Hadrian was crumpled at the back of the room his power sword fizzling as it melted the fibrous carpet that it lay upon. Coils of smoke trailed upwards and stung my nostrils, somehow overpowering the stench of dead men, food, and the actinic salt smell of the Warp. I am not a telekine by training or inclination and I lack finesse. Hadrian had been hurled down the length of the mess tables, smashed the ornate chair at the head, and shattered a wooden and plastec bar which was currently leaking alcohol from a dozen broken bottles.


Most of the officers who had been using the mess were already dead. Some we had killed during our frantic flight, others when the Chaos Marine had punched through the ceiling. A few still whimpered or cowered in corners, overwhelmed by the psychic backwash or the simple trauma of seeing the Archenemy of Mankind. They didn’t have long to suffer. Clara moved along the line, putting a las round into the brain case of each officer living or dead. I wasn’t sure if that was strategic or simply a different way of dealing with the trauma, either way I didn’t try to stop her.


“Hadrian!” I gasped leaning down and touching his forehead to feel his thready pulse. He was alive, though I suspected he had suffered a serious concussion when he had crashed into the wall. I was no medicae but I knew he was going to need medical attention and soon.

“Emma!” I turned to see Clara staring at the body of the chaos marine. The baroque armor seemed to be running as though the metal itself were molten. The golden filigree forming grotesque tendrils that reached out for the severed section like the fingers of a dying man. Where the tendrils slid over the carpet the fibers warped and changed, becoming tiny fingerlike tentacles that beat at the armor like cilia. For a horrifying moment I thought that the marine was going to knit himself back together before, with a chillingly organic shudder the tendrils went slack and the luster went out of them. I watched in abject fascination as the armor seemed to darken, not all at once but in mottling that almost seemed to form. I wrenched my eyes away from the dissolution before the warp sigils that seemed to drip from the shattered power armor could ensnare my mind. I cast a quick glance at Clara but she was already backing away and making the half aquila with the hand not holding her las carbine.


“The Emperor Protects,” she hissed fervently. I was less certain but this was hardly the time for a theological debate. Alarm claxons were hooting out in the hall way and probably throughout the entire ship and I could hear confused shouting and the thump of boots coming from somewhere.


“Clara, grab Hadrian,” I instructed then reached out with my will. The long table flexed and lifted up to the hole in the roof like a grasping hand, shedding bloodied table cloth, bodies and ruined food in a fragrant shower. A wave of weakness swept through me and the tiny carpet tentacles gave up their quest for the armor and stretched out in a vain effort to reach me. I was too tired for this, but there was no option other than to go forward. Plucking a naval revolver from the holster of one of the dead officers I clambered up the table back into the chambers which had belonged to the late an unlamented Inquisitor Vorn.


The stink of death was heavy on the air by then. Clara clambered up behind me dragging Hadrian up the improvised ramp. Vorn and his companions lay where we had left them, distinguished only by spreading pools of blood and the inhuman red footprints the departed traitor marine had left. I hurried back into what I rightly presumed was Vorn’s private quarters. It didn’t look like the lair of some great heretic. There were bookshelves, art and archeotech from several Imperial traditions, even a small shrine to Him on Earth. Not for the first time I wondered how deep Vorn’s insanity had gone. Had he really believed he was a loyal servant of the Emperor while he hosted a traitor Astartes on his ship?

“Emmaline, what is the plan?” Clara demanded as she lay Hadrian down by the door. He was murmuring to himself, though whether with any cognisance of his surroundings or merely in delirium there was no time to ascertain. I pulled a large duffle bag from a nearby couch and upended it, scattering weapons and clothing all about, then went over to Vorn’s desk and began piling the contents into the canvas sack. There were data slates, books, scrolls and even several small stone tablets marked with odd xenos derived symbols.

“We don’t have time for this,” Clara called as I finished my improvised looting.

“We will never get another chance!” I replied.


“You are both right,” a silky voice came from the door. To my horror the previously empty portal had manifested the Aldarei warrior we had encountered earlier. His head was bare but the rest of him was encased in dark glossy armor that seemed entirely composed of blades and hooks. I idly wondered how he managed to avoid getting snagged on everything he passed but the thought was banished as he raised a long thin rifle to aim at me. Clara opened up on full auto, raining las bolts on the xenos in a single extended fusilade. It moved so fast. It didn’t blur, it just seemed to phase in and out of existence. I had a confused recollection of a lasbolt striking its weapon and then a moment later it held two long knives in it’s hands. Rather belatedly I brought up my own heavy pistol and began to unload cacking out the hard rounds in the rapid crack-crack-crack of panic fire. When the hammer clicked on an empty chamber the Aldaeri was still standing there, looking for all the world as though he hadn’t just waded through a storm of gunfire.
“Now it is time to play Mon-keigh,” it purred.

“You want to play?” Clara demanded, “catch.” She threw a grenade at the creature. I saw its lips curve as it lazily reached out and plucked the bomb from the air. With a flick of it’s wrist it tossed the grenade back. Or it tried to. A look of shock came across its face as it finished the throwing gesture only to find the bomb had adhered to its jointed gauntlet. I had just enough time to comprehend that Clara had smeared demolition adhesive across the grenade before she threw it before Clara crash tackled me behind the desk. A heartbeat later there was a flash and a tremendous crump of detonation and overpressure. I rolled onto my back and popped my head up in time to see the xenos, horribly burned and blackened tearing at its armor. White smoke and little motes of fire drifted around and the chemical stink stung the back of my throat like inhaling embers. Clara slapped her last powercell into her carbine and worked the charging handle back and forth with what seemed to me like infinite effort but the Aldaeri had already vanished, fleeing blindly as hundreds of flecks of phosphorus burned into its body. I know it is an article of faith that burning Xenos always smells sweet but on this point too I will have to deviate from doctrine.


The Even Chance crashed out of the Immaterium on the back of the psychic spike that left its Navigator unconscious. The Caledonia followed it a few minutes later, trailing out of warp with its ancient engines burning at full output. Lance fire and macrocannon batteries opened up, pouring fire into the traders engines. The Even Chance returned fire, but slowly, the sudden drop from the warp had wrought havoc aboard the ship, striking many crew insensible. The problem was further compounded by the fact that we had managed to kill most of the senior officers during our frantic battle in the mess haul. So it was that an hour later the Caledonia’s boarding party was able to fight it’s way to us and pull us back to our own ship.