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

Uallachan eyed the mechanical snake as it fell limp around her neck and he raised one eyebrow, while his grin broadened. Looking back up into her eyes he nodded and continued to smile.
"An appointment you say? And at my earliest convenience? That's awfully kind spirited of you if I may say so, and indeed I do. There are certain things which are pretty inevitable and my firm belief is against wasting energy."

He held out a grimy hand.
"Shall we say two hours after this carry on has finished? I'll let you decide where. I'm a particular fan of exploring new things. The rat may have his favored hole, but Uallachan will enter all that are available and has been known to find area's where no hole previously existed."

As the lift descended, he gave it a quick look and then turned back to the mechanical woman with a look of puzzlement on his face.
"Ah, the entertainment has arrived... but they've left their instruments behind? Are they intending to sing solo?"

Mae nodded her head in agreement, her bone saw revving sightly and scalpel waving behind her, keen to get to work on studying the blighted little creature. "The ship medical room should be sufficient, if we need more extensive equipment then I'll see about requisitions. I can assure you, I won't allow you to unduly suffer."

As the officers began to enter, Mae's eyes became solely focused on the priestess and all other thoughts disappeared from her mind. The Enginseer Prime was--- beauty --- Mae felt envy and ... another feeling as well that she could not quite place... as she looked upon the Enginseer Prime.

Without realizing, Mae had risen to her full height and her optical mechadendrite was focused as intently on the Enginseer Prime as her two biological eyes. Her Medical mechadedrite limbs were still behind her, shivering only slightly with... well...

Wiremu, who had ended up next to Bazin, one of the bastards, nudged him gently with his elbow.

"Bit of a surprise eh bro. Don't worry though! it is cool...a kool kroot even huhuhu"

He laughed at his own joke, then held out his hand.

"Names Wiremu! Life here is a bit different but you will get used to it!"

Stubbs watched dumbfounded as da big platform came coming down. He shook his head and laughed a lil bit at it all. It was damn near dream-like. What the literal feth had happened to them? He pinched his arm, but shooot, they was all still there. 

Bastards be damn lucky. 

Although the big man couldn't hear shit, he could still see the impression that the commandin' officers gave. He couldn't wait to get his hearin' back.

Rook watched the conversation between the Ratling and the Hudson's Chirugeon. He had thought about trying to discern what they were talking about, but given the Sniper's propensity for vulgarity he decided he didn't want to know...His attention was dragged away as the platform came down and his heart rate increased by 23 percent in an instant. The Enginseer Prime was the most gracefully augmented human he had ever seen. He communion with the Omnissiah appeared to be well on the way to approaching completion and he felt a knot of...envy well up in his core. He must find her...Who knew what he could achieve here on this ship! His eyes flicked over to appraise the Kroot and his mood turned sour for a moment before a devious smile split his face. If they have allowed a xenos aboard, and part of the officer corps no less!, then this ship would certainly be more open-minded to my experiments...He watched the theatrics and speeches absent-mindedly while he conspired

With orders given, Captain Jakkoby gave a last word of encouragement and then the lift ascended. The oddest Imperial crew many have laid eyes upon drifted upward, most likely to reconvene on the bridge. With that, commanders began barking orders and people began filing out.

It was ten days to Port Wander and you would all, most likely, have duty assignments before you got there. But ten days was enough time to pursue your own interests if that was what you had in mind...

Ruaidhri leaned back in his chair in order to get as good a view as possible of the new arrivals on the lift. He considered each of them carefully, his eyes studying each for a couple of seconds, before moving on to the next. Long experience had allowed him to identify all of the upper crust into two distinct camps. Those who would deliberately cause his death and those who would do accidentally through their own incompetence. As a whole he generally preferred the former, though the latter was generally more lenient. Efficient commanders tended to be direct, which left the board clearer for the bastards kind of mischief. With an incompetent, everything quickly devolved into a mess and though they might not notice what you purloined, it was much harder to live.

The armsman was clearly the whip cracker and probably the one the bastards would be in most contact with. He looked like someone who it might be something to cross, almost as much as the xenos. Then there was the mechanic and the secretary. The last of these was certainly beautiful and purely due to that, he considered she might be the weak link. It would be as well to discover what her job was.
The major thing that bothered him though was the kid gloves with which they were being treated with still.
He turned to Newt and raised his eyebrows.
"What's your thoughts on 'If you don't do your job I'll find someone who will?' Are they actually afraid of punishment here, or is all this soldiers paradise on earth shite the line they are pushing? I've never lived or served anywhere that didn't back up its authority with severe repercussions and this place will be the same. I just can't understand why they are trying to hide it from us."

Uallachan eyed the bone saw and the scalpel as they waved behind her head. Images suddenly flooded his head of all the fun activities which could be had with them. He'd been with various people who had been fond of their little toys, but this woman put even 'Whip your tongue to your arse' McLoughlan to shame. He gave her a wink.
"I will trust to your tender ministrations. But don't worry, this isn't the first 'procedure' I've been through, I can promise to return as hard as I am given. And yeah the medical room is a fine enough place for us to begin."
He wrapped his hands behind his head and grinned again.
"I will be like jelly in your saws, ahem pointy things, and hands too."

He became quickly aware that he was no longer being paid attention to, and looked up again at those on the raised platform. There were some potentials up there to be sure, an even more mechanical woman, a bit of toff fluff, and then something he'd never seen before. Big muscles, sharp teeth. Definitely worth a bit of a throw down with.
Following her eyes though, he saw that she wasn't staring at the most interesting member of the crew. She was standing now at her impressive full height and her various fun providers were quivering with... A broad grin broke across the rattlings face.
Putting one hand in front of his face, he gave a faux whisper.
"Would you happen to have a crush on one of the staff?"

Newt didnt remove her eyes from the officer's plinth. She was more interested in the gossip Uallachan's activities would provide, but Ru had asked a pertinent question.
"Back home, if you couldnt do the job you were lashed, beaten, reprimanded, or killed depending on what the action was. I assumed it was the same thing for them."


Bazin, on the other hand, replies to Wiremu, "Miremu eh? Tell me something. How does a rogue trader who buys and sells regiments have a xenos as an officer and escape the...." he looks around, almost afraid to say it. As far as he could tell, everyone was devolving into their own priorities.
"...The inquisition." he whispers.

He didnt know if the inquisition was real or not, not until a member of the ordos hereticus cast his entire PDF regiment to the colony for going AWOL. A single man (or woman maybe?) sent 1000 men and women to military prison with the stroke of a pen - She killed the men responsible. Before that, the stories of the "big brother bogeyman" always seemed like nothing less than stories told to frighten children. But based on the stories and what he had seen, this situation seemed like it would draw their disdain.

Bazin quite literally hollers out what he says, not being able to hear the volume of his own voice outside of a dull ringing. Most of the armsman stop to stare at his outburst - some of them nod, sharing his sentiments about the Kroot while others roll their eyes and head off. His whisper is more of a louder-than-conversational voice and it stops everyone in the immediate vicinity dead in their tracks.

A few of them grumble and a group of the naval armsmen and women walk toward him with angry looks on their faces and voiceless words on their lips.

Say one thing about Naval crew, say they were superstitious. And it was a safe bet bringing up the Inquisition on a ship in the void was bad luck.

A dozen or so gather 'round. A big mean looking son of a gun with a scar from his forehead to his chest jabs a thick finger into Bazin's chest.

"The feth gives you the right to bring up the Inq on this ship, you new-bodied-nobody?"

[-10 Diplomacy check; two people may assist]

Bazin was caught off guard by the accusatory looks of the naval armsmen.

He recovers quickly, raising his arms to include his regiment in his defense.

None of this would have occurred due to Bazin's inability to understand the accusations against him:

Newt had immediately seen that Bazin was in trouble and leaves the ratling to stand behind him, her fists were now balled into tight fists in case she was needed.

Bazin was usually pretty timid by nature, but sometimes he did things like this, standing up to something much more than he. He did it on Hervarra when faced with the techy-ork, even after everyone else lost their nerve leaving him alone to take on the mass of muscle. And now again he was doing it. He never did anything like this before he knew Toreth. She loved to see these moments, and they got her excited in all the wrong ways.

Bazin stood there with his face remaining in the scrunched position. He hoped the men staring him down didnt see the bead of sweat condensing at his hairline. He also hoped that his squad, and maybe even some other bastards, were taking his position as well.

There was a moment of tension where any sudden moves could devolve the situation into a brawl of superstitious proportions.

"Am I wrong?" he asked, more nervously than he showed.

Inside, his mind was racing. It seemed that 7th squad had already pissed off the armsmen of the Hudson and 4th squad as well. They certainly were not winning any popularity contests here. He wondered if they would need to sleep armed for a while or not.

Scarface kept his angry demeanor, but realized he would have a fight on his hands. It was a fight that could quickly spiral out of control. With Bazin speaking nonsense, most likely due to his hearing issues that no one else save for Bastards would have known about, the Armsman shrugs and turns to someone who seems to have somewhat of a clear head. That person was Newt.

"This here is our ship. We have been on it for the long haul - some born into it. We don't need any bad luck or omens before a voyage. You new crew better learn how things work around here. The sooner the better." He turned to his crew and gestured for them to leave. They said some goodbye-curses toward the Bastards but otherwise weren't in it for a fight. After a few moments they disperse and it is just Bastards, and perhaps a few Chindits and an odd Medicae Tech Priestess remaining...

[Nice roll, Heath. You just single-handedly prevented a brawl.]

Mae was pulled from her thoughts by the high pitch binary squeal, She glanced down in surprise at the little creature and saw his sad little face looking up at her and a strange enginseer who had managed to get eerily close without her noticing. The new man was obviously from the bastards, exiled for omnissiah knows what. She vaguely remembered him making stuttering platitudes at their first meeting.

"01110100 01100001 01101011 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100110 01101001 01110010 01110011 01110100 00100000 01101100 01100101 01100110 01110100 00100000 01101111 01110101 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101111 01110010 00100000 01100110 01101111 01101100 01101100 01101111 01110111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101000 01100001 01101100 01101100 01110111 01100001 01111001 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 00100000 01100110 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101000 01110101 01101110 01100100 01110010 01100101 01100100 00100000 01110011 01110100 01100101 01110000 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 01101110 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101011 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100101 01101100 01100101 01110110 01100001 01110100 01101111 01110010 00100000 01110101 01110000 00100000 01110100 01110111 01101111 00100000 01100110 01101100 01101111 01101111 01110010 01110011 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110100 01110101 01110010 01101110 00100000 01101100 01100101 01100110 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01100100 00100000 01100100 01101111 01110111 01101110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101000 01100001 01101100 01101100 01110111 01100001 01111001 00100000 01100001 01101110 01101111 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100110 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101000 01110101 01101110 01100100 01110010 01100101 01100100 00100000 01101101 01100101 01110100 01100101 01110010 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101001 01110010 01101100 01101111 01100011 01101011 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110100 01110111 01101111 00100000 01101000 01110101 01101110 01100100 01110010 01100101 01100100 00100000 01101101 01100101 01110100 01100101 01110010 01110011 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110011 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 " She directed him towards one of the Engineering decks on the second farthest area of the ship he would have access to. "01100111 01101111 01101111 01100100 00100000 01101100 01110101 01100011 01101011 " and wished him luck. If he didn't remember, or hear her directions, he might well end up in an airlock.

She turned her attention back to the little man, "I am most sorry, I'm afraid we will have to reschedule. I hope you will survive long enough for us to meet again." She gathered her self and hurried back to her quarters. She had a strong feeling that things would be moving along swiftly and she needed to explore as many means to discover her past before the opportunities disappeared...

[Mae's Quarters]

The Medicae Tech Priestess found her quarters just as she had left them. They were tucked away in one of the lowest level living habs, some five levels beneath where the Bastards and Chindits were. This level was cozy; it lacked all the fanfare and comfort of the higher levels. It was closer to the sacred machinery that kept this nerve center functioning. Even if she was a biologis, the machinery's hums and vibrations were reminiscent of a soothing hymn.

Inside, her data slate was beeping. She had received a new message from the Senior Tech Priest Biologis. It read in both Gothic and Machine Cant: +++ Mae, Tech Priest Medicae//Reassignment from Upper Deck Medicae Post A.007 has commenced//New Assignment --- Newly arrived armsman unit in need of attached Medicae; Callsign "Emperor's Bastards"; Squad: 7th//New assignment completed +++

The message ended with the Omnissiad Creed:

Uallachan gave Mae a dirty mouthed smile.
"A pleasure delayed is a pleasure extended, my nutty and bolty mountain. I'll be waiting on the line for your call, like the adventurous fish who wants to see inside us."
He bowed low, blew her a kiss, gave an index finger pistol salute to Rook and meandered back towards his partner. He arrived just as the last of armsmen were dispersing. Ruaidhri had his black pipe belching foul fumes into the air and his rifle across his knees.
"What kinda nonsense have you been getting up to here?"
The red haired rattling shrugged.
"Bazin started shouting shit, some of the local fauna crawled out of a rock to challenge us and then backed off when we didn't bend down. What about you? I havn't seen you as pleased since you managed to fit into the Black hole of Foolscap."
Uallachan rubbed his hands together, and his smile grew wider.
"What can I say mo chara? Tried my best to get out of this bastards party tonight but I failed. Possibilities for the future though."
"I'll believe that when I see it. She still has a pulse"
"You are one to lay the shit- have you even shifted off your ass since I left? I tried to pay two of the arms-men to approach you. Take an priests "entertainment budget" to get them even interested in the idea."
"Single and alone tonight then? Shall we try and find a wordsmith then?"

Uallachan nodded and Ruaidhri turned to face the other Bastards encircling around.
"Right you darn dirty bastards. Tonight, say 3 hours hense we are hosting a kitchen warming party. Alcohol kindly provided by the 4th squad. Attendance mandatory."
"No word yet on what work exactly this boy band will have us do so likely as not we'll probably end up stuck to a wall impregnated with xenos waiting to explode out our bums."
"So we might as well get drunk and be merry tonight. Three hours."

Ruaidhri then looked through the group till he found the new arrival and walked up to him and gestured at him with the length of his pipe.
"Wiremu right? This is Uallachan and I'm Ruaidhri. What's cracking?"
"Pleasantries lightly caressed and fondled, we have a question for you"
"As far as we get it, you've been aboard here slightly longer than us"
"And we were wondering. Are there any wordsmiths aboard?"
"People who produce documents, send out orders or messages. The paperwork people"  

Bastards Quarters]

Whenever 7th squad does eventually make it back to their living habs, a series of orders await them. 1st Lieutenant Apax Bishop had sent out an order to have everyone muster at the nerve center lifts before going to their quarters. He begins speaking as the final Bastards trickle in.

"Well, it looks like this is the real deal and not some Commissar's sick joke," he quips. "We are officially armsmen in the service of Rogue Trader and Lord-Captain Jakkoby Aldon and The Hudson. For those of you bumpkins who may not realize what a Rogue Trader is or does, allow me to elucidate you." After some quizzical stares he adds, "It means 'I will explain it.' Good Emperor Almighty, some of you never cease to amaze." He cleared his throat and went on. "A Rogue Trader has a license, signed by the High Lords of Holy Terra themselves, that lets them travel the galaxy and find new planets, treasures, civilizations, and everything in between to claim for the Imperium of Man. As you can imagine, sometimes they get into a bit of trouble. That's where we come in; apparently Captain Jakkoby needed the hardest mother fethers this side of the galaxy to get the job done and we fit the bill."

There was some laughter and some cheers. The tension of this being just another cluster-fucker for the Emperor's Bastards had begun to lift off of some.

"Now, the Bastards chain of command still exists as it did before. You report to your squad leaders and squad leaders report to me. So forth and so on. Only now, there are some new big-whigs at the top of that chain. That doesn't mean a fething thing to us. We are going to train hard. We will not get soft! And when the time comes, we will be ready to kick the teeth in of whatever the Captain puts in front of us. Rah?"

The collective RAH that came back was almost deafening.

"Good. Orders have arrived and they will consist mainly of fire-watch and training. Training will be carried out on a squad-by-squad basis with multiple squad training occurring at random..." He then went into the minutia of the schedule. Essentially squads would train for five hours and then go on duty for five hours in a five day stretch. At the end of that five day stretch, to the surprise of many, squads would get two days of R&R.

At this news squad leaders had to quiet some of their troops down. Bishop held up a hand and went on. "Finally, at my recommendation and against the wishes of our former Commissarial slave masters, Captain Jakkoby has decided to award the following squads and individuals for their efforts on Hervara. When you hear your name, please step forward."

As each name was called, Bishop produced a medal, read out the recommendation and actions that led to it, and pinned the medal on the Bastard's uniform. Dozens were awarded as no Bastard left Hervara unscathed. Heroes and antiheroes alike, every remaining soul had made their mark on that wretched place. But one squad in particular had gone above and beyond.

"7th squad, please step forward as one. For actions above and beyond the call of duty, single handedly risking your lives to save those of your fellow troopers, Bastard and other, you have been awarded the honorary title of 'Ork Killers.' For the killing of their Warboss and decimation of their army, each and every one of you has also earned a Penitence Ribbon. Well done, 7th."

Bishop then dismissed everyone to their living habs.

+++
"Ork Killers" = All PCs now gain +10 to any intelligence test vs Orks and attack penetration vs Orks gains a +1 bonus.
Penitence Ribbon = All PCs melee attacks vs. Orks gain Felling (2).

Please add these to your PC sheet.

Wiremu gave a kinda upward nod,
"Sup boys, nice to yous. Mean pipe you have there too bro. Reminds me of my mates from back home. Many a good sesh with that huhuhuhu!"

He laughs to himself before continuing,
"But orders and paper work guys? I dont really have to deal with that eh. In the workshop, my boy Leo, one of them tech priests, deals with that shit. You could prob ask one of them navel boys...although maybe dont get your boy over there to ask huhuhu."

Bazin listens more intently than Newt concerning their current situation.

He had hoped Bishop would have some kinda reassurance about the xenos presences on board, when he didnt, he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.....this time.

When dismissed, Newt grabbed Bazin by the arm and initiated a race to the bunks before everyone else. She was still warm and fuzzy from the rare display of courage Bazin had shown before the briefing, and even more so as he had somehow gotten the po'ed armsmen off without a fight.

They raced through the corridors in a mad dash for the finish line.

***

[Sometime later]

Bazin approached Rook slowly and as quietly as he could, he didnt want to startle the techpriest until he did him a solid.
"Ahem, You got a minute?" he asks.

When Rook turns to acknowledge him, the first thing he would have noticed was that Bazin was holding the flamer, personified as "the burninator" in his arms.

He waits for some response before he asks him his favor.

Why is she not using her dataslate? Rook thought. Surely she remembers my hearing is impaired from our forced medical exams. 10001111 00000000 11111100 11011000. He pointed at his ears, Could you use your data slate please? My ears are still recovering from the blessing of the Omnissiah


----some time later-----


The awards ceremony had been a surprise to Rook. He gotten used to the moniker of expendability, so being rewarded for a job well done was somewhat alien. He had fallen into the habit of ignoring people when they spoke since becoming temporarily deaf, so he remained aloof until dismissed. When Bazin cautiously approached him with his flamer, Rook's face split into a hungry grin. What can I do for you Master Armsman? He held up a hand to stop him from replying, Please, i cannot hear so I would ask that you write it down on my dataslate. Somehow, sensing an opportunity, Jacjonson came out from under Rook's robes and hovered over his shoulder, eyeing Bazin with snake-like movements

(Earlier)

Rhone stood in the shower, the filth that was Hervara circling the drain at his feet, while the memories of what happened down there circled his mind and plagued his conscience.  The Hudson was a luxury the sergeant never thought he’d experience.  Just like the rest of the Bastards, he had made his rounds and mingled with the Chindits.  He still had yet to make his way to see the medicae, but that would wait until later…

****************************************************************


(Before anybody leaves the accommodation ceremony)

With a face as serious as stone, Rhone approaches Bazin with heavy boot steps. The grizzled Sergeant stands before the young man, his hands wresting on his hips in a stance that commands power.  After several tense seconds, Rhone places the tip of his finger in his mouth, letting it exit with a wet popping sound.  He holds his finger close to his face, scanning it before finally looking back at Bazin again with a fierce gaze. Without warning, Rhone uses his other arm and takes Bazin around the neck in a headlock, before jamming his wet finger in the young trooper’s ear. Still maintaining the headlock, Rhone turns and addresses Seventh, all while wiggling his finger in Bazin’s ear.

“Ladies and gentlemen….there are orders…and there are suggestions. Now, I strongly suggest that the next time I order you to use proper ear protection…you heed that suggestion and follow those fuckin’ orders before you’re pulling latrine duty with a broken left arm for that fucking spikey headed…whatever the fuck that thing was back there…”

Rhone was clearly referring to the Kroot. He had seen the brutal Xenos hunters up close before, but only through the iron sights of his hellgun.

“And make no mistake Bastards, I know a heavy shitter when I see one, and that thing….is a heavy shitter.”

His own face still set in stone, he stares hard at all of them, holding an intimidating gaze before finally cracking a wide white grin. Letting go of Bazin, Rhone slaps the young trooper on the back of the head, pushing him towards the others.

“You shits done the Emperor proud on that rock….hell, you done me proud. You Earned this. We lost good men and women down there…we lost a few downright shitty ones too…but their service is recognized all the same.  We have our orders….train hard, and cut general debauchery down to at least fifty percent until I can figure out who I need to impress to keep you shits out of the brig. Make sure you refer to the Captain as Captain, don’t piss off the Kroot, don’t try to fuck the Kroot….that goes for you Phaze, and keep the Chindits on our good side. I have a feeling when shit hits the fan between us and the navy brats, those boys will be good allies to have.”

[CEREMONY]

Bazin expected a punch right in the face. Instead he got a slimy finger in the ear.
He protested, but knew he wasnt getting out of this punishment, indeed, this punishment was light considering what could've happened.

Once let go, he quietly dries his ruptured ear.

Newt, the whole while, was grabbing at his arm, trying to get his attention like a dog in heat.

[ROOK's WORKSTATION]

Bazin was caught off guard, his ear was on the mend by this time and he could hear much better, he had simply assumed the same of the rest of the bastards.

He takes the dataslate and looks at it, confused at what he should say and even if he could.
He had basic guard training, but as a child he was a street urchin in hades hive slum decks. Formal education was not the highest priority, and as a result his literacy was only as good as the PDF training had required. As a penal legionnaire, there was none.

He begins to write:
My weapon needs maintenance. Improvement. I have pages for application engraving on its blessed skin hull. By order of the officer (me?) this shall be done before the next crusade.

He keeps scratching out words he didnt think fit too well. Most of what he knew was from the primer, and he had to make adjustments to sentences that didnt fit or that he didnt completely understand.

Stubbs nods towards Rooky boy as he heads off towards sum new adventure. He shakes his 'ead and laughs a bit before headin' over with tha others to receive their awards. 

Big man couldn't really be understandin' non it, due to his hearin' loss and all, but it musta been summin' good and he gives his toothy grin all the same when he gets his medal. 

Stubbs wished he coulda been hearin' Rhone, but he got tha general idea of tha message. 

"MESSAGE RECEIVED SARGE. WE BE NEEDIN' TA CLEAN OUR EARS REAL GOOD LIKE." 

+++++

Once the ceremony be ova, Stubbs tries ta get sum info. 

"ANYBODY BE KNOWIN' WHERE THA FIRIN' RANGE BE? OR SHIT, SOMEWHERE TA FIRE SUMMIN'?" 

Rook's mind translated the other priest's scrawled binary in 2.23 seconds. His minds eye read the 1's and 0's as "take the first left out the door follow the hallway for five hundred steps then take the elevator up two floors and turn left and head down the hallway another five hundred meters to the airlock it will be two hundred meters past that" He made the symbol of the Omnissiah across his chest I thank you.


------- present time -------


Noticing that his words were also falling on deaf ears, Rook wrote on the dataslate to convey his instructions. We will have to converse on here as it appears we are both incapacitated. What is it you require?


I can improve this weapon for you, but I will need something in return. What do you have to barter with? 

He turned back to his foot locker and took out the stripper clip of manstopper rounds and held them up to Bazin's eye level. He mouthed exaggeratedly WHAT DO I GET? Tucking the clip into a robe pocket, he then reached back into the locker and took out the hell pistol and hell gun. They were going to be first on his modify list when he got to the workshop.  

Bazin didn't like what this conniving techpriest was about.

what does he get? what does he get!?

He didnt have the liturgical know-how to be diplomatic about it, so he was just angry instead.

"Next time you run off like a fething coward, I don't set your grease trap ass on fire!"
He was now pissed and going to spill his shit before this was done.
"You strut around wherever you go like your the best of us because you got a prosthetic penis. The problem is, that when it comes down to the wire, your just another piece of dirt crusted scum like the rest of us. Praise your machine god all you want, but you still run away when an ork pisses all over your machines!"

He turns and stomps off, not waiting for a reply.

Rook watched in silent amusement as the armsman tapped furiously at the dataslate. Unable to write the proper words down he stopped and shouted his displeasure at Rook before walking away. He didn't need to read the text to understand Bazin wasn't happy with how the universe worked, and he smiled at the retreating man's back. Everything has a price, physical or no, he thought before turning to begin the trek to the workshops. 

He made his way back to the nerve center auditorium where they had met the officers of the ship, and paced out the instructions from the entrance. "take the first left out the door follow the hallway for five hundred steps then take the elevator up two floors and turn left and head down the hallway another five hundred meters to the airlock it will be two hundred meters past that" 


(More to come once I know if a navigation roll is needed or not- no "save as draft function" and I don't want to start this again)

Ruaidhri had Uallachan were just about to reply to the Chindit when Rhone made his presence felt behind them. They turned to find him holding Bazin in a headlock and delivering his speech.

"Sir we were thinking."
"Drawing up a list of pro's and con's like sir"
"Considering both sides and being properly thoughtful sir."
"And our honest opinion is that considering its pretty essential that we get royally fecked up"
"Pissed to the gills"
"Bleutered and sozzled till we can't tell our arse from our elbows, we really should do that tonight"
"We figure it being us- it has to happen, so why not get it over and done with? They'll be expecting it on the first night- so why not get it out of the way?"
"Do our sad and arduous duty tonight, sir"
"Properly honour the Emporor with a toast sir"
"And our new captain"
"And all his crew"
"And all our fallen comrades"
"And our vanquished enemies"
"And all our blessed ammunition"
"And our weapons"
"And um lovers past and present"
"And finish with Uallachan's mother as always."

The two rattlings gave Rhone sly smiles.
"Be good for team building and stuff sir"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After finishing with the rest of the group the two Rattlings wandered off looking for a suitable group of the Navel armsmen, a group that were would be standing to the side, in the shadow of the walls and weren't giving them antagonistic looks.
The two walked towards them, their hands empty at their sides, though the top of a bottle peeked out of the top of Uallachan's jacket. The group they were approaching were six strong, three males- one tall and skinny with a well maintained afro, while the second had his head shaved and arms like tree trunks and the third who was leaning back against the wall and was patching the second's shirt with a needle and thread. Two of the females were tall and brown haired, one fit and wiry and the other much more curvy and large circular glasses. The last of the females was short, so short she only stood a head above the two Ratlings, blond and had a pugnacious look while she aggressively smoked and complained in a loud voice to the others.

"...completely ridiculous. Like come on. Who does that? Who just ghosts you after something like that?"
"We should get him. Get him in a dark alley and slip in all gentle like, knife under the throat and start caressing his nipples. Hey sexy, you like the feel of this?"
The short blond woman punched the bald man on the shoulder while the tall man with the afro shook his head with disbelief.
"Maaaaan, what are you talking about? You getting weird again Oak?"
"You know I only have eyes for you Ninja"

The two Bastards stepped up to a couple of feet from them.
"Greetings fellow shipmates. As we all seem to be together on this fine ship together we thought we'd come over and introduce ourselves and be all civil like. I'm Ruaidhri and short one here is Uallachan"
"We also believe it's pretty impossible to be civil with this awful parched feeling that comes around this time. Anyone care for some refreshment?"
Uallachan lifted the bottle from inside his jacket and gestured the bottle towards the navel arms men. There was silence for a couple of beats before the bald man straightened up and gave the two Rattlings a hard stare.
"You do know we are the prohibition police here right? You two just got yourselves into a world of shit. What do you...."
At this point, the tall man with the afro leaned forward, yoinked the bottle free and gave it a hearty drain.
"Maaaan that's the good shit. Proper off world bathtub hootch"
"Seriously Ninja? You have like no chill at all. Learn to wait at least two seconds"
The bald man took his turn with the bottle before handing it to the tall fit brunete standing at his side.
"As you probably guessed him over there is Ninja. He's fast, so fast he often leaves the ball behind. Patcher here is Potato, Potato for short. I'm Oak, and this is Polo. Glasses is called YA and blondie is Mac. That's the whole group"
Ya was leaning forward to stare inquisitively at the two new arrivals.
"Emmm, no offense or anything but what exactly are you?"
Polo sighed and ran her hand through her hair.
"They are abhumans Ya, though I think they prefer to go by Rattlings."
Mac, who was finishing off the bottle, dropped it with a smash and gave them a speculative look.
"Fresh blood aren't they? That guard battalion we just lifted. What is it that you two are wanting?"

Ruaidhri gave one of his innocent smiles.
"Wanting my dear? My friend and I want nothing but to spread our good cheer and make some new friends and allies. Big lonely ship like this is all the better with a few connections. Easy to get lost like. Plus like good cooperation between us all is bound to make life easier."
Uallachan was eyeing Ya with some interest, his eyes clearly tracing along the lines of the curves.
"Rattlings, the amazing abs, the beautiful and the 'blessed'. Really we are pretty relaxed when it comes to names."
"Rudi..hri, Ruuuudi, Ruuuury" Mac shook her head. "I'm just going to call you Ru and U. I can't get my tongue around those letters"

Uallachan suddenly leaned forward excitedly but Ruaidhri pulled him back.
"As he said, we have no issue with names. We do though have a bit of an issue with directions. We are looking to try and find and adept or some kind of offocial wordsmith. Who here should we go to for help with a bit of wordage?"

Rhone walks over to Stubbs and slaps the giant slab of human on the back. The brutish heavy gunner may have been simple, but he was loyal and deadly.  With a grin, Rhone gives Stubbs a thumbs up before turning to the Ratlings.

As each of the knee high snipers take turns speaking, Rhone’s head darts between them to keep up with their conversation. Rubbing his thick beard between thumb and forefinger, Rhone finally nods.

“This is a luxury we never should have seen boys…that in itself calls for a celebration. Permission to get piss drunk granted. Just don’t….”

Rhone wags a finger at them, trying to find the words.

“Just stay out of the brig. Our allies are scarce here for the time being. We’ll report back here at 1800 hours to get ourselves royally fucked. Tomorrow we hone what the Emperor gave us…PT and fire drills start at 0500.”

After assuring the rest of the squad had nothing further to address, Rhone makes his way over to Lieutenant Bishop. With his usual grin, the Sergeant approaches Seventh's only surviving CO with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I've got to say sir, I think we may have won the jackpot on this one. Traded in toxic air for hot showers and chow that doesn't taste like sulfur."

[With the Naval Armsmen]

"Wordsmith?" Mac raised an eyebrow. "The hell you need one of them for?"

rolls please:

[With Bishop]



Bishop regarded Rhone with a nod as he approached.

"Funny. I was thinking the same exact thing. I know what you're thinking - it's all groxshit, right?" He took in a deep breath and looked around. "Could be,
but I don't think that's what's happening here. Even still, keep your eyes peeled and your head down. 7th squad did really good on Hervara, but your guys have a tendency to get rowdy. Keep them in check. Rah?"

Rhone grins in response to Bishop's statement.


"I do believe you have us mixed up with another Seventh squad, sir. Oh, I almost forgot...."


Rhone un-holsters the bolt pistol on his hip. He flourishes the weapon a few times, spinning it on his finger before presenting the grip end to Bishop.

"She took the lives of a crap load of orks, and one particularly stubborn Sev Officer. I do believe I've never known a finer weapon."

He takes a deep breath, reluctance in his eyes.

[With Bishop in Nerve Center 4]

Bishop smiled and took hold of the heavy weapon - essentially a miniaturized rocket launcher. He caressed it lovingly, first dropping the magazine and then checking the chamber to ensure a bolt round wasn't loaded.

"She's something special, all right. Good to hear she saved your ass. Tell you what, I'll hold onto her for now - an officer needs a sidearm, right? Your new mission is to find me a replacement worthy of my gentlemanly position. Don't care where you acquire it as long as you get it on the up-and-up. Rah? You do that for me, and this heavy bitch goes back to you. Something of a promotion-gift."

+++

[With the Naval Armsmen]

Before Mac can get an answer, Potato waves his hand. "Who cares? They brought us drink, didn't they? Head down this hallway here for about four hundred yards and then cut right. There should be a nest of tech priests going about. Behind that are the lower adepts quarters. Someone in there should get you sorted."

Rhone nods.

"Rah...I'm sure I can find something to your liking."

He salutes Bishop and turns to walk away before stopping.

"We're penal legion, sir...I do believe our definition of up and up is slightly more malleable than most."  With a wink, Rhone makes his leave.

*************************************************
Alerted by a chime, Rhone pulls a compact data slate from the thigh pocket of his BDUs. Navigating the screen, he arches a single eyebrow as he reads the reassignments to Seventh squad.

“Wiremu and Mae…huh? Well let’s see what this Mae is all about first. Phaze, keep an eye on ol’ Rook will ya?”

The lean gas masked wearing psycho nodded rapidly as he patted a pair of knives that crossed one another on his belt, located right at his crotch. Even through the gasmask, Rhone could tell the psychotic….asshole for lack of a better term, was grinning like a child. Rhone knew exactly what Phaze was implying as he patted his knives. With a stern finger, the Sergeant points at his psychotic comrade as if scolding a dog.

“No…No! Dammit Phaze! Why the hell would you even think I meant to imply that? For fuck’s sake…can’t you read me by now? Emperor almighty what is wrong with you?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Rhone walks away muttering obscenities on his way to find Mae’s quarters. Phaze simply hangs his head in sadness.

Rook was wandering...He knew he wasn't going to find the right place. He trekked back and forth, retracing his steps to see if he could find the auditorium where he had met Mae. If he could get back to the place where he had received the directions, maybe he could jolt his memory. Try as he might however, he failed to find anything that looked like a work bench or machine shop. Fortunately this was only day one of a ten day journey. He would find it eventually, and someone with connections...

Eventually he gave up and walked back to his lodgings, where he unlocked his footlocker and replaced the weapons and ammo. He spent the rest of the first "day" trying to piece together the directions and decipher his mistakes.

Having had no one come up to him and give him directions to where he be askin' bout, Stubbs shakes his head and looks 'round, noticin' that no one be 'round no mo. He sighs and catches sight of Rhone headin' off with his damn near death-addicted comrade. Stubbs hurries his ass up and catches dem before they be gettin' too far away. 

"SARGE I BE WONDERIN' IF I BE ACCOMPANYIN' YOU? AIN'T GOT MUCH TA DO AND SHIT, WHO BE KNOWIN' WHAT CAN HAPPEN ON DIS BIG PLACE...I KEEP EYES OUT AND MAYBE BE FINDIN' OUT MO O DA SHIP AS I TAG ALONG." 

[With the Ratlings]

The Ratlings give their thanks and make their way away from the sextuplets. They were such an odd group of personalities that the Ratlings had no doubts they would see them around again. The directions turn out to be very straight forward even for the two snipers who had a hard time finding their zippers to take a leak. Uallachan annoying counts each yard of the four hundred or so they were supposed to walk, cheerfully finding that as he with 399 a walkway to their right opened up in the bulkhead.

Heavy pipes snaked along each side of the steel grating beneath their feet. Every so often it would break off and shoot straight up or down. Up ahead, a group of tech priests, or "nest" as the naval armsmen had referred to them, moved to and fro from various panels. It was clear that they were performing a special job here as this was clearly not where they were housed. Signs were set up on each side of the walkway which read, "Omnissiah's Work-in-Progress; DO NOT DISTURB TECH PRIESTS."

Slowly and sneakily, the Ratlings moved past, completely unnoticed or ignored by the members of the machine cult. A shower of sparks bathed Ruaidhri at one point, singing his cheek, but otherwise they got through without incident.

A comfortably tight, well lit cubby greeted them a few dozen feet later. Inside sat two men in the robes of junior administratum adepts sat back to back, hunched over data slates and rolls of parchment.

"Ah, Emperor's holy balls didn't they say we were getting a servo-skull to help sort through all this rubbish?" The one on the right, a scrawny man with sunken cheeks and eyes that hadn't seen a nice night's sleep in some time said. He was organizing the parchment into three piles. The piles' purpose remained a mystery.

The man on the left sighed. He was much pudgier, but had a softer face. His hair was cut as though someone upended a bowl on top of his head and cut the remaining black hair off. "They've been saying it and saying it again. No use. Those junior tech-buggerers out there need a wrench and the whole works stop for them to get it. We need a new pen and its as though we have to send off to Holy Terra to get it approved. I should have just joined the PDF back home."

"Well, you'd probably be dead by now, yeah? Didn't your world get purged by the you-know-who?"

"Nah. Twas Orks. Or so I heard." He shrugged and sighed again before movement caught his eye and his attention was drawn to the two abhumans standing before him.

There was a quick startle, replaced by a feigned-authoritative annoyance that even more quickly faded into pure curiosity.

"Y-yes? Can I help you?"

Rhone stops in the hall midstep, his hands placed on his hips as he contemplates for a moment. Phaze was nowhere to be seen. The psycho bastard was off on a few errands Rhone had sent him away on...and hopefully not murdering anybody or anything in the process. His back still to Stubbs, Rhone finally smiles and turns.  Stubbs was powerfully loyal, and a sure physical deterrent for most of the trouble the Bastards might find themselves in aboard the Hudson. With a white toothed grin, Rhone motions for Stubbs to follow.

"Come on big guy, I could use the company. I'm on my way to welcome our new medic properly. Just try not to scare her...according to the dossier, it sounds like we've got ourselves another kid to babysit."

*********************************************

Navigating the Hudson was simple enough, despite the size ship. Approaching the door to Mae's quarters, Rhone knocks loud and rhythmically.  With his hands on his hips, he waits...

Bazin returns to the bunks with a sour look on his face.

Newt figured from that that asking Rook for help didnt go well.

"What was his excuse?"
"That fething grease trap wanted to trade."

"Hmm, not a surprise really, we are a group of down and dirty scoundrels after all."
"Tor never believed that...."

She wanted to say 'Tor is dead" but didnt want to bring him down any more.

"Well the official order is drills, drills, drills. But thats in the morning. You wanna try and find some kinda weapons locker or gear admin? We are low on explosives."

They did need some more explodey things, and keeping him busy would help allay his sour mood.

He nods, and off they go looking for a way to acquire some new gear.

Stubbs opens up his mouth wide and hollahs. 

"WOO BOY, GLAD I GOTS SUMMIN TA DO!"


The big man follows close behind Rhone, takin' in all he could see 'round hisself. The ship be summin' he hadn't damn well seen. It was a sight the big man also never be thinkin' he ever get ta see. The massiveness of it gave him a few shivahs. 

After Rhone knocks and there be no ansah, the big man smiles. 

"NO ONE HOME, HUH?" 

He'd meant to simply ask Rhone, but instead, due to the deafness, the big man shouts it loud and clear.

The two Rattlings entered the adepts room, Ruaidhri in his normal position in front. Both looked relaxed and wore friendly smiles on their faces. A brief word outside had been enough to decide to go the easy way. Uallachan naturally had wanted to kick their way in and raise hell but Ruaidhri had put his hairy foot down. Whereas bluffing a quartermaster out of some supplies might not get back to them- this was a much longer term enterprise and so instead they would be laying it on thick.
What it really needed was some proper planning; to be treated with the same seriousness and professionalism as they did their day job as snipers. Instead though, Ruaidhri was standing in front of these two adepts with only a vague idea of what they really wanted, let alone how he was going to persuade the adepts to give it to them. No point in worrying about it- just watch where the bombs dropped.

His smile widened and he looked up at the adept and gave a short bow.
"Gentlemen, it is a pleasure to meet you both. I can see by the table, that you are naturally very busy and I promise that I won't take up much of your time. I have a proposal for you two which I hope will be to all our benefits. Of course, it is almost impossible to listen to things like that dry mouthed and empty stomached. My colleague will thusly remove those impediments."

At this Uallachan stepped forward and on a clear section of table, placed a small pie and a small bottle, which was the fanciest of what they'd pilfered earlier. He then raised both hands shoulder height pointing upwards before giving a broad smile.
"And thus a problem is solved. Because that is what we do. We might not look like much, but we have exceptional skills in a wide variety of fields. The Captain needs an Ork warboss silenced, we put a lasbolt in his head. The sergeant needs someone to warm his bed, we find what is desired. The Priest has lost his holy texts, we have a new copy in time for his sermon. We get what is needed- from procuring servo skulls for inscribing to 'Tallern steads' of all things for a planetary Governor on Curragh...."
He shook his head and looked at his partner who took up the lead again.

"We make and take favours. No coin or credit of course ever changes hands. All strictly above board and legal. And so to today. A person aboard this ship wishes their.... shall we say 'reflections' to be rendered as words which can be read off a data slate. As of this moment they would like to keep these words on a need to know basis until they have a chance to be reviewed. It is due to this need for confidentiality, a need to prevent a potential embarrassment, that we were tasked with finding a pair of professionals."

"As we said, we would never ask you to put a price on your work. Even the thought is ridiculous. Instead we ask if it were possible for you to do us this favour, would there be a favour that we could do for you? From the banal to the vital, we have experience in many fields."

Now finished, both Rattlings looked up at the adepts with relaxed easy confidence,thumps hooked into the waists of their uniforms.

After 2 hours of wandering around, Newt tugged at Bazin's arm.
"Were lost Baz. Its not a surprise. How many ships we been on before?"

He said nothing as he kept looking around. They were in a intersection bewteen a few corridors of some sort. It almost reminded him of a busy intersection back on Hades hive, except there seemed to be less gangers trying to kill each other here.

"Just ask for directions." she pleads.

"No. Im not going to do that." he replies.
"I already ticked off half the ship for some stupid reason. IM not going to go asking the jerk-wads for directions. They might guide us to an airlock or something."

He had a point, they had gotten a few sour looks from armsmen. Maybe it wasnt so different from Hades after all?

"Lets go back then. Maybe Rhone will be able to find us some gear?"

He nods, and with resignation, they head back the way they came...

[With the Ratlings and the Adepts]

The gaunt adept narrowed his eyes as the Ratlings spoke, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. The chubby one just looked on dumbfounded. He was about to speak when the gaunt one cut him off.

"Now, just who in the Emperor's holy Imperium are you two?"

Chubby cleared his throat. "And w-what exactly do you want? You want us to transcribe your writings? Are you illiterate?" It was an honest question.

"Do we look like a publishing house to you? Do you see all of these scrolls piling up as we speak? Do we look like we have time to just jot out your stories?"

Chubby nodded solemnly. They were awfully busy. "A-a-and just who are you lot again?"

[Around the Areas of the Ship Bazin and Newt Could Access]

Many naval ratings, junior tech priests, and even a servitor were startled by the screaming between Newt and Bazin. Not only was it horrifically loud, it all sounded like jumbled nonsense. Truly, the new armsmen were a strange lot.

Ruaidhri raised one hand up and continued with a mollifying tone.
"Don't misunderstand us. We can see and understand quite how busy you are, and if this was just a personal request I wouldn't have even dreamed of coming here and wasting your time. As I said, before we are merely middle men in this exercise. Representing our honourable other. As you can perhaps tell we have no great experience with writing."
"We can write- quill to parchment, stick to earth, even bloody finger to a wall. But one copy of this document is not what we are looking for."
"The other who has made the request of us wishes this document to be spread widely. We may have no clear idea how this might be accomplished but we do favours to get favours. You are clearly the experts on this ship when it comes to the written word."

"So we came to you, not with a request, but an offer, an opportunity. If you help us, we'll help you. You'll find that we are more resourceful than you could ever imagine. And as we came to you- we'll offer ours up front."
"And if you are perfectly content in every particular in life bar the work in front of you on the desk, we'll depart and leave you to enjoy the vittles"

In his usual wide power stance, Rhone stood next to Stubbs, staring at the door with his hands on his hips.  There was no answer.  Not that there should have been either...the girl was likely busy considering her job and assuming she'd be in was just a shot in the dark.  With a shrug, Rhone slaps the giant of a man on the shoulder and motions for him to follow. His words would literally go on deaf ears, but Rhone speaks nonetheless.

"We'll try again later Cornelius. Let's go mingle with the Chindits and get the low down on this Wiremu before we welcome him properly."


Rhone moves down the hall, back to the section of the ship where the Chindits were billeted.

[With the Ratlings & the Adepts]

The gaunt man sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and stands. He is much taller than he seemed while sitting and makes his way over to the Ratlings.

"Right. We've things to do and no time for this nonsense." Politely, but firmly, he shoos both snipers out and closes the heavy steel door with a button. There is a hiss as it closes, separating the two pairs.

"Seems a touch rude, Bayler," said the chubby one as the door closed. "Aren't you the least bit curious what they're on about?"

"They aren't on the up-and-up, Sam. Wouldn't even tell us who they were or who they were with. You can't trust a pair like that, what with their mustaches and such." Bayler moved back to his ever-growing stack of papers and sat. He cursed as the wind of his movement knocked a stack over.

"But if they really are good at acquiring items..."

"Sam, look, we've loads of work to do and absolutely no time to get it all done. Now let's get back to it."

Sam looked defeated. He nodded and solemnly went back to it.


+++Hours Later/Before Dinner+++

There is a beeping at the console in Ruaidhri and Uallachan's room. It is not locked nor coded and whomever arrives at the room first, be it the Ratlings or their roommates, are free to check it. It is short and to the point - addressed "to the short fellows."

"If you are serious about your offer, we are in desperate need of a quill-scribe servo-skull. Before you attempt to go looking around here, don't bother. They're either all in use or out-of-stock. If you have a chance to go off-ship at Port Wander and can fetch us one, we... I... will be in your debt. - S."

Stubbs shrugs his shoulders and looks down at Rhone as the bossman begins to do sum talkin'. Big man knew his ears be all funky-like, so he just smiles and nods at his sarge. 

"SHO THANG SARGE, LESS BE GETTIN' A MOVE ON." 

He walks slowly behind Rhone, keepin' an eye out and tryin' his best ta member thangs that go by. Trys his best ta get a mental image of da ship. Or at least this tiny section of it.

Karsith had his eviscerator and chainswords out, the teeth removed and spread across the table in his room. He took each metal claw and filed the chips out, sharpened the edge, and replaced the unsalvageable blades. As he worked, he noticed the console blinking. Curiously, he approached, the screen activated as he drew near.

Karsith opened the message. Short Ones? Nobody seen a rat before? He thought as he slowly read through the message. He laughed, but once he finished, he deleted it.

"I don't know what he's going on about... Ru will have to clue me in." He said quietly, heading back to maintaining his blades.

The two Rattlings looked at each other outside the sealed door. Around them machines sparked and the red robes of the tech priests drifted completely oblivious to the two small figures. Uallachan reached inside his pocket but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Ruaidhri gestured to the exit with his head and the two made their way outside.
There was relative silence for the next few minutes as pipes were filled, flints were sparked and two deep breaths taken.
"Well you royally fecked that one up"
Ruaidhri shrugged and exhaled noxious black smoke up towards the ceiling.
"Agh it happens."
He turned to look carefully at his partner.
"You really keen on this?"
They had never really spoken about Uallachan's new dream. Ruaidhri had assumed Uallachan's preaching had just been to amuse himself and aggravate certain members of the team. The two had a long and violent relationship with the church after all and compared to some of things they had done in the past it was positively friendly. The seeds roots had dived deep though, and from a once off joke, it had grown to dominate much of his friend's free time. While the Rattlings hands were too filthy to see any evidence of ink, there were blotchy marks over his sleeves and Ruaidhri had no doubt that if he was to search his friend he would find some papers from the treatise.
Uallachans eyes were clear and unwavering. He held Ruaidhri's eyes for seven silent seconds before responding.
"As keen as your mum to let that goat suckle on her. It has to be published. It can do more than a bullet ever could."
Ruaidhri held the stare for another few seconds before nodding and then exhaled straight into his partner.
"Right then, eyes open and see what happens. And in the meantime we'd be better get you all covered in engine oil."
"Poor little virginal lamb. You have to start these things as dry as the sex lives of those two in there."
"Speaking nonsense as usual. The height of your experience was that metal dildo you used to suck..."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A little while later the two Rattlings entered their room to find the berserker cleaning his blades. Uallachan leaned next to the door frame while Ruaidhri moved over to his bunk to unpack his rifle.
"Rrrrrraaaarrrr. Looks like you won the lottery Karsith. We're all bunk buddies now"
The red haired rattling called over his shoulder as he climbed up into his bunk.
"After this we should probably try and find Rook. Might be able to persuade him to help us"

Wiremu had been heading towards the armorer, when he had been pulled aside by his sergeant , Tamati, an older solider, looked up to not just the squad, but many of the other chindits as well.

"Boy. Come over here."
Stopping, he turns and approaches.
"Kia ora Sergeant. Whats up?"
Holding up a data pad, he passes it over to Wiremu.
"The bosses have decided to reassign some of the Chindts to fill in gaps in the squads of them new boys. Lucky you. One of the squads needs an operator."
Taking the data slate, Wiremu quickly reads over it.
"They ask for the best eh huhuhu"
Tamati smiles.
"Same as always boy. You do the Chindts and your Iwi proud you hear. Show them that mana. Kia Kaha Wiremu Raukawa. Kia Kaha"
Tamati reaches out taking Wiremus hand and they both lean in, nose and foreheads pressed. With the hongi finished, Wiremu nods solemnly, a moment of seriousness, not usually associated with Wiremu.  
"Thank you Sergeant Tamati. I will do us all proud."
Tamati nods and smiles, before turning to walk away.

Wiremu looks down at the orders again.
"Looks like i best be finding the new sergeant.Time to show them what ol Wiremu Raukawa can do!"
He spots one of the Bastards from another squad.
"Ow fulla! Where can i find 7th squad?"

****

Iwi = Tribe
Mana = Spirit, Power, Strength
Kia Kaha = Be Strong
Hongi = Traditional maori greeting or formal "handshake"

The Bastard trooper Wiremu spoke to was a walking dichotomy. She was probably in her mid-to-late twenties, yet her eyes spoke of experiences way beyond that. She was cute with green eyes and freckles while simultaneously looking extremely rough. In fact, Wiremu wasn't sure he would like to see who would in in a fist fight between the two of them.

She wore the same black fatigues that all the 666th did. The name read "Korrea."

"Seventh? Unit transfer, huh? Well haven't you lucked out. All of 'em are having some party or celebration or whatever the feth in the living habs. They'll be the ones led by the bald asshole with the beard - Rhone. If you spy two midgets cooking, a big dummy with more muscles than brains,
and an exceptional gathering of retards and fuck ups, you're in the right place."

She threw him a wink and it landed with the ferocity of a punch. She was on her way without another word.