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 [:: Inloading Data-Packet; Lt. Tomas Foley :: ]

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As the heavy blast plating of the door grinds and sparks before the duo, they are finally treated to their first sight of the warship's bridge. Silhouetted by the stark and pale white light at their back, the duo pass into the darkened chamber. The bridge bathed in a deep static laced shimmering green from stacked banks of computing-cogitators clicking and whirring with an unmitigated torrent of data across their many glowing screens. 

Hurried forms of deck-serfs race back and forth, between the various duty stations, some carrying heavy stacks of data-slates whilst others raced to deliver status reports to their deck officer. This presented a difficult foot path to navigate as Tomas and Ran made their way towards the center of the chamber, trying not to be swept away by the living tide. 

After some considerable effort and fleet footwork, the pair manage to chart a path to the center of the sizable command station. Towering above the rest of the chamber and it's stacked cogitators, loomed a orante and aging throne bound by heavy cables and covered in a flurry of inbuilt screens.  Before this grand throne, lay a vast table, light from within that projected vast hololithic images into the air before the throne, many figures moving and bustling around its edges.

One among these was the tall and armored form of Major Bruma, upon catching sight of his superior, Tomas reaches forth to bring Ran to a halt, nodding his head to the distant side passage.

“Mhmm, no real point in getting you involved in the briefing. You head over there and grab a recaff for me and one for yourself. I’ll talk to the Major after their briefing. See if we can’t sort this mess out and get you back to your Master and relay what we can from your Masters less than convincing warnings.”

Ran nods curtly, inclining her head as she moves to take her leave, her parting words a simple affirmation. The sense he got from her was that she was fully onboard with the idea of bringing their little venture together to a close; as swiftly as possible. 

Tomas takes his place alongside Major Bruma, who greets his arrival with his own acknowledgement, his gaze returning to the holo-display. The Lieutenant is given pause as the aging black coat clad form of Lord Commissar Bulgraff leaned into the light of the display, his grizzled and haggard voice continuing his briefing.

“... Now from what initial astropath reports suggest, our exit point should drop us squarely on the outer edge of the Hydrix sector.  Whilst the sector lacks any real Imperial presence, there is a world we can disembark upon. The plan is simple, as Commodore Terval has mentioned, we make our transition and leave the fleet to stage a stalling action against the Greenskins. All the while, we get our ground forces planetside, cast off a hymnal to sector command and pray for a relief force from the nearby sectors garrison.”

Casting his gaze around the room at the faces arrayed before him, he watches as the darkness shrouded figures clearly deliberated and mulled over the proposition, another voice breaks the silence. The sight of Commissar-Captain Jalah  gives the Lieutenant a slight twinge of his brow, knowing all too well of her heady and glory seeking tendencies from their time on Ichorous V. The Commissar-Captain speaks up, somewhat perturbed, the dull tan hues of her fatigues mixing strangely with the green hues from the glowing hololiths display.

“I do not endorse this action, we are leaving the battlegroup to die in orbit, considering what the cogitators have computed is riding in our wake, we are bringing an entire war-host down squarely upon us. There must be a better way, what about boarding actions? Can we not strike them and cut them down in the void?”

The sharp hiss of pistons and clanking of steel, draws Tomas’ focus sideways to spy the source of the rumbling noise. An uneasy churn of his gut billowed forth as one of the towering shadows moved into view, a crimson robed overly augmented monster of steel and bionics leans into the light of the display, cables hissing as they interface with the flickering holo-display. With a dull whine, several reports start spiraling across the hololithe. The venerable Magos Dominus Gretia of Balvaria wheezes audibly as their heavily synthesized voices rumble into the space.

“Assessment: Illogical. Reduction of active forces inevitable when attempting boarding actions in the void: It is ill advised as it removes the ability for the Iron Hounds armor to supplement the arrayed regiments fighting forces. Skitarii forces down to 63% combat capacity. Calculated result of ship to ship action: Defeat; Inevitable.”

Tomas works his jaw, watching the bickering trio, his attention turning to Major Bruma as he leans forth to request his superior's attention.

“Sir, are they truly debating a ship to ship action against the greenskins?”

Major Bruma casts a glance towards Tomas, throwing one last look towards Jalah and Gretia as they start to bicker over odds and chances. The Major speaks in a hushed tone, his face clear tired and weary from this long form deliberation.

“Aye Lieutenant, Commissar-Captain Jalah is in favor of taking the fight to the Greenskin aboard their ships, much to Gretia’s dismay. Bulgraff has thus far remained neutral in the debat, but has suggested we deploy planetside to try and bait the greenskins into a fight on the ground. That would give our fleet the chance they need to pull away, but leaves us stranded if the operation starts to fall apart.” 

This draws a displeased look from Lieutenant, all while watching the two dilberating parties. His mind mulls over the situation at hand. Truly they had been given the worst lots of all, there was the choice to die in the void or perish on the ground in a desperate gambit for reinforcements. Neither of these options sounded particularly lovely compared to the other.

“Sir, if I am not mistaken, wouldn’t that mean our regiment is going to end up being the ones forced to handle the bulk of the fighting, well after the voids-men. I don’t recall any of the others being trained to stage ship to ship actions?”

Bruma merely shakes his head as the sudden clanging ring of a cog-axe haft slamming onto the deck, ripples through the air. The quiet conversation breaks as Gretia spits out her words flatly, binary-cant hissing to punctuate her words. 

“Negative: I will not approve the deployment of valuable forge assets in a suicide gambit by a young blood seeking glory. Firm Reminder: That whilst the Balvarian Iron Hounds, technically fall into the purview structures of the Imperial Guard, they are entirely composed of Forgeworld assets, thus they fall squarely under Mechanicus directives.”

With a ragged exhale, Tomas stares down at the deck before him, feeling the growing tension between the various regiments only compounding on their dismal failure to defend Ichorus V from the rampaging greenskins. 

Fools are content to argue over details when we need some measure of action. Damn it all.

A flicker of movement at his side, causes him to nearly flinch as the silent form of Ran has reappeared once more, with two smoldering cups of recaff in either hand. He gladly takes the offered drink and sips from it as he pulls a few steps away from the deliberations to catch his proverbial breath. 

Ran’s keen smoldering eyes watch the arguing duo, with a tilt of her head curiously, her attention returns to Tomas as she lowers her tone.

“Why are they fighting? Aren’t your people facing a common enemy, I don’t see the need for all this pointless bickering.”

Tomas follows her gaze to the Magos and Commissar-Captain as they debate void combat with a bit of a heated edge. 

“Eh, it's not so simple truthfully. When it comes down to it, we all come from different places and all of them have different ideas and notions when it comes to fighting a battle. Hard to say who is really right or wrong here, each one has a point to be made but….” He glances at Ran and gives a shake of his head. “... The loss of senior staffers in our last campaign are hampering us here, large egos notwithstanding.”

Ran slowly acknowledges such, her gaze moving once more to Tomas as she gives a empty smile, 

“Ah, so it is not at all different from dealing with powerful individuals that, despite having common ground and cause, tend to start to bicker and fight over smaller details. Though I will say, you and your kind must truly enjoy arguing on some level, as you do it so much.”

Tomas merely shrugs to the notion, as he indicates to Ran with a gesture of his steaming recaff cup to keep such notions stowed away.

“Eh, don’t phrase it so strangely, You don’t want to start talking in such a way as it paints you as a high-born, will leave you disconnected from a low-born around you. Might save you from getting caught up in a fight or two. As for arguing? Yeah, we seem to have a penchant for it, don’t we?”

Ran takes a long drink from her recaff, before she indicates to Tomas with the edge of her cup.

“So, are you going to tell them what Lady Yukari mentioned, about the bad people among your crew?”

Tomas inhales tiredly, glancing back at the bickering pair, before he stands by musing once more, providing her a shake of his head.

“Eh, frankly with all due respect to your Master, I don’t believe her for a second. I still say we should send her a medic to check her out, talking nonsense. Besides I can’t even present such to the Major without some measure of physical evidence, lest he question my capability.”

But, our whole meeting was quite strange, perhaps is worth a mention to Major Bruma?

The two settle into a gentle quiet, sipping away from their recaff, before a sudden silence falls upon the room, Tomas catches the tell-tale whirr and clank of the throne starting to move. His eyes are drawn up in time to see the various displays move and part before the throne, an aged figure moves the screens aside as he stares down at the now hushed collective before him.

 Occupying the throne for the bridge, was none other than Commodore Terval, the rank bearing senior officer of the fleet. The commodore stares down with a withered eye, and a gently clicking bionic as he steeples his white gloved hands. His voice speaking up, carrying a heavy weight of Imperial authority as he does.

“Enough, we do not have time for this bickering. I have made my election in this matter. The fact of the matter remains, the Battlegroup as it stands is weakened from our withdrawal from Ichorous. This leaves the notion of ship to ship actions non-viable. I do not suspect this oncoming battle will play out as we have all hoped. Commissar Bulgraff, is the Ichorous V Guard prepared for planetstrike?”

The aging commissar, glances firmly up to Commodore with an air of confidence,

“Of course Commodore, at your will we stand ready to go forth into the hells of battle. Ichorous V’s own stand ready to strike for vengeance.”

The reply draws affirmation from the Commodore, who then turns his attention to Commissar-Captain Jalah, his gaze stoic.

“Commissar-Captain, I understand your eagerness to strike back at the foe, as your regiment is now without the council of your venerable colonel, but now is not the time for vainglorious last stands. As the Emperor decrees, that our lives are his currency, to be well spent and well accounted. Remember this. You will join the Ichorous V guard in their planet-strike, I expect your Dune-Breakers to draw a river of Greenskin blood that I can see from orbit.”

Tomas watches as the Commodore’s imposing sight falls upon Major Bruma and himself, the weight of that gaze giving the Lieutenant a flutter in the pit of his stomach, as the older man speaks out.

“Major Bruma, we both know what my orders are to be. When we complete our transition to real-space, I want you and your men off my ship  with your Valkyries and en route planetside. Your men have the most experience battling against greenskins, I expect you and your boys to take the lead and do what you do best.” 

The Commodore’s gaze finally shifts towards the towering Magos, who stood firmly by watching the old man with the same inscrutable look as dozens of glowing lenses focused on the withered ship master. 

“I understand your concern and your position Magos, I have dealt many times in my career, with the independent functionaries of the Mechanicus more times than I can recall. Whilst you do have operational authority here over your men, I implore you, for the mutual survival of our two factions. To get your armor and forces planetside with the Guard, as it is in poor taste to let venerable war-machines such as your Forgeworlds perish in the cold void of space.” 

The Magos is given pause, clearly mulling over the Commodore’s words. However, as Tomas watches the parties start to come to a resolution, the sudden arrival of a menial that shoves his way between him and Ran causes them both to stagger away surprised. 

Bypassing the startled Lieutenant, the man races half slouched beneath a stack of reports. He stops before the Commodore’s throne, leaning up as he bows before him. With an acknowledgement from Terval, the Menial speaks up, interjecting into the conversation.

“M-Most blessed Commodore, recent auspex sweeps have confirmed that our flotilla is no longer travelling alone. I-It would appear that we are receiving ghost pings within our formation. W-We are trying currently to pin down the target and it's origin.”

Terval slumps back in the throne, rubbing his temple as he indicates for the menial to provide him the document in question. Snatching up the data from the serf he rapidly scans the report. 

“A ghost has joined our fleet you say? How troublesome, this vessel in question, when did you first register it on auspex?”

The menial shudders, withdrawing a data-slate to which he reviews.

“From what the servitors report, it was a few hours ago, there was no hymnal sent to the astropath, and from what we can tell an encoded transmission may have escaped our own vessel. Our voids-men are searching the lower decks for it's source as we speak, but we cannot be certain as to the nature of this transmission, as the augury only recently discovered it as well as a  coded reply which, strangely enough, coincided with the unknown vessel's arrival. “

Commodore Terval leans in, steepling his gloved fingers once more as he nods, 

“Very well, pray tell, did you manage to ensnare the message? I want to hear it.”

The deck serf moves past Tomas once more, heading for the hololithe as he inserts the data-slate into the nearest junction, scrolling through data as he waits for the hololithe to sputter and stirr to life with the new data.

“Aye, of course M’Lord, bringing it up now.”

Tomas and Ran figit on their feet, exchanging an uneasy glance between one another as the Lieutenant furrows his brow, the conversation with Lady Yukari playing over in his head once more.

Maybe there was something to that talk of seditionist, this is a bit too coincidental to be merely happy accidents, might as well alert the Major to be aware of such … 

He moves alongside Bruma, prepared to speak, he finds himself cut off when the vox overhead of them groans and crackles to life. The caster sits sputtering a steady stream of static laced whitenoise. After a few moments a dull and soft squeal and trill alternate as the static continues. The dull hissing of the vox-speakers continues as Tomas cocks his head and glances around confused at the pointless white noise.

 However he nearly gives up the ghost when the Magos Dominus, who was staring quizzically the entire time, suddenly leaps to life. The Magos rises to her full height, hefting her vast halberd upward as she moves towards the junction and menial, a sythenzied roar echoing in the room. 

“Fool! Immediate: Cease broadcast at once! Inbound transmission providing vectors for scrap-code infection!” 

The menial froze as the Magos’ titanic cog-axe sweeps down and crushes the junction, albeit too late. The entire room is suddenly plunged with a blare of blinding white light from the hololithe, before plunging deeply into pitch-black. The banks of cogitators hiss and kick out sparks and squeal as the entire ship seems to shudder like some living hurt thing.

Standing in the dark of the room, light only by the faintly glowing bionics of those present, Tomas watches as Ran moves over to his side, staring at him quizzically, her hand near her hip and upon the simple holster she bore.

“I am assuming that was not a normal function of that device, correct?”

Tomas mirrors her action, his shoulder shrugging free his hot-shot rifle, as he checks over the power cells, a firm shake of his head the only response.

“Not in the slightest, but it's something that's going to be a problem here shortly.” 

He quickly scans the corners of the bridge, watching the shadowy forms of menials as they race about, trying urgently to restore power to the deck. Laying about are several access panels being hurled away from the wall as they scabber to inspect the inner-workings under the light of flickering handheld luminators. 

Scrap-code, that means we not only have issues within, we’ve got someone toying with us without…

The Lieutenant glances back over his shoulder to spy the Magos towering over the menial, her clawed mechandrites clasped around his neck as she rung him like a ragdoll, hissing in a flat but entirely irate artificial voice.

“Fool! Fool! You’ve doomed us all: Critical Alert: Subsystems straining across the vessel, the cogitators, our blessed Machine Spirit, it wails in agony!”

Tomas indicates to Ran, to move towards the bridge's outer edge, his gaze fixed upon Major Bruma eagerly awaiting his orders. However, just as the first menial man manages to reach the throne with a report, the world is cast in multi-spectral light from beyond the view port’s vast field into the immaterial sea beyond

A blinding flash of silver-white light erupts before churning sea beyond the viewport, the shimmering and redolent light flares brightly, bathing the bridge in a blinding silver-white light. As Tomas strains his vision, he manages to catch sight of dancing hexagrammic wards and sigils that composed the ancient and potent Gellar Field, the venerable wards and runes crawl across the vessel’s hull acting as it's bulwark against the sea of the Immaterium flicker and silently ebb away.. 

    Tomas felt a dawning dread awaken within him as he lunged into action, passing by the several startled deck-serfs to the nearest bank of cogitators arrayed before him. He’d stare down at the console in muted terror as he spies several display screens, each of them crying out that the Gellar Field not just for their vessel but the fleet was reporting much the same, their sole shield from the nightmarish horrors of the realm of Chaos, was no more. 

We’re exposed, we’ve got nothing to cover us from the sea beyond ….

A sharp tug on his shoulder guard draws his attention away from the console as he finds Ran at his right, a stoic look upon her face, as she indicates to the far door in the chamber.

“There is something amiss in the bowels of the vessel, there is an uneasiness within the air, just as my Master predicted. If we can reach it, we can buy the needed time to get this ship safely to its destination.”

Tomas stares at her, an equal sense of discomfort at the notion, an uncomfortable itch at his palm giving some a sense of unease. 

What did she expect him to do? He couldn’t just storm off on a mad-womens hunch. There had to be another explanation. But this whole sequence of events seemed surreal… 

“Of course something is amiss, we damn well are laid bare before the warp, the Geller field is down. Before we know it, the ship will be swarming with the taint of the Ruinous Powers.”

    Ran merely tightens her grip on his shoulder guard, as she reiderates her call for his attention upon the far doorway.

    “It doesn’t have to! We can stop it, there is something down there, it is an origin point for this entire catastrophe. There are those aboard that were laboring on this oddity before your Field had failed. It's here now, if we can stop it or at least stall it. It would buy all of your friends and those aboard a chance to escape this place.”

    It was impossible, there was no way that this retainer knew anything about what was unfolding. He couldn’t fathom that this whole situation had been foreseen. Unless … 

    Tomas leans in and locks his eyes with her, his mind working as he tries to rationalize her words in his own head, truthfully he didn’t see many other options himself here. However, the notion that this strange woman suddenly knew where the problem was, didn’t sit quite well with him either.

    “How do you know this? Why should I trust you on this or your Master?”

    “Because our goals are aligned, we both want to see those aboard survive. I have certain talents gifted to me, those that my Master saw would be invaluable in the course of our time together, will you act or will you not?”

    Tomas grits his teeth, his gaze torn away from Ran as he calls over to Major Bruma, his voice strained as he shouts over the panicking menials.

    “Major! Geller Fields down across the fleet, we are laid bare before the Immaterium. Though, sir, I might have a way to get to the source of this problem, I need a team to head below deck. I’ve got information from a contact aboard that suspects the cause of this is somehow already aboard our vessel. I might have a hunch as to where it's hiding.”

    Major Bruma is pulled away from the vox-unit he is on, his steely focus zeroed squarely upon Tomas, the churning uneasy in the Lieutenant’s gut stays with him for a good few moments, before his superior merely nods.

    “Very well Foley, your intuition has served us well in the past. Don’t make me regret this as you have my blessings to investigate your hunch… “ He pauses and casts a firm look to the Commodore and the Magos. “... Can you spare any of your men to assist my officer in his search for the source of this disruption? My boy is as steadfast as they come, I’ve no reason to expect anything else now.”

    The Magos clatters over upon their many machine legs, looming over Tomas as her cold synthesized voice grates, “Under what pretense should trust be provided to the Lieutenant: It was his unit that failed to cover their designated landing zone on Icharous: His actions resulted in higher casualties among his unit: The Lieutenant’s judgement may be impaired or compromised by redemption seeking.” 

    Tomas matches the Magos gaze, casting a swift glance to the confident faced Ran, before he narrows his gaze.

    “I know it's a gamble, but if this pans out, it will buy us precious time to complete our emergency jump back into real-space. If I’m wrong, we’re dead anyway, so what have we got to lose?”

Gretia stares coldly down at him for a time before she briskly turns, a short cryptic blurt of machine-code binary echo across the deck as from one of the many looming shadows at the holo-liths edge emerge, revealing a crimson-cloaked armor clad member of the Skitarii cradling a sizeable galvanic rifle in her arms. 

The Skitarii ranger strides forth to stand alongside the Magos, exchanging a binary cant unknowable to those outside the augmented members of the Machine Cult. With a solid and confirming nod, the Skitarii adjusts her galvanic rifle upon her armored shoulder and bows towards Tomas.

“Skitarii Alpha 211-Gamma at your command Lt. Foley, I have access to fleet-coms, the Magos requests that we provide flash-vox traffic once we complete our task. Do you know our mission parameters?”

Tomas turns his head to Ran, who steps up to the task, her gaze locked determinedly at the Skitarii.

“Yes, the source of this disruption is several decks below our location, my master’s contacts suspect the menials down there have been conspiring for some time to cast our vessel adrift in the Immaterial. If we can manage to reach them and stop their work, we will save this vessel.”

Tomas flashs a faux confident nod to Gamma, there was a palaple uncertainty to this whole venture. Inwardly he frets, unsure if it was even wise to place his trust in someone that had been so unceremoniously thrust upon him, let alone their limited interaction. But frankly in this situation, he didn’t see many other options lining up to offer solutions to their current predicament. 

The trio make their preparations to depart, before the sight of the Commodore leaning round his throne ensnares the Lieutenants attention, the older man indicates firmly as he addresses them. 

“If this turns to a false lead, I want you and your contingent to secure the savior pods at junction B-23. Those are for the bridge staff in the event of a catastrophic event, it is your duty to hold them if you're unable to complete your objective. At Major Bruma’s request, I will route my senior deck officer to support you. If you're having trouble finding him, just follow the trail of spent cartridges and bodies. His name is Viktor. May Him on Earth watch over you boy, I expect a good report from you and your team.”

With that Tomas signs the aquila before his chest to the Commodore, rallying his hastily composed team as he moved for the far door, casting a wary glance back at Ran as she raced alongside him.

This has all the makings of a make or break gambit, dear Emperor don’t let this be a fool's errand….