Unexpected Gains

The Blackrock had spent roughly two months in the Warp, at least according to the ship's internal timekeeping.

Barnabas sat upon the command throne on the bridge, tirelessly maintaining the operations of the flagship Blackrock. In these two months, he had not slept more than twenty minutes in a single day. The mortal crew worked in two shifts, but he merely leaned back in his throne, entering a light sleep, jolted awake at the slightest disturbance.

A mortal would have long been crushed by such high-intensity labor, but a Space Marine's brain was implanted with an organ called the Neural Node. It could activate when signs of sleep deprivation appeared, allowing an Astartes to meet their needs with only brief, shallow sleep. If necessary, he could go without sleep entirely, until he died from a cascade of bodily failures—metabolic abnormalities, hindered blood circulation, impaired brain function, organ failure—literally exhausting himself to death.

Peter had appointed him Lord of Fleets, though for now, he commanded only a single ship. But he was indeed the highest authority aboard this vessel. According to the rules of the Forged Steel Brethren warband, even if he ordered Peter to undertake a boarding action with a ten-to-one chance of death, the latter would have to accept the command.

But he would not lightly issue such an order, because they were brothers. He did not wish for any unnecessary sacrifice. For this same reason, he wore the relatively outdated MK2 Expeditionary Power Armour, yielding the superior suits to his other brothers in the hope they might survive battle. A Lord of Fleets typically did not need to engage in boarding or anti-boarding actions; his battlefield was the command bridge, amidst the void.

Barnabas stared intently at the various data on the screens, using them to understand the ship's current status. Suddenly, he detected an anomaly. The Auspex Officer spoke at that same moment.

"My lord, dissipating plasma detected to starboard, identified as engine residue. Two vessels have just passed through."

The Auspex Officer reported hastily. Barnabas thought to himself, a capable Auspex Officer—only a step behind him.

"Their class and firepower?"

"Estimated as small to medium vessels. Their destination may match ours. We need to close the distance for more data to analyze further."

It aligned with Barnabas's own judgment. He was training these senior officers under such conditions; when fleet combat came, he wouldn't have the energy to manage every detail—his subordinates would need to decide for themselves.

Barnabas stroked the stubble on his chin, calculating in his mind.

The Blackrock was a Shortsword-class Frigate. Its firepower might be middling, but its speed was relatively high. The two ships ahead were small vessels—too few for a naval fleet, unlikely. And their destination roughly matched theirs—a convenient coincidence. Whether enemy or not, they could fight or flee, with the initiative in hand.

"Pursue them."

The captain gave the order.

Below, the helmsman received the command and immediately adjusted course.

In an unknown star system, space in the void was rapidly oscillating, the material universe tearing open. Two ships emerged from the Warp, behind them the gates of the Empyrean slowly closing. But just as the Warp was about to dissipate into the physical universe, a third ship shot out in pursuit.

Captain Borislav Charter was panicking. He had been navigating normally through the Warp with an Armed Freighter and a Rogue-class Freighter when, for no apparent reason, a ship had locked onto them. Borislav had tried multiple times to shake it off, all in vain. He risked an emergency exit from the Warp, but when they scrambled out in haste, the pursuer followed right behind.

Borislav finally saw that their tracker was a Shortsword-class Frigate—one of the smaller frigates in the navy. But even so, it was not something his two freighters could contend with.

The Communications Officer reported:

"Captain, the other vessel is sending a communication request."

Borislav's heart was bitter. He didn't know what he was dealing with, but the ship bore no Chaos markings, so he could rule that out.

"Patch it through."

As the captain spoke, the bridge's projector activated, displaying a helmeted Astartes.

"Imperial vessel. We are the Forged Steel Hands Chapter, on a mission. I order you to immediately lower your Void Shields and disable weapons lock. We will board for inspection."

Captain Borislav looked to the Auspex Officer, who shook his head.

"My lord, our database has no data on your vessel. We are unaware of any Space Marine Chapter operating in this region."

Cautiously, he signaled the Weapons Officer to disable the lock. Provoking them would not end well.

"We are a Fleet-based Chapter, carrying out a pursuit mission. I order you to lower your Void Shields now and allow us to board for search."

"My lord, this is against protocol."

Borislav was rattled. Letting unknown individuals board was a terrible decision, especially a group of Space Marines.

"Since you refuse, we will deploy Boarding Torpedoes."

The other side clearly had no intention of negotiating. They cut the communication with that final statement.

They were going to force their way aboard. It was over. Borislav weighed whether to fight back. With their firepower, though the odds were slim, they might shoot down the boarding torpedoes.

But attack a group of Space Marines? If he dared, he was dead either way. Not fight back? Then just let them board.

As he gritted his teeth in hesitation, the enemy's torpedoes had already launched.

The Weapons Officer asked:

"Captain, we can re-lock the torpedoes. What should we do?"

Borislav was drenched in sweat. What should he do? He wished he knew. Fight back and die, flee and fail. Let them board and search, slaughter his crew.

"Captain, two minutes left."

The ship had been inspected—clean. The cargo was legal. But what if some hold actually had something? What if a major fugitive was hiding aboard? A fugitive that Space Marines were chasing—what crime they'd committed was unthinkable.

"Captain, last chance. Ten, nine, eight, seven, five, four, three, two, one."

The Weapons Officer counted down the final window for counterattack, his voice filled with despair.

It was over. No chance to fight back now. With a dull thud against the hull, the enemy's boarding torpedo had penetrated the ship.

Borislav wiped his brow with his sleeve:

"It's fine. The ship is clean. Notify the other vessel's sailors to liaise and assist them with the inspection."

Borislav thought to himself, it's okay. His paperwork was complete, his transport legal. They'd come aboard, check, and leave.

Even if a fugitive was on his ship, they'd just catch him. Maybe a few crew members would be killed in the process, but if they endured it, the Space Marines would withdraw after finishing.

He'd saved up enough money. After delivering this cargo, he could go home and get married. As he thought this, Borislav involuntarily pulled a locket from his neck, opened it, and gazed at the young woman inside.

"Vanessa, wait for me to come back."