Crone World - Part 1

The Navigator yelled to Captain Velstrak as the ship lurched underneath them. “I’m calculating a new trajectory through the Warp for the Death Spiral!”

“Calculate FASTER!” the Rogue Trader snapped back, fighting with the controls of his ship. Another opaque tentacle swam across the viewscreen displaying the Immaterium and latched roughly across the prow of the vessel. The ship jerked forward, sending crew members and passengers flying in all directions. One of the passengers, Ian Holm, tasted the familiar tang of blood in his mouth after it struck the gantry railing. The bridge swam and wafted in and out of focus.

An inhospitable looking planet loomed on the viewscreen, becoming ever bigger as the tentacles emanating from it pulled the ship down towards it.

“Brace for IMPACT!” Velstrak yelled over his shoulder, while the engines wailed and a booming percussion echoed throughout the hull.

Holm’s eyes snapped awake and half rose from his berth, gasping for air. He rubbed his eyes and looked around his compartment dazedly.

The knocking continued on his door.

“Come,” Holm said, rotating his body out of the berth and into a seated position.

The door opened, revealing Corporal Jain Tulley just outside. “I’m sorry, Captain Holm. Velstrak told me to get you up, says he wants to have a meeting with everyone.”

Captain Holm, of the Issari IV Regulars, rolled his eyes and reached for his jacket. “I dare think the illustrious captain will be honored that I have cleared my busy schedule and will be available for it.”

Both Imperial Guardsmen walked single file down the corridor that lead to the outer hatch. As they approached it, a loud keening rose in volume. The noise was from the wailing wind that was omnipresent on the Hell of a world they crashed upon. Actually, “crashed” was a poor term to describe what had happened. “Captured” was a better one.

They reached the hatch and then walked down the gangway. On either side of the opening, the tentacles writhed and squirmed around the Death Spiral. Holm only hazarded a passing glance at them, for he found that looking at them for an extended period of time filled him with a dread chill. Corporal Tulley lead his former commanding officer to a half circle of men surrounded by equipment and crewmembers scurrying about like ants.

Velstrak stood when he saw the two approach. “So glad you could join us, Imperial’s Finest!” he said with a grandiose wave and a bow. The gesture was to get a rise out of them, but he was only successful in getting a derisive sneer from the corporal. He got nothing from the Guard captain. Shrugging internally, he motioned for them to be seated atop some equipment crates. When they sat, Velstrak returned to his improvised seat. “Well then, let’s tell them the bad news, Cifpa.”

Navigator Cifpa sat to the Trader’s left, hands folded in his lap, dressed in a dark hooded robe that kept the mutant’s face mostly obscured. To the left of the Navigator, sat yet another strangely dressed individual. He wore the raiment of the Adeptus Mechanicus, but what would cause an onlooker to stare was the closed helmet he wore, its mirrored visor completely concealed his features. Earlier, Holm had heard snatches of the crew’s conversation that the man was some form of Techpriest, but that was it.

“Currently, all efforts to release the Death Spiral from the grasp of whatever binds us to this world have failed,” Cifpa intoned factually. “Furthermore, we lost a quite few crewmembers during the forced landing and subsequent scouting of the surrounding terrain. We only have four left, including our lead engineer. The heavy loss of personnel will hamper our efforts to escape.” Cifpa’s hood turned in the direction of Velstrak, as if he was looking for a cue to continue. The Trader shrugged and waved his hand facetiously as an indication that the Navigator should resume.

“To heap insult upon this injury we have sustained, a fire broke out in the cargo hold and caused damage to several decks, including the galley. As of now, we only have two weeks of food left.”

“What about water?” Corporal Tulley interjected.

“Our water resources are stable for the moment, but if all else fails the filtration and recycling unit on the Death Spiral is still functional,” Cifpa replied. Tulley rolled his eyes and snorted.

“Great, now we have to drink recycled piss. Wonderful.”

“Corporal, that’s enough,” Holm said in a warning tone. Tulley glanced at his commanding officer and fell silent. Holm turned his attention to Velstrak. “So, captain, why have you called this meeting? Surely, it’s not to inform us that we are doomed to starve to death on this rock?”

The Rogue Trader responded to Holm’s question with a sardonic grin. “Not at all, Captain Holm, not at all! Now for the good news.” Velstrak extended his hand towards the Techpriest. “Techpriest Reymalden has all the answers to this problem, it seems.”

“Tech-Hospitalier Reymalden,” the man corrected as he stood and entered the circle. “I am not a full Techpriest of the Machine God.”

“The vessel will break free from its constraints, provided with give it the proper deference for its work done on our behalf. But, supplication alone to the ship will not be enough. What holds us to the earth is not some weak, fleshy construct. Otherwise, the ship would have easily overpowered the feeble tissue of an imperfect living organism. No, the tentacles that bind the ship are from a creature from the Warp, possibly a Daemon. “

“Not, ‘possibly’, Tech-Hospitalier,” Cifpa interrupted, “‘definitely’. I have seen glimpses of it. What is more disturbing is I have seen other things around the ship that could only exist in the Warp.”

“Which indicates what?” Holm asked.

“That we are marooned on a world that resides in the Warp. A Chaos planet.”

“This just keeps getting better and better,” Tulley muttered under his breath as he rubbed his face.

“The Navigator is correct, but the exact nomenclature is ‘Crone World’,” Reymalden continued. “This is but one of many planets that were pulled into the Warp during the creation of the Eye of Terror. It is a former Eldar world and that fact alone may be enough to save us.” Although Reymalden’s face could not be seen, the tone in his voice expressed hope, mingled with anticipation. “We need to explore this planet for the treasure trove it is and, with the Omnimessiah’s Blessing, we may very well find the tools to snatch ourselves from this wretched place.”

Captain Holm turned to Velstrak. “So, what is it that you require of us?”

Velstrak smiled. “We need you to find able bodies to replace our lost crew, for starters. If you are successful with that endeavor, then I think Cifpa and myself can come up with more odd jobs for you to perform.”

Both Guardsmen gave a hard stare to the recalcitrant Rogue Trader. For a moment, Velstrak cared little for the looks. But time went on and the soldiers continued to stare, leaving him with a cold chill going down his spine. His smile fled from his lips and he averted his eyes.

“We will leave when there is more light,” Holm said, standing up from his seat. He turned and headed back to the ship to collect his gear. Corporal Tulley soon followed, giving a deferential bow to the Navigator.

Reymalden hurried after the departing men. “Captain Holm, I think it would be in everyone's best interest if I joined you on your excursion.” Holm stopped dead in his tracks and faced the priest.

“You're a Techpriest -,” Holm began.

“Tech-Hospitalier,” Reymalden corrected. Holm waved his hand brusquely at the remark.

“I don't care what your Emperor damned title is. It could be 'Omnipotent Gear Jerker' and it still would not change the fact that you're a bodger, not a warrior.” Holm grunted and turned away from his distended reflection in the priest's visor. He made a few paces before the priest's words stopped him again.

“I may be no warrior of the Imperial Guard, nor am I one of the Emperor's Space Marines, but I have expertise that you need. Expertise to find the necessary components for the ship, to maintain the spirits of your autopistol and your Corporal's Triplex Lasgun, and to proffer the Machine God's blessing on your weakened flesh should you need it,” Reymalden stood his ground, voice never quavering, and his fists sat on his hips in a show of unmitigable determination.

Holm looked at him for moment and shrugged. “With you on the team, the Traitor Marines will surely quake in their armor. Be ready to leave on my word, Tech-Hospitalier.” The captain turned on his heel and walked up the gangplank.