bastards that was true. Reborn as soldiers, that is now true. But we were always born to drink and good times!"

A number of those seated looked as if they wished they could be elsewhere but there were various thumps and bangs were heard on the table as well as a clinking cheers.
Ruaidhri was looking with some curiosity at the scarred woman, while still sitting at the end of the table. Uallachan had instead caught sight of Newt sitting at a nearby table obviously playing cards. Holding out one hand towards her he ostentatiously licked the remains of the fruit from his fingers, before jumping down to the floor.
Making his way over to the 7th table he spotted Rhone and the others. It wasn't obvious how, but there was a bottle in his hands as he approached the table. He held it up to the sergeant with an innocent look on his paint smeared face.
"Would you join us in a drink sir?"

The woman had returned her whistle to the inside of her jacket, and sat completely still, an empty glass in front of her. With one movement, Ruaidhri skooched over on the table so that he was sitting in front of her. Placing one elbow on his knee, he leaned forward, chin on his fist.
"That was a rare tune you played there. Where'd you come by something like that?"
The woman's head turned towards him, slow and inexorable, like hatch of a great warship. She stared at him for a long second, before reaching out and gripping the collar of his jacket. She stood up, and at the same time pulled his face towards hers until they were milometers apart.
The bright blue stared hard into the deep green. They breathed in. They breathed out. Ruaidhri breathed in and was suddenly falling as he was casually tossed behind her. Rubbing his head, he watched the back of the departing figure.
"Now who in all the history of the naked angels and cavorting saints, was that?!?"

The looks and, probable, low brow responses from those around the table gave Rook his answer. Standing up slowly and drawing to his full height he looked down at the Bastards from 4th. You would do well to keep a Tech Adept on good terms friends. It would be a shame if he were to maintain or work on your gear and it malfunctioned in some way...The weapons and tools of the Imperium are the soundest they've ever been, but the universe is a fickle place. His milky eyes caught each of them before he left, Let's make a deal some time. He bumped the table as he turned, knocking his drink across the pot.

[With Rook]

Fourth squad, as a whole, immediately stands and rises to the occasion. Their sergeant, the aptly named "Boils" according to Ruaidhri, is at a counter a few feet away and turns toward the noise. Due to Rook's loud voice from his deafness, more people than those he was talking to heard his veiled threats and curious looks were thrown his way.

The man who had previously challenged Rook looks at him furiously. "You think you're the only Enginseer in the Company? 'The feth out of here before you get hurt!"

Sergeant Boils immediately intercedes before any violence could break out. "What the feth is this then? We are all having a good time and 7/7 has to send over one of its lackeys to get my guys riled up? The feth is this Rhone? Keep your tech-jockey on a leash!"

[The Drink Off - Wiremu and Stubbs Round 1]

Wiremu looks up at the big man.

"Shit bro you loud!"

He looks around. There wouldnt be much finding out anything tonight.

"SOUNDS GOOD CUZ! LEAD THE WAY! CHAAAAHIIIIIIIII"

He gives a thumbs up to the big man, and moves past him to where he seen him sitting.
"Scuse me cuz...", he shifts the passed out bastard off the chair and lowers him to the floor. Grabbing the beer that was in front, he takes up and raises it up.

"WELCOME BROTHERS AND SISTERS! CHEERS!", he pours the beer back, slamming the container down, and looking toward the big man.
"HURRY UP OI!"

Stubbs smiled as wide as his big 'ol mouth could go. He was damn excited to have another drinking buddy. Trouble was...big man hadn't been properly keepin' tabs on just how much he been havin'. 

"FETH YEAH. ANOTHER DRINKIN' PARTNA!"

The big man downs his beer as fast and hard as his big hands can go. Then, he stumbles a bit, reachin' out to steady hisself on tha newcomah. 

"WOOOOOOOHHHHH....THAT ONE BE PHAZIN ME A BIT..."

His eyes go a bit crossed and the new guy is lucky as feth that Stubbs don't go topplin' all ovah him.


*******
Stubbs - 1 Fatigue
Wiremu - 0 Fatigue

Nat had found her way into company pf a few of the other squads - regalling them of the antics and actions of the 7th, a little bit of Artur rubbing off as she embelished the stories

"No gakking about we must have been holding off against a whole platoon of those filthy Sev traitors the cropral and I at the point giving them what for."

A few listeners rolled their eyes some muttering at least when Boyd told a story you could just about understand it so you could ignore the grox shit.

Artur was sitting at a table nearby eyes closed as if he was deep in his cups - although he had barely touched a drop. Something about this still didn't sit right with him - no penal legion got this lucky and that worried him, but he wouldn't spoil the fun of others with his cynicism just yet. He was planning to head back and find his bunk when his ears picked up the 4th squads sargent wailing about something - he opened his eyes and scanned and saw Rook was apprently the problem he shook his head and muttered
"What t' feth as dat las magnet got 'imself inta now?"

Sent from Topic'it App

[The Drink Off - Wiremu and Stubbs Round 2]

Wiremu sculls back the second one, smacking his lips. "Ahhhh. Good shit."

He looks at Stubbs, and raises an eyebrow.
"Huhuhu cuz you alright there? Dont be pushing your self too hard to impress ol wiremu! Huhuhu"

Stubbs steadies hisself all nice like and shakes his 'ead from side ta side like a dog comin' out da bath. 

"Shittttt man, I be feelin' it is all. Gone a bit overboard more like than not. Feth me! Let's KEEP GOING!" 

The big man gets his hands on da drink and begins to down it, suds washin' up on the sides of his face and slatherin' down his chest.

*******
Stubbs - 1 Fatigue
Wiremu - 0 Fatigue

[The Drink Off - Wiremu and Stubbs Round 3]

Wiremu winked at the big man, as he started and finished his third.

"Thats the way my cuz. Dont be leavin ol Wiremu sitting here by his lonesome!"


Stubbs continues to slobber down tha drink, lettin' out a massive belch that would have made the Emperor shudder in disapproval. Or maybe give him a thumbs up. Who knew? 


The belch hits the big man hard. He stumbles a bit, fallin' back against tha wall. He shakes his head again. 


"NAH, NAH, NAH, I IS GOOD. I BE GUD YO." 

*******
Stubbs - 1 Fatigue
Wiremu - 0 Fatigue

Things had not gone as planned, but thanks to his deafness Rook was able to ignore most of the vitriol coming from the card players' curses. He slowly put his hands up in feigned ignorance, pointing to his ears. Apologies Sir. The combination of coming aboard and my deafness has affected my balance. My mistake, the grin he gave was that of a half-wit who should have no place in the ranks of the Mechanicum

As Ruaidhri rubbed his head and stared after the departing figure, the rest of the party continued around him. To his right a sergeant of the 2nd was leaning back in her seat, back rigid against the wall while another trooper was teeth deep into her neck. Her skull was shaved smooth, either side of a three inch ginger Mohawk. Her hand was on the scalp of her attendant and with a flex it suddenly pushed down and the other head disappeared from sight. She turned and looked down at the Rattling, her lip curled and lipstick smeared across her face. Light glinted from two twin rifle bullets hanging from her ears.

"That's someone you'd better steer clear of little man"
Ruaidhri, unknowingly imitating Uallachan across the room opened his eyes wide and innocent.
"I only wish to know the name of my beloved sarge. Is it against the law to love now?"

The sergeant closed her eyes for a brief second and took a breath. When she looked down at the Rattling again, her face had returned to its previous disparaging smirk.
"You try any of your chat on Hebi Hanjō and she'll be wearing you inside the week. I'm the fourth sergeant since we were deployed planet side."
Ruaidhri grinned and ran one hand through his hair.
"Hebi Hanjō eh? Well you know what they say- if you aren't looking to live, you might as well be dead."

The sergeant rolled her eyes and pushed the head still deeper.
"Away with you now, you're distracting me. Tell Rhone that his squad are starting to get too big for their boots"

The Rattling climbed to his feet and wandered past the table towards a denser grouping of bodies, swigging from a random bottle he had lifted. A number of bastards were rhythmically dancing in one darkened corner, their bodies a mess of hips, legs, bare sweating chests and hair. There may have been no music, the loud cacophony from the rest of the room was enough of a distraction.
One couple to the outside of the group caught his attention, the man large black Afro reaching his hands around the female bastard ringing a bell in his mind. Suddenly the figure in front spun around and headbutted the man with the Afro and then kneed him in the balls.
Ruaidhri's face broke into a grin and he walked over to look down at the writhing figure.
"Ninja right? You armsmen crashing our party?"
"Maaaan, what was that? I wasn't doing anything!?"
"You touch a bastard like that and you better be sure they want it. You're lucky you still have hands"
Ninja looked up at him, his face breaking into a wide grin.
"Who says I need hands?"
He laughed, as he rose, a surprisingly loud and infectious laugh and looked down at the Rattling.
"I think its maybe a strike out here. On to more important matters- where are you Bastards hiding the  good stuff?"
Out of the corner of his eye Ruaidhri saw a head or two turn and look at the armsman.
He reached out and grabbed the other man's sleeve and dragged him back towards the rest of the tables.
"You not bring any along with you?"
The other laughed again.
"Already long drank. I'm dangerously close to getting sober."
With a yoink, he appropriated a bottle from another table as they came in sight of the 7th's table.
Ninja suddenly stopped dead, his eyes wide and staring.
"What the fuck?! Why is your friend naked? You lot aren't weird are you?""
"Weirder than you could ever imagine. Cheers!"
Ninja crashed his bottle against Ruaidhri's.
"Yeah Boiii! Lets get drunk tonight!"

[The Drink Off - Wiremu and Stubbs Round 4]

Wiremu is laughing a joking as he takes his forth beer, nodding to the person who delivered.

After downing the beer, he feels the weight of all 4 suddenly hit him.

"Oh shiiiiiit. Thats not good huhuhuhu. IM FEELING IT NOW BOYS!"

A lot less steadily he puts the mug down.

Stubbs shouts out as loud as his piehole can go as he be watchin' the newbie gettin' to his own drinks.  

"CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUGGGGGG!!!!" 

The last one turns unceremoniously into a belch at the end of it...makin' any in tha vicinity get a good 'ol taste of the big man's dinner and drinks. Stubbs slams back the next one fast, not lettin' it get to 'im in tha slightest. 

"NEXT PUHLEASE!"

He shouts out to no one in perticulah.

*******
Stubbs - 1 Fatigue; 4 more until passing out
Wiremu - 1 Fatigue; 2 more until passing out

[The Drink Off - Wiremu and Stubbs Round 5]

Wiremu reaches for the mug a couple of times unsuccessfully, before taking hold.

"Yeah boi!!! Chuga Chuga Chuga!!!"

He lifts his mug up, taking a breath to try and steady himself before downing it, managing to get most in his mouth. The mug drops from his hand as he shoots up arms in the air.

"CHAAAAAHIIIIIII....."

He immediately topples over onto the still unconscious other bastard lying on the ground.

"...oh shiiiiit. sorry cuz! DONT WORRY bois! Im ok! NEXT!"

He reaches up and with significant effort hauls himself back to the table.

Stubbs does his besta ta grab hold o' the little guy as he topples over. Howeva, it don't keep him frum laughin' it up at the sight. 

"AH SHITTTTT, IT MUSTA BE HITTIN' YA NOW!"

Stubbs' boomin' voice bellows out. He laughs again befuh takin' another drank and downin' it, belchin' loud afta it be done. The drinkin' partna was givin' it his all and the big man respected that. 

"THIS BOI RIGHT HUR. THIS BOI RIGHT HUR. WOOOOOO!"



*******
Stubbs - 1 Fatigue; 4 more until passing out
Wiremu - 2 Fatigue; 1 more until passing out

The standoff was tense for a few more moments as everyone eyed Rook with hostility. With hands still raised, and a slight shrug he extracted himself from the situation. As he turned, he saw his bunk mate in a drinking contest with the Chindit the squad met earlier that day. Upon analysis both were exhibiting blood toxicity levels far above what was healthy, but the gunner seemed to be handling it better than the operator. He sat a few seats down from the drinkers to avoid having something spilt on him and watched with mild interest.

[The Drink Off - Wiremu and Stubbs Round 6 & 7]

Wiremu had gritted his teeth as he went for another.

"BRO! Im feeling like shit but im still here cuz!"

a portion spilled down his chin as poured it down his throat. Letting out a huge burp he let the mug fall to the table.

"FUUUUCK BRO. IM SMASHED AS! HHUHUHUHUH"

Stubbs liked the new guy a hell of a lot more now. Bitch could show up and drank like the best of dem. Hell he be even keepin' up wit the big man. And eerybody knew how much Stubbs be likin' to drank.

The next round don't go down too well. Stubbs be feelin' it furst in his gut. A gurglin' sensation that damn well keels him off his feet. He staggers, fallin' down on his big muscular ass one mo' time. Shakin' his head frum side ta side, the big man ain't shuh if he be able to be gettin' back up...

+++

Wiremu let out a burp, as he let the mug tumble from his hands.

Suddenly, he felt a little better.

"OH SHIT YEAH! ONE MORE CUZ!", he yelled at nobody and everybody.

He grinned as started drinking the beer, but as he leaned back to drink, he kept falling back and eventually toppled onto the floor, beer splashing everywhere, and the mud clattering to the floor a moment after Wiremu himself hit.

Stubbs be lookin' ova afta his head be cleared up a bit and sees it all in slow motion. The bulky lil' dude just be comin' crashin' down to da flo. It was beautiful in its own way. The smile on his face like the light of the Empruh hisself. It be majestic as hell. 

Stubbs stagguhs hisself up and hobbled ova to the guy covered up in beer. He leans down and taps da guy on tha chest a couple times, all gentle like. 

"YOU DONE DAMN WELL SON. PROPS TO YA." 

The big man stands up all big-like and stumbles ova to the next drink.


*******
Stubbs - 3 Fatigue; 2 more until passing out
Wiremu - PASSED THE FUCK OUT

The night goes on with Bastards, and the odd naval armsman who was clearly AWOL from his position, enjoying the hell out of themselves. Luckily, Rook's antics don't end in a brawl. With his removal from the situation, the 4th platoon, 4th squad go on to have a great night.

But all good things must come to an end.

The next morning's 0400 wake up call is as jolting as a las-bolt to the chest. The head is nearly over run as troopers rush to get cleaned up, wash away the drunk, and vomit into the toilets. Normally, this wouldn't be an issue, but most Bastards find that the restrooms within their bunks were already occupied by a heaving or shitting comrade.

1st Lieutenant Bishop had little sympathy. And since shit rolled downhill, none of the NCOs had any sympathy either. One way or another, troopers ran, trotted, or were dragged out of their bunks and into their new training regimen.

And so it went for the better part of nine standard days. 0500 to 0900 was physical training. There was a 20 minute break for breakfast. Then it was back to combat training - hand-to-hand and general weapons drills. There was a 20 minute break for lunch. Then it was back to specialist training - dusting off the cobwebs so that every trooper was honed in on their mission whether it be demolitions, scout-sniping, heavy weapons, or support of various types. By the time this was done, there was roughly an hour or two of free time for dinner, and cleaning up, and then it was lights out by 2200.

Every other day, the Bastards were put on duty in various sections of the ship. For the most part, duty consisted of fire-watch: manning a position and maintaining awareness for any type of emergency. In ancient times, this usually consisted of an actual fire. Now, aboard The Hudson, it consisted of anything from atmospheric leaks, to malfunctioning machine spirits and bulkheads, to drunken naval personnel and other armsmen, to... actual fire.

The regimen was put in place for two reasons. First, it was to get everyone back into shape. Hervara had taken its toll on the Bastards - physically and mentally. This was designed to rebuild focus and discipline and get their bodies back into hard, physical specimens of Astra Militarum might. The second was simply to keep them out of trouble; if they were too tired to think, they were too tired to wander and get themselves in a world of trouble.

And so it was, 7th platoon, 7th squad found themselves on the 10th day of their transit - tired, but a lot harder and in better mental and physical condition. Shortly, there would be a general briefing and The Hudson would dock at Port Wander.

The smoke rose to the top of the bulkhead and seemed to hang there. Ruaidhri considered it as good a test as any as to the structural integrity of these vital naval structures. Not that they were meant to do any more than watch out for any problems.
A lot of the Bastards hated the off day duties, viewing the work, mostly watching empty parts of the ship as demeaning, boring and not worthy of their position. Ruaidhri personally welcomed it. The days of physical training, spending all their time under the unwavering gaze of the CO's and non coms was extremely draining, especially on Uallachan. Ruaidhri could see that he was close to reaching his limit, sooner or later either battle would have to come or he would act out in some way. At least in the bulkhead, he could vent some of this energy, and sate himself enough so he could accept the unyielding rigidity of life aboard ship.

It was the night before their briefing and both were sprawled on a maintenance platform. From their lights they could just make out the top of the bulkhead above them, but below there was nothing but darkness.
"How about the parable of the Good Priest? This poor boy, lets call him Lysander. His girlfriend throws him out naked and loveless, no matter what he begs. A respectable prostitute comes past and he begs her for love, but it is denied as Lysander has no money. Next a drunken socialite, looking for a bit of rough happens by. Lysander again begs for love and again is denied. Lysander is too eager and has shrunk in the wash. Finally when he is hopeless and about to wander home alone, who takes up a stride by and by but a Priest of the Order of the Celibate Desert Fathers. And there in the middle of this public gallery the Priest takes him, and makes him comfortable and happy"

"You know that's the first story you've added which seems to place the clergy in good light."
Uallachan, took his pipe out of his mouth with one hand and jabbed on his forehead with the other.
"That's what's so subtle and clever about it. You start to think, how horrendous was this Lysander that a Priest would say yes."
"You are going to have to put in a story in there about the drunken socialites or people will think you are going soft on them."
"I'll put something in, but Ruaidhri, they are so stupid, if I make it vague enough they will think its a story about them personally. Take this for instance:
There's this socialite. She has all the artz, all the fashion, she's the Emperor's giant engorged testicles basically. But you know what? No one believes in her. They tell her no one would buy that rubbish. Tell her that's good for your youth but its time to grow up and settle down, join the trading house, marry the family friend, get a couple spuds in the oven. Now this is depressing as shit to our poor young heroine. She's different, has this unique artistic vision, and thinks deeply about important things. She's also hot too- but not in the normal way. No one says she's hot but they say shit like, you don't look like anyone else, I've never met anyone like you before, wow wearing black again?
Anyways, she all sad and stuff and goes somewhere dramatic, standing at the top of a building, or a void door or a waterfall or whatever. Anyway..."
"Anyway...."
"Go suck on a turd. ANYWAY, our heroine is standing there, tempted to do something stupid when who comes along?"
"Who does? Naked Lysander desperate for love again?"
"Lysander is busy being inserted with things far too big for him. Who does come, but our hero, Saint Uall the Just."
"Oh yes, I was wondering when our tiny hero would turn up"
"OUR HERO, standing at six foot eight and built like a brick shithouse, stops her from ending it but then doesn't pay any attention to her. Intrigued she follows him. Find him being glorious and all, robbing people, setting fire to monasteries, fitting more potatoes into his mouth than anyone ever before save that one son of the Emperors who could fit the biggest things in his mouth. He acts all dismissive, ignores her and she loves this and dedicates her life to making this wonderful guy love her. And then just before he does, some Inquisitor kills him. And so bereft of him she dedicates her life to this image/ ideal."

"Are you planning to have a story about each particular group? How big will this book have to be?"
"Most groups- I can probably tie a couple together under some broad descriptions. People read themselves into everything."
"Surely some of the stories are going to contradict eachother? Your first story had a priest as the hero, and in the second the hero is burning Churches?"
"Naturally Ruaidhri. That's why they are parables. All of them can be contradictory that way but no one will see it. They'll just read the stuff they like and ignore the rest. That's why it has to be such a long book. If it was short everyone would read it."

There was a knock at the hatch in the middle of the platform, and it opened up to reveal another crew member.
"Shift over you two."
He stared suspiciously at the pipes in both Rattlings hands.
"Hey you know you aren't meant to have an open flame up here."
Ruaidhri nodded and smiled.
"See this guy has something about him. What's our job up here?"
"To put out fires."
Both Rattlings reached down and put the pipes out.
"Job done my friend. But this time, you helped us so thank you for that."
The two gave him a bow before climbing past the bewildered looking crew member, down the ladder.

Bazin sank into the bed in a sprawl.

Nawt sat on the edge, equally exasperated.

So far, it had been a never ending cycle of rigorous drills and long, dead watches. For days on end they had hardly had time to speak, not that they could really hear any better.
His legs ached, as did his arms, and his abdomen, and his back.....pretty much everything.

He only had a few hours to get some bunk time before the next shift was up.

Newt tries to get his attention by gently scratching his shoulder, but he was already asleep.

Within 5 minutes, she was snoring as well.

Wiremu had enjoyed his time with the bastards, but until T's were crossed and I's dotted, he still was training and working at his usual jobs, much to Tech Priest Leondrus's piece of mind.

"...and he was like...NOT EVEN OW" huhuhuhuh"

Leondrus sighed. "Very amusing Private"

"Right? It reminds me of this other time as well..."

Leondrus sighed again, silently beseeching the Omnissiah for strength.

Rook enjoyed the routine that the Bastards were unceremoniously thrown back into. Routine stopped things from breaking down, much like the inner workings of a machine. If the routine failed, then the squad failed. He logged as much information on the ship as he could so that he could find those workshops that the Chirurgeon had talked about. He needed to do some more work on his weapons, and find the right people. Soon...he thought.

Artur was happy to get back to training routine. It made him feel like a soilder and that feeling got him through most of his days. While he took part in the usual routine he spent his off time with Nat trying to get a decent lay out of the surrodi g areas - be hated being aboard a ship, lots of areas to cover and hide but he was adamnat he would do his best to cover them alk eventually.

Sent from Topic'it App

Karsith fell into the routine just as soon as it started. It was refreshing to go back to the simple life. With such a strict schedule, Karsith had little time to think about his own individuality, and let himself be taken up by the imperial machine. Until they made it to Port Wander, Karsith was just input/output, waiting for the next rush of adrenaline and crunch of chain blades.

Stubbs had damn near enjoyed hisself to tha damn limit at tha partay. It was gettin' ta be one o tha best. By the end of the night, the big man finds hisself starin' down at the glass, people all gone or passed the feth out round' him. He blinks and a lil' tear falls into the liquid. 

"Damn girl, you musta be shittin' yo self at our dumb luck...wish you was here..."

He wipes it away and chugs tha drink, before puttin' his head down and fallin' ta sleep. 

+++++

Stubbs be glad as hell to be back in the swing. It was fethin' tirin' as hell, but shit if it didn't get him back into his peak condition. Summin he be thinkin' they all be needin' soonah rather than latuh. Best part was gettin' back to shootin' and target practice. Stubbs be lovin' havin' a gun in his hands and the drills let him keep his edge. Trainin' meant a betta shot at not dyin'. And...fuh the time bein'...that be alright for the big man.

At 1200 hours on day ten of transit and training, all of the Bastards are excused from their duties for a briefing. Unlike before, this would not be held in the main nerve center's - Nerve Center 5's - grand auditorium. Instead, most of 7th company found themselves called to a place much more familiar.

The cargo hold had been re-purposed well before the Bastards ever arrived as a training center. This had been home-away-from you rooms for the past ten days, and if the promises of your NCOs were anything to go by, you would all grow intimately familiar with it as time went on. Originally it had seen use only by the Chindits and before that the naval armsmen, but the latter had been moved along to a separate area to make room for the Chindits and the Chindits had no qualms sharing with the Bastards. They chalked it up to something about Astra Militarum sticking together. In reality, it probably had more to do with the thought that if another unit was in here, they didn't have to be.

Most of 7th Company's platoons were present and accounted for. Only two were absent - 2nd and 3rd Platoon who both had duty around the ship. They would be briefed separately later. But the rest, including the Ork Hunters themselves, 7th Platoon, stood around waiting. 1st Lieutenant Bishop made his way to the top of an ammo crate, his commanding presence a sight of immediate confidence. Of all of 7th Company's officer corps, he was the sole survivor. And while he spent much of the war for Hervara in a medicae recovering, his efforts had made the lives of 7th Company something more than expendable. And everyone knew that.

"All right, you apes, listen up. We're scheduled to dock at Port Wander at 1800 hrs. We and the Chindits have been given assignments from up top." Up top of course meant Captain Jakkoby and his staff.

"1st Platoon, 4th Platoon, and 7th Platoon have been selected to go aboard the Space Station. The rest of you will be grabbing some some R&R aboard the ship." The initial groans that came with the knowledge that certain platoons would be staying aboard The Hudson died down to a low murmur with the prospect of R&R.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're breakin' my heart. You've done well these last ten days. Trained hard. Worked hard. Made me proud not to have to explain to the powers that be why my fuck ups were fucking up. So we need to keep that up. First, Fourth, and Seventh, you will carry yourselves with pride. We have a clean slate now, boys. Remember that. Act like it. If you don't, I will personally stomp your asses.
That goes for those of you staying behind. Squad leaders have individual missions. Before I hand it over to them, are there any questions?"

+++
Area Unlocked: Training Hold

Ruaidhri raised his right eyebrow at Uallachan.
"Clean slate eh? What exactly does he mean by that? Our misdeeds back there are forgiven or are we back to being free again? Are we earning a wage?"
He spoke loud enough for the rest of the squad to hear but not the rest of the Company.
Uallachan wasn't paying him any attention and was instead waving his arm around the back of the bastard in front of him, until he got the Lieutenant's attention.

"Lieutenant sir. Please sir, do you have any information on where our ultimate objective might be? Some of the men are talking sir. The salty armsmen were saying that we have been put together to raid a heretical world. That there is this artefact we are meant to recover. They then described the artefact which I won't repeat as there are young ears present. I naturally disbelieved them sir, as anything said, which isn't by a commanding officer is just so much.....didly."

He looked up at the Lieutenant, his face earnest and open.

Stubbs be listenin' to all tha commotion tha be comin' round his ears, glad they be gettin' some semblance of bein' able ta hear shit again. He be glad to hear they finally gettin' sum. Big man be gettin' restless and shit. 

"Yeah, suh, what them there ratlings be sayin'. What we thinkin' we be up against? Not tha we can't be handlin' it."

Artur rolled his eyes and supressed a grin before clearing his throat

"Nah t' be addin' pointless questions ell tee, buh we be expectin' t'rubble a' Port Wander - couple a platoons a' Bastards seems a bi' mu' fer an 'onour gaurd?"

Sent from Topic'it App

Bazin listened with focused intensity.

Combat would break the cycle of backbreaking drills and boring guard shifts. They had been rode so hard that he found himself remonising the old days on hervara.

He squeezes his knuckles tight, forcing hos skin to whiten with capillaric pressure.

Newt saw a glint of anticipation in Bazin' eyes. He was an enigma for sure. At times he was a male adonis, courageous and bold.

At others, he was like broken, human debris. She had noticed in some quiet moments how he struggled to keep his hands from shaking, how he struggled to sleep, and how his sleep was plagued with dreams of death.

She wondered how they would both fare on port wander....

Ruaidhri wrote:

"Lieutenant sir. Please sir, do you have any information on where our ultimate objective might be? Some of the men are talking sir. The salty armsmen were saying that we have been put together to raid a heretical world. That there is this artefact we are meant to recover. They then described the artefact which I won't repeat as there are young ears present. I naturally disbelieved them sir, as anything said, which isn't by a commanding officer is just so much.....didly."

Bishop laughed at the rumors Ruaidhri had been hearing. "Like I said, right now all I know is that we are going to link up at this port, for what I can only imagine is re-supply. After that, who knows, you may be right."

Artur wrote:

"Nah t' be addin' pointless questions ell tee, buh we be expectin' t'rubble a' Port Wander - couple a platoons a' Bastards seems a bi' mu' fer an 'onour gaurd?"

"There's some logic to be had in keeping the men happy - even though I don't think the majority of them will be too happy. Platoon leaders will have more answers." The last part he said with a big smile.

As you break apart into platoons, you start to realize just how small your company had become. As it was, it had started out over sized. 10 squads per platoon was enormous by normal standard - and then ten platoons within 7th company made it well oversized. But that wasn't all surprising for a regiment that was supposed to be composed of fodder.

But Hervara had dwindled it proper, and it showed. Only 6 platoons remained: 1st through 5th and 7th. And not one among them had the full ten squads they started out with. Most hovered around 5 squads, making the bonds among the survivors increasingly tight. There was talk about combining platoons to deal with losses, but the NCOs hadn't gone for it. For that matter, neither had the troops.

Rhone stood at the center of 7th platoon, having been regarded as the defacto leader of the platoon - which wasn't saying much as it was only made up of about three squads. Doing quick math revealed that to be roughly 40 men and women - again above average given how big 7th squad - your squad - was.

"All right, guys and gals, ladies and gentleme-" he stopped himself as he caught Phaze, standing right next to him, staring intently through his rebreather lenses. "Well, men at the very least. We got orders so mouths closed and ears open. 7th platoon is going to be active on Port Wander - that means no dicking around - at the very least no dicking around until the mission is done. 1st and 2nd squads - you are going to be providing security for the Lord Captain. Apparently he wants you to get a lay of the Port and familiarize yourself with it and then bring that info back to the rest of us. Looks like this could be a regular Port of call for us. He also may want to send a show of force to parties unknown - not sure, but if you bought a pretty new cybermastiff, wouldn't you want to show it off? Being with Captain Jakk means that you will be going through the fancier sections of this place - so get cleaned up and have your uniforms pressed. We might be Bastards, but you are going to be good looking Bastards, you get me? All eyes are on you, so don't feth this up for us. We have a reputation to uphold. Rah."

"We get you!" and "Rah!" came back loud and clear. Why wouldn't they be happy? They were getting a tour of the upper Port with the Captain himself.

With first and second squads mission out in the open, only 7th remained.

"That leaves us, 7th. We have a special assignment. Don't get your hopes up, though - we are definitely not going to the upper decks. There's a contact on the Port Wander the Captain wants us to locate - and we are going to do just that. He goes by 'Thran Finn' and he has some info the Captain wants. Bring your game face, 7th. This isn't an assault and it isn't an in-depth defense. We are running along very carefully and need to play this as smoothly as we can. We don't want to feth up our first assignment for the new overlord."

He snaps his fingers as though he almost forgot. "Big thing to remember - Port Wander has a heavy Arbites presence. They run the show on the upper decks - less so on the lower - but we are not about to start anything with the likes of those uptight pricks. Rules on the Port are no heavy or assault weapons on the station. That means no eviscerator Karsith, and no heavy bolter Stubbs, and no Long Las or Plasma Gun, Ruaidhri and Rook. Don't press this one 7th Company - sidearms and basic rifles only."

Things were finally moving to a new phase. Rook had been moving through the routines with impatience while they were waiting for the next assignment. He hadn't had a chance to search out the machine shop again, and it was testing his inner calm. The assignment seemed interesting enough as they would be operating in the lower decks, right where he felt most at home. Going through his mental checklist of his items he could barter with, he felt he had enough to make some nice acquisitions. He listened to Rhone rattle off the mission specifications, and gasped audibly when Rhone said they would not be carrying specialized weaponry. His hand shot up wildly, Will that include RICT-err my power axe? It is a symbol of office first, and holy weapon and tool second. It may prove useful to us. Inside he was both seething and frantic. First no chances at modifying his hell pistol and now this? He had become intimately more in sync with the weapon over the past months, but his quest to uncover the secrets of its past was ongoing. He needed it. It was precious to him. If he could not take SOLARIUS, he at least needed to have RICTUS by his side. His mind raced at how he would manage without either of the icons

Artur frowns Rhu with no long las, Stubbs without a heavy bolter and Karsith without his eviscerator he hoped things didn't turn ugly.
"Shotgun's alrigh' Sarge? Jus' if 'is turns 't a street figh' shottys goin' t' be mighty 'andy in close."

Sent from Topic'it App

After hearing Rhone's reply about RICTUS, Rook took off towards his quarters, and the footlocker. He needed to find the machine shops. If he could just get his sidearm onto a workbench he would find some measure of calm. Even just finding a workshop would help. At least then he would know where it was for when they came back to the Hudson.
He practically ran down the corridors and thoroughfares towards towards his bunk-room. Reaching his quarters, he stooped over his footlocker and surveyed the cache inside. Eyeing the Triplex and the manstopper magazine, he decided they would be worth trading for just about anything else. The magazine was tucked into a webbing pouch under his robes and he slung the lasgun over his shoulder hurriedly. Jacjonson snaked out and delicately picked up the hellpistol by the grip, holding it out for Rook like an obedient child. He turned and left his quarters in a flurry of robes and snatched the weapon from the mechadendrite's grip. His memorycoils recovered the directions that Enginseer Mae had given him, and this time he would follow them to the letter.

-----------

It didn't take as long as he thought it would to reach the workshops, and he had no idea how he had missed them in the first place. He could smell the unguents and machine oil first, and then he was there. It was a spacious place of worship to the glory of the Machine God. Overhead gantries held tracks for lift chains and winches, suspending engines blocks above chassis and armor-plating waiting for attachment. Workbenches and tool racks lined the walls, as well as dividing vehicle bays into sections. The whole space was lit to an almost eye-watering brightness, exuding an atmosphere of sterility and order. There was a figure swathed in robes with its back to him bent over a workbench inspecting something. Rook approached respectfully, Jacjonson hovering over his shoulder and RICTUS ringing off the decking with every other step. He stopped short and sent a cautious burst of binary in greeting and deference to the Cult Member, this was his or her shop after all. Hail. My designation is Rook Malakai. I have been assigned to this ship as part of a new guard component. I have been unable to find my way to this place to offer obeisance until now. I am here to pay respect now. He knelt head bowed to the priest whose sanctum he had entered, waiting for a reply.

Artur wrote:

"Shotgun's alrigh' Sarge? Jus' if 'is turns 't a street figh' shottys goin' t' be mighty 'andy in close."

"Shotguns are good-to-go, Corporal. But keep your profile's minimal, boys and girls. We are rolling in there to find a contact - and to convince him to give us info. Rolling in dressed to the nines in arms and armor is not going to make that job easy. So be aware of how you approach this - be aware of team size - be aware of what you are wearing - be aware of what you are carrying. Roger that?"

Rhone was about to respond to Rook when he stormed off. He just sighed and carried on.

From behind him, curses went up from 1st and 2nd platoons. There were plenty of "Are you fething kidding me?" and "This is grox shite!" exclamations. Apparently they weren't too happy with their assignments.

Rhone smiled. "First and Second must have just heard the news that they will be spending the vast majority of this one unloading and reloading supplies for the ship. Sometimes it just pays to be 7th."

+++

[In the Machine Shop]

The machine shop was good sized, but hardly the largest one aboard the ship. And it most certainly was not the main vehicle bay. But still, it filled Rook with a calm that only a true place of machine worship could.

Artemis Demeter approached and bowed low to 7th's Tech Priest, making the sign of the Cog above his head. His eyes then wandered over Rook, mechanical whirring as multiple lenses took him in.

+++Omnissiah's Blessings and Lubrications. How may I assist you, Enginseer?+++

Bazin noticed he didnt say "No flamer." He figured that was a mistake and he ought to keep his mouth shut about it.

The Grenade launcher was probably off limits as well....


Newt decided it was her time to be a smart ass.
"You mentioned that there would be no dicking around, so that means pussy-footing is approved?"