Vagrant
Spectrum
Marcus Geminus - Astropath Transcendant
He quickly walked through the maze of corridors, wary for any unwanted attention. The Tenebrous was a zig-zag of passageways twisting and turning for the purpose of confusing enemy combatants. Marcus knew little of such things, but they served him well enough, allowed him to make his way about the ship relatively undisturbed. He rarely left his quarters, but he was in need of a new stack of books, and so made his way to the Librarium Vault, careful to choose those paths least likely to be populated at this hour. Most would scuttle away at his approach anyhow, those of the Astro Telepathica were rarely welcome amongst more common folk.
Oh sure, an Astropath would be extremely valuable to a Rogue Trader vessel such as this, but the stigma still followed him. It didn't help that he was barely 16 years old, perhaps the youngest Astropath to ever become transcendent, to both receive the Soul Bonding, and be allowed to travel away from the choir.
He peeked around the bulkhead, leading to the great double doors of the Librarium Vault. Two figures stood talking outside the doors, a tech priest and another he didn't recognize. He pulled his head back before he was spotted and leaned against the wall behind him. He sighed, adjusting his deep green blindfold, and smoothing his matching robes. His facial features changed from the look of a vibrant boy to the placid hardened face of the Transcendent. He strode around the corner, walking at a deliberate pace that made it seem as though he was gliding, rather than walking, down the hall. The two strangers noticed him almost immediately; both cleared a path for him. Each saluted in their own fashion. Marcus ignored them, as was proper. He had never been comfortable with his rank amongst the crew, though it afforded him much larger quarters. He was grateful for that, at least. He made sure to continue the ruse until he heard the vault doors close behind him. He changed then, back to himself, back to the curious boy scurrying about the Librarium in search of knowledge, a knowledge he'd been denied most of his life. He sat down in a distant corner, and opened his latest acquisition open upon the desk, a book with some tidbits of information on his Imperial homeworld.
He could still remember the day the Black Ships came. He was four years old, so was his sister. Twins were like that. It was funny, he couldn't remember his parents, but he knew that they gave him up, his sister too, willingly to the Astropaths of the Black Ships. He wasn't sure if he should be angry about that, or grateful as the ecclesiarchy taught. But he had Bellona with him when they went up in that foreign shuttle, and that was something. He didn't know at what age he and his sister had begun mental communication, but he couldn't remember a time when they hadn't talked that way. It was comforting then, to be held together, while others had to be alone. Some of those other captives were marched off, somewhere else, to the fires he realized now, their deaths fueling the Imperium with psychic energies.
His sister's comfort was lost to him now. After years of indoctrination into the Adeptus Astro Telepathica, they both stood before the Emperor himself, ready to be granted the bond that would allow them to join the great choir. They held hands then, after the pain began to burn through their entire beings. Her hand was cold, strange the things you recall and the things you don't. They were fourteen years old, and standing before a God, ready to serve, as they always had, but on his life, he couldn't remember what the God-Emperor looked like, only that her hand was cold. Bellona cried out in agony, the sound of which still plagued him some nights. She was consumed by the force of the soul bond, his sister, his twin. Dead, still holding his hand. It was so cold.
They were joined together at the end, by mind, something that was not permitted during the ceremony, but was too natural to avoid. Those who survived were brought elsewhere, for some minor medical treatment and the end of the all important ceremony. She was dead, and he was going to pray to her killer, her betrayer. Those who treated him, were in shock of something. They gathered around him, whispering, gesturing. He had met many who had suffered greatly from the Soul Bond, flesh of the eyes burned from their skull, or worse. He was afraid then, that he was much worse. He felt guilty, worrying about himself with his sisters body lying cold on the floor in the next room. But the ceremonies ended with little more fuss then was expected. It wasn't until the next morning, after he had partaken of real food for the first time in months, that he looked in the mirror. Not with his eyes of course, they were blind, but with his mind. He knew then what the others were speaking of in such a fluster. One eye was black as obsidian, the other white as snow. He had never seen or heard of the like. A tear ran down his cheek.
It was that moment that he had his first doubts about the holy doctrine, doubts he kept well hidden from others. A monumental task when those who looked for such doubts could often see into your mind. The soul bond had made his mind stronger, faster than before. It was said that this would happen. Though none who participated in the ceremony were as strong as he. Was it possible that Bellona had made him stronger somehow? Helped him to survive? There was no proof to either theory, and he'd done much research into the ceremony itself looking for precedents. He found none. He was alone now, for the first time. Truly alone.
He joined the choir then, and aided in the efforts to send messages across the void. It was not a comfortable assignment, many had heard of the young boy with the strange eyes. He redoubled his efforts to studying and work, and was rewarded with a post on a Navi ship. It was his first time away from the choir. Some were destroyed by the loneliness of being away from it, but he had always felt alone. His superiors in the Astro Telepathica deemed his will to be strong enough for such a position, but to him it was just normal.
He closed the book, locking away the memories of his homeworld. He was free now, at least, not trapped in the menagerie. He would do his duty to the imperium, and the god-emperor. His hatred faded over the last two years, but doubts lingered. He wasn't sure at all his true purpose. Perhaps the Emperor had something else planned for the boy with the strange eyes. He replaced the book on the shelf, and went about collecting others to take back to his rooms. He had his duties, and he had a librarium. Perhaps this new assignment wouldn't be so bad.
Elesium Carrow
Nodding his head briefly, Elesium turned from the crowded room, the hood of his cloak covering his features from all but the most observant. A slight smile betrayed the normally neutral face as he watched his man get up from his chair, and stumbling away towards the door and out into the thick smog. Mere moments pass before Elesium gets to his feet moving swiftly to the booth that had just been vacated, sitting there he could see the file partly hidden by the table leg. Taking it up Elesium left the bar, pausing just briefly to activate the small transponder in the palm of his hand. Less than 30 steps later, stepping over the body of the courier Elesium allowed himself to remove his hood, his noble features revealed to all who wished to look. Walking away into the darkness nothing could be heard except the crumbling of bricks as the bar collapsed, removing all evidence he had ever been there.
Stepping through the doors into the entrance hall, little remained of the dark shadowy figure from the bar, replacing that was a tall nobleman clad in the Guilliman blue carapace armour of his family. Moving to the study he kept aside for that information he did not wish to become public knowledge, he took a seat at the desk whilst activating the suppressor fields. Noting with a sign of approval the seal of the Inquisition he opened the file. “It would appear that they found an heir for the Vekara Warrant. Now this should be interesting.” Speaking only to himself a true smile spread across his lips. Much to do and yet little time to do it, he immediately began to call in the favours owed to him.
Though only the third son of the Carrow family, the influence gained throughout the years dealing with all of the trade agreements and backroom deals for his family whilst his brothers spent and drank their way through the inheritance they received left Elesium with a variety of contacts both legitimate and slightly more ‘unscrupulous’. Having known since birth that he would not receive any inheritance, he had turned to books; reading became a hobby until one day he read a book that he should not have read. A primer of knowledge that was not meant to be read by humans, this spurred an obsession for all things Xenos. The chance to journey into the Vagrant spectrum to study the forbidden knowledge lurking within was too good an opportunity to let slip away. Using the contacts already established it had taken a great deal of influence to locate an adept of the inquisition who had too much love for fine wine and to persuade him to hand over the details of the investigation done into that turbulent space. From their it was simple to discover the ship that would be the home of the new holder of the Rites of Trade for Vagrant Spectrum, a certain Edmund Doge. Discovering the ships name was also easy enough, the Tenebrous, however getting aboard the ship in a capacity to not only have access to all the lore required, but to also be able to influence this new and inexperienced Rogue Trader, well, that was a bit more difficult.
Zhenya Alkaev - Navigator
"Father? I had bad dreams..." The adolescent girl stood at the side of the bed. Her pale face and shaken body did tell she spoke the truth, however the man in the canopy bed remained silent. "I... I was running in the dark corridors and monsters were lurking there. They wanted to eat me. I felt their hunger." The girl gathered her bravery and climbed into the bed, settled at the man's side and rested her head on his shoulder. The man reached for the girl's forehead, stroking it gently, carefully, following the edges of her newly placed implant, a barely transparent strange metal orb with a shutter inside. He looked into her eyes.
"It was not a dream my child. It was your first experience of Immaterium. You are a navigator!"
...
"Father?" The young girl stood behind the large bald man in the ship's bridge who raised his gloved hand immediately to silence her. "Don't call me your father. I am the Novator of the Alkaev, and you should show some respect to your superior. We might be a small house, but you shall never forget your place."
"Yes, my Novator." the young woman bowed. "I shall remember that."
...
Zhenya, the young navigator, passed the corridors to the bridge in quick pace. She knew that there were no monsters lurking around in the maze-like corridors, at least not those in her dreams. Still, sometimes it was hard to recognize the difference between the Materium and the Immaterium. The way her mind translated the experience of the Warp took the form of her childhood nightmares and her experience growing up in the Imperium's exploration vessel of Oryol, a small refitted destroyer that she called home.
...
Seven years since Zhenya had seen any port. Seven long years plagued with mutiny, famine, and illnesses of body and mind. The crew had been forced to eat each other, only the officer's quarters and the sealed arboretum provided some shelter and scare food source for the young woman in her late teenage years. And now, Zhenya felt hope. Her mother, the second navigator onboard, told her not to worry. There will be no more scavenge runs into the lower levels for medicine, food, and resources. There will be no more hiding from the renegade crew. There is a way out to the safe regions of the Imperium and she would lead Oryol back there...
...
"Fa... my Novator..." Zhenya bowed at the front of the bulky mass of her father's inhuman body, laying in the suspensor chair made only for him. She was as pale as the first time she experienced the Immaterium many years ago. "Nina... my mother is dead. She hung herself in her bedchamber." she explained and kept her head down focusing on the metallic floor of her father's chamber
"That was her fate my child." A strange, metallic voice replied, coming from somewhere of his father's chair. "After her careless route back to the known space left a rift open to the entities of the Immaterium to enter to our ship. You shall learn from her mistake."
...
Zhenya stood close to the dead formless body she once knew as her father. He finally find the way back, following the same route her mother found. The Lord-Captain Sergeyev pushed him to take the risk, their last chance before everyone will fall to death or change by the Warp. Only a few hundred survived but Zhenya was among the few. She should consider herself lucky, but she could not help herself butfeel deeply sad and hopeless with her eyes staring on the Novator of Alkaev.
...
"You will be assigned to the ship called The Tenebrous." The Lord-Captain Sergeyev said to Zhenya, standing at the bridge of Oryol, cleaned up and reffited. His face was wrinkled by the long years of voyage, his hair is white as the distant cold stars. Zhenya knew he will never take any tour again, and he only wants to retire ona planet, away from the Warp. "I already contacted your new Lord-Captain and you will be transferred there tomorrow. Gather your belongings."
Zhenya bowed to the old man. "As you wish my Lord. I will endure whatever my fate brings to me."
...
Zhenya glanced out to the Void through the transparent metal windows of the shuttle. Her eyes lingered on the shipyard, then on her home, Oryos, the small destroyer with that characteristic domes of the observatory and arboretum and with only minimal weapons. She felt a kind of disturbing nostalgia for those years of childhood. The nightmares, the hunger, the fear... all things gone now, it is her past...
Lieutenant Commander Edmund Doge - Rogue Trader
A man who joined the navy for a life of adventure and freedom, only to discover that there was a lot more obligation and red tape involved in the commanding of a star-ship than he first suspected. Trained as an interceptor pilot, he flew missions for the fleet until being promoted to an officer rank by Captain Gunther of the Hand of Providence as thanks for saving his life whilst in transit to his ship aboard an Aquila lander. Doge had been returning to his assigned cruiser from a sortie to investigate a nearby asteroid field when a wolfpack struck the patrol group. Enemy interceptors fell upon the captain's shuttle, and Doge's squadron was tasked with protecting it. Doge was the only survivor of that battle.
Drinking dens were places of tradition, and this one was no exception. Frequented by the so-called 'middle classes' of starships, the Captain's Daughter was a bar of decent repute. Not the kind of rough and tumble place one would associate with the ratlings of a ship, nor the gilded opulence of an establishment frequented by captains. No, this was a place for officers.
A place he would have been welcome in, but not anymore. Not since that skirmish in the Maw. Doge sighed as he stared down at the alcoholic liquid in his glass, comfortingly cool in his hand, a lump of ice still floating in it. Some of the other patrons cast him the odd glance, undoubtedly wondering about his presence. He wasn't an officer. Not anymore. Battlefleet had been quick to seize the Hand of Providence and haul it back to the Calixis sector shipyards to undergo repairs. He should have been with it, as the rightful inheritor of it's legacy. But no, battlefleet needed his report on what had happened. The paperwork alone took about two weeks. Not only did he have to fill out forms in triplicate for the Fleet (to explain why one of their ships was so badly damaged), but also for the Mechanicum (to explain how one of their ships was so badly damaged), the Adminiatratum (to explain a ship had been damaged), the Commisariat (to explain why one of their own died on the ship), and even the Inquisition (to explain who had damaged the ship).
So much damned paperwork. And of course the forms had to be filled out by hand, for Administratum records. Why they couldn't just use dataslates was beyond him. Probably because that would involve sharing information with techpriests, and everyone knew that the Administratum was loathe to release information to anyone. Once the paperwork had been filled in he had expected to be granted a new set of orders involving chasing down the Hand of Providence and overseeing it's repairs as well as making sure a new crew was taken on.
He deserved no less. Who else could have managed to get a Cobra away from the dreaded Adversaris Aeternum? They had been patrolling the Maw as always, skirting the rimward warpstorm, watching for the odd raider that ran the gauntlet of the battlefleet blockade to try to strike at the shipping in the Expanse. It was a route they all knew well. And then that damned cruiser had dropped from the warp nearly on top of them. Only Jasmina's skilful maneuvering had managed to keep them from being smeared over the larger ships hull. But at that range the spinal mounted turrets had scored numerous hits on the Hand as it tried to desperately put some distance between itself and the nightmare of steel and fire that swung about to give chase. He could still see it, even in the depths of his drink.
A dull red arrowhead, as if caked in dried blood. Yellow lights glittering over it's surface like insects on a carcass. The brass cannons trying to draw a bead on them as the Captain ordered all power to be diverted into the engines and shields, not even bothering to attempt to fight back. And right he was too – what could a frigate do against a Slaughter class cruiser? They were well out of their depth. They were making good speed to the jump point, making the best of their head start as the enemy vessel got it's new bearings and rerouted energy from it's warp drive and gellar field. Doge could still feel the tremor of the engines, hear the groan of the ship as it tore through the void, seeking to escape. Fall back, regroup with other elements of the fleet.
And then the blasted Commissar (what had her name been again? Felicia?) had blown out Captain Gunther's brains with her bolt pistol, accusing him of cowardice. Cowardice? It was bloody common sense! Doge sighed and drank the alcohol, long past being angry at the trigger-happy red sash wearing bitch. She had got her wish in the end. She had made them turn around, to face the cruiser. One broadside later and she was dead, crushed beneath a fallen gantry. Good riddance too. Someone that suicidal was better off dead, unable to taint the gene-pool of humanity further. Not that Doge ever voiced such thoughts. The Commissariat had a reputation after all for shooting anyone who spoke out of turn.
That had left him as the ranking officer on the bridge. He managed to shout out loud enough to be heard by Jasmina from beneath the command lectern he had hid under when they had been shot (and not when the Commissar had shot the Captain), and the woman had been able to work her wonders a second time, flying straight on past the Adversaris Aeternum towards another jump point. By the time the lumbering cruiser could turn around again, they were gone, leaping through the warp and heading straight for Port Wander. The fact the Hand of Providence had managed to hold together during that time was a clear sign of the Emperor favoring Doge's captaincy.
And now that captaincy was at an end. He would probably be assigned as a lieutenant on board another frigate, and start the long and arduous process of winning the crew's and captain's trust and confidence. It would be a bloody nightmare.
A shadow fell upon him, and Doge bit back an annoyed sigh. Looked like his presence had finally provoked a reaction. Some local tough guy probably, wanting to throw his weight around and show of his skill by ejecting the ship-less officer in their midst. He glanced up at the figure standing before him. “Yes?” he asked, without bothering with any formalities. They were all one big happy fleet after all.
The man before him looked down over the scarred visage that he had for a face with his one good eye, the other covered by a metal eye patch with an etching of an aquila on it. “Lieutenant Commander Edmund Doge?” he asked in the kind of voice one expected a grizzled navy veteran to have – as if he spent his days chewing on nuts and bolts.
“Just Edmund Doge at present,” he shrugged, leaning back in his chair and sipping his drink. “I find that my posting only applies when I am assigned a vessel.”
The elder man snorted. “Whatever. Come on. You've been summoned.”
“By who?”
“The Admiral.”
Oh gack.
“I'm sorry esteemed sirs, what?” Doge asked as politely as he could manage, trying not to stare at the partially cybernetic man sitting at the lectern in front of him, flanked by two other senior captains.
The Admiral was clearly not happy at having to repeat himself, but indulged him anyway. “The Inquisition, Lieutenant. Upon reading of your report regarding the Adversaris Aeternum encounter, they have summarized for you to be wasting away here amongst us.” The venerable commander of Battlfleet Koronus could not quite keep the sneer of his face, though that was understandable. No one liked the Inquisition meddling in their affairs. “Especially since certain details regarding your lineage have come to light.”
Wait what? Were they going to execute him for something an ancestor of his had done? Seriously?! “Sir? What details would this be?” he asked, trying to avoid letting any panic creep into his voice. Naval officers were supposed to be paragons of martial virtue. He was expected to act dignified. No matter how much he would have preferred to turn tail and flee that room at that moment. He probably could too. Run straight out into the street and vanish amongst the crowds. Not that it would last. If the Inquisition was after him, he was as good as dead.
“What do you know of House Vekara?” asked the Admiral, peering down at him as if judging his very soul.
“I have not encountered the name sir,” Doge replied, honestly. He had little mind for the politics of noble houses. There were enough issues on board a ship to deal with regarding clans and dynasties that one got quite their fill of such drama before going anywhere near port.
“Unsurprising, given that they've been on the fringes of space for over a century,” the Admiral continued with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if Doge's ignorance were commonplace. “But that left us with a bit of an issue, one the Inquisition believe you are in a position to fix.” And with that he looked down at the scroll laid out on his lectern, reading it in a tone of voice that made it abundantly clear that he cared not one whit for the way this whole series of events had turned out. “Lieutenant Commander Edmund Doge. Under the authority of Inquisitor Zacharias Farragut, and in recognition of your glorious service in the name of Him on Terra in the face of the Great Enemy, you have been found to be pure of heart and soul, and worthy of the rank of Rogue Trader. A Warrant of Trade shall be granted onto you, with all associated holdings and resources, to carry out the Emperor's Will in the dark beyond the Astronomican,” the man read, making the sign of the aquila across his chest, “and any realms beyond. May He guide your steps as you journey out in His name to recover that which has been lost.”
Doge stood there, blankly staring at the Admiral as silence settled on the hall, only one thought continually running through his head. What.
Eamon Tengeri - Void Master
Eamon Tengeri is the voidborn son of a pair of unmarried Calixis Aeronautica officers, the child was surrendered to the fleet chaplain at birth and reared at a Schola Progenium as per fleet regulations. Due to an obstinate rational streak he was deemed unsuitable for ecclesiastic service and was instead commissioned as a junior naval commissar upon attaining his majority. The beginning of his term of Imperial service was exemplary, with several commendations for wounds, tactical ingenuity, and valor under fire.
Eamon's parentage was of no aid to him in advancing his career, as fleet records indicate that both his progenitors had died a few years after his birth along with their ship, the grand cruiser Terra Invictus. Without the interest or patronage needed to secure easy promotion, the young commissar turned to dueling, gambling and fleet politics during his idle watches, and became quite adept at all three. A few years of leveraging wardroom and cardtable acquaintances landed him a plum posting as ship's commissar of the newly minted Lunar-class Pride of Scintilla, captained by a lineal antecedent of the current Calixian Lord Sector Marius Hax.
A swashbuckling decade and a half of prize-taking, patrol routes, and planetary invasions ensued, coming to a horrid end when the Pride of Scintilla was seconded to Commodore Brokk's squadron in the enconter that became known to fleet historians as the First Siege of Vaxanide. Brokk, egged on by a zealous void-bishop, elected to push his unescorted pair of cruisers deep into an ork held system. When subsequent orkoid counterattacks caused heavy damage to the Pride, Tengeri traveled to Brokk's flagship Chariot of Wrath at his captain's request to make the case for a tactical withdrawal in light of his own vessel's battle damage. He was overruled in the subsequent council of war, and was traveling back to his own ship via Aquila lander when the xenos vessel Slicer rammed the Pride of Scintilla off her orbit and into Vaxanide's atmospheric interface, resulting in her loss with all hands.
Though exonerated at the subsequent tribunal and inquest, Tengeri was gravely embittered by the incident, and requested his discharge from the commissariat, which he was granted. After leaving Munitorum service, he traveled to the Vagrant Spectrum as a private pilgrim with a Chartist trade expedition, when his ship, the Mendicant Wanderer was beset by a traitor squadron flying the colors of the breakaway Vekaran Vectorate. The vessel burning around him, Tengeri jumped into an empty saviour pod, commended his soul to the care of Saint Drusus and yanked the lever. Over a hundred and fifty years later, the pod's homing beacon was finally picked up by the Scout-Sloop Blackskiff of the Ordo Hereticus, and its occupant was decanted, thoroughly interrogated, and brought to the Cerulean Cluster to be exploited for the purposes of Imperial propaganda. As one of the few living survivors and witnesses of House Vekara's treason and apostasy, the ex-commissar has a vested interest in the disposition of the Vekara warrant, though no immediate claim to it himself.
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