It was an old Thunderhawk gunship, obviously with some wonder of a story behind it for it to end up as a fancy yardpiece for some wealthy warlord on a forgotten world at the edge of the galaxy. Xepherial, having been adopted by the ganglike warband, had encouraged its purchase, offering to repair it himself. The gang knew Xeph for his esoteric enginesight, and kept him around for it, and the prospect of having their own functional air transport, or even space transport, excited them. Oh how they would have such an advantage over their enemies... The purchase was made, and the ship was towed back to their territory.
The rough animals who deigned to call themselves human knew next to nothing about machines or space travel. The fact they even touched the wreck was sin, but Xepherial held back his wrath. Any who got too nosy while he was working would likely be repelled with a spray of sparks. The gang brought him supplies as directed, but none could verify his work. It was practically magic to them.
The gunship's machine spirit was initially comatose. It couldn't start and certainly wouldn't be flying anytime soon. The external markings were badly rubbed out, now covered with heretical icons. The original paint had been black and grey, and one of the wings still bore the image of an iron hand. Weeks turned to months, and eventually Xepherial lost his ignorant audience with his repeated vague updates. With prayer and skill, he breathed into the ship new life, eventually reviving and speaking with the onboard computer, learning its name as -chip. Chip had lost a lot of memory, including its original name, but basic functions were intact. A breach in the hull had to be repaired in order to withstand the vacuum of space, and numerous other checks and duties had to be performed. Finally, after 6 months of sole devotion, Chip rose from the surface for the first time, and Xepherial stole it that night.
"Liberated" might have been the more apt word, if you asked Xepherial. Clearly, the machine spirit of -chip was pleased to escape, as the takeoff into orbit went surprisingly smoothly. The machine had been given a second life, and although it would take much more incense and litany to undo the abuse it had endured, it was grateful. Praise be to the Omnissiah.
As the sole crew, Xepherial wouldn't have a gunner. The gunship was fortunately capable of navigation once programmed, so Xepherial could simply set it and wait. The Thunderhawk would get him offworld, but it was slow when it came to any significant distance in space. Fortunately, he was already close.
Days passed, and finally Xepherial approached an anomaly. Damned if his gunship didn't still look like a flying chaos worshippers' gangsign. The idea that he might be fired upon by "one of his own," as the psyker had said, was seriously concerning.
Text softly began to flare on the command screen as the machine spirit of -chip located nearby objects of interest. Xepherial leaned in, reading and watching the screen silently. It was a spacehulk. The techmarine blinked, and momentarily questioned his faith. Was he intended to explore it alone!? Then Chip's machine spirit reported more. Another, smaller ship was in range of the hulk. Neither he nor Chip could identify it. Xepherial turned on the communications relay to listen in on any transmissions, debating the wisdom of sending any kind of signal.
On the one hand, he wasn't going to be getting much further in a Thunderhawk. The things were supposed to be planetary dropships and didn't have perpetual propulsion. Thus, making 'friends' was a good idea if for no reason other than to hitch a ride out of here once this mission of faith of his was completed. The chance of his being able to recover a ship out of the hulk was also fairly slim, given the damage those ships had endured and the dangerous creatures that could be living within them.
Xepherial decided to wait and see if he had been detected or not, or if the frigate was going to take any action. "Landing" Chip on the outer hull of one of those decrepit vessels of the hulk without first being assured of his safety would leave him vulnerable to being fired upon. Getting stranded there, possibly wounded, was not an option.
