Game 6 - Black Shuttle Down
Continuing our Inquisitor story. The characters have escaped the orbital platform and arrived on the planet below, but not in the way they intended.
Inquisitor Vaelor decelerated rapidly before touching down in some scrubland. By the look of it he was a few miles outside the capital, judging by the light haze illuminating the thick clouds of smoke in the night sky over a rise to the – he checked his global locator – north-east.
He removed the grav-chute harness and discarded the pack into an overgrown ditch. He checked his equipment – gas mask, data-slate, auspex, grenade pouches, and lastly his chainsword and pistol holster. He drew out his pistol; there hadn’t been the luxury of time as he made his escape from the shuttle, but he was relieved to see it was still more than half-loaded after his encounter with the strange man and security warden on the orbital. The rest of his ammunition clips were secured to his belt. Content that nothing was missing, he made his way towards the glow of the city.
He was confident that the two mysterious strangers would be dealt with now. The other captive – the mysterious man he had encountered on the orbital relay platform – was still out cold when Vaelor had awoken. He was skilled in the art of escape, and was certain the pilot – the gold armoured woman who had taken them hostage – had not detected his movements as he located his equipment in a stowage crate, next to the grav-chute locker. His sabotage of the shuttle’s engines should ensure these strangers would not be a further problem. However, confidence wasn’t certainty, and he made a mental note to confirm the deaths of the other occupants once the inevitable reports of the crash came in.
Cresting the rise, he could see the full majestic display of the capital laid before him. The lights of its roadways, the fires of industry, and he supposed, the fires of rebellion, illuminated the entire area before him. Only the darkness surrounding it and the far off twinkling of the spaceport indicated the vast metropolis did not cover the whole horizon before him.
Checking his auspex, Vaelor made his way down the other side of the ridge, and into the night.
Checking his auspex, Vaelor made his way down the other side of the ridge, and into the night.
Warning lights flashed frantically across the control console, and klaxons screamed their alarm throughout the cockpit. Inquisitor Dinara Jacobs cursed in frustration as she desperately attempted to wrest control of her stricken craft. Glancing out of the side view port of her cockpit she could see plumes of oily black smoke roaring from the starboard engine. It was hopeless.
Resigning herself to the inevitability of the shuttle’s crash, she checked her seat harness was secure, and grabbed for her power-stave and pistol. Securing the stave to the side of the seat, and strapping her pistol into her gun-belt, she made one last check of her harness before pulling sharply at the ejector release lever. A massive acceleration upwards was followed by a moment of freefall before the chute deployed, and she was gently drifting towards the earth.
Resigning herself to the inevitability of the shuttle’s crash, she checked her seat harness was secure, and grabbed for her power-stave and pistol. Securing the stave to the side of the seat, and strapping her pistol into her gun-belt, she made one last check of her harness before pulling sharply at the ejector release lever. A massive acceleration upwards was followed by a moment of freefall before the chute deployed, and she was gently drifting towards the earth.
The blazing shuttle screamed away from her, on an uncontrolled, spinning descent towards the ground. Jacobs sighed – she had wanted to question her prisoners to try and gain more intelligence. Instead they were doomed to a fiery death. Never mind, she thought to herself. At least the loose ends are tied up. As she turned on the air, she could see the vast expanse of smoke and light that was the capital city.
She landed heavily, though the seat’s suspensor-compensators saved her from the worst of the impact. Seconds later the chute landed over her. Freeing herself from the harness and throwing off the heavy chute, she reached for the power-stave, and using it to support her steps, made her way in the direction of the city.
She landed heavily, though the seat’s suspensor-compensators saved her from the worst of the impact. Seconds later the chute landed over her. Freeing herself from the harness and throwing off the heavy chute, she reached for the power-stave, and using it to support her steps, made her way in the direction of the city.
Inquisitor Aldous Dunhelm woke up. All around him was a scene of devastation. Pulling himself up onto his elbows, he gasped as a bolt of pain lanced through his leg. In his chest he felt the grinding of what could only be broken ribs. Pulling himself up to his feet, using a metal strut as a support, he used some of his psychic will to suppress the pain and kick-start the healing of his damaged body. Damaged, but not broken. Looking around him Dunhelm was surprised at this.
All about him the wreckage of a shuttle was strewn, parts of it bent or torn out of all recognition. Other parts of it were still on fire after the crash. The firelight added to the twilight of dawn to cast weak shadows around the wreckage – the light reduced to very little by the smoke all around. It could only have been a crash – nothing else could have caused such a mess. Well, except maybe a missile strike or on-board fire, mused Dunhelm, judging by the holes torn in some parts of the wreckage, and the black scorch marks covering nearly all of the scattered pieces.
It appeared he had been on board this shuttle when it crashed. Memories started to filter into his consciousness – a prone inquisitor, a gold-armoured woman, an uneasy alliance, a pursuit and then… nothing. Except – an orbital platform. That is where he had been…
It appeared he had been on board this shuttle when it crashed. Memories started to filter into his consciousness – a prone inquisitor, a gold-armoured woman, an uneasy alliance, a pursuit and then… nothing. Except – an orbital platform. That is where he had been…
Suddenly full wakefulness hit him, and it all came rushing back. His schemes, his meeting on board the platform, the intrusive Inquisitor, the gold-armoured woman psyker, and – treachery. He had been used. Manipulated and betrayed. The thought made anger rise inside him, followed by frustration at his predicament. He surmised that the gold woman must have taken him on board this shuttle and on the way back to the planet something had caused it to crash. What had become of the woman, or the other inquisitor?
He paused, straining to detect any presence but his own in the crash sight. He could barely see more than a dozen yards in any direction such was the thickness of the drifting smoke. And then, he suddenly realised he was unarmed, and remains of restraints hung from his wrists and ankles. He had been a prisoner! Him! The rage rose up again at the ignominy of it. He resolved to investigate the site and discover what had become of his captor. And also find what he could of his equipment should it still be recoverable. Choosing a direction at random he slowly walked into the smoke.
He paused, straining to detect any presence but his own in the crash sight. He could barely see more than a dozen yards in any direction such was the thickness of the drifting smoke. And then, he suddenly realised he was unarmed, and remains of restraints hung from his wrists and ankles. He had been a prisoner! Him! The rage rose up again at the ignominy of it. He resolved to investigate the site and discover what had become of his captor. And also find what he could of his equipment should it still be recoverable. Choosing a direction at random he slowly walked into the smoke.
Inquisitorial Enforcer First Class Anetta Brakkus stalked towards the smoke filled crater, weapons drawn and constantly watchful for movement in the gloom. Her cyber-mastiff loped alongside her, servos whirring quietly as it kept pace with her. Her inquisitorial mistress had sent her here, to ascertain the fate of the occupants, and recover any of her mistress’s effects that were still salvageable. Anetta knew her mistress would have suppressed reports of the crash, and delayed the Arbites’ response teams to ensure she was the first to get to the crash site, but she was still aware she had to be relatively swift in completing her mission. Reaching the edge of the crater, she could still sense no movement from within. Pushing a pair of filter-plugs into her nostrils, she continued into the smoke.
Dunhelm was pleased with his progress; he had meandered through the crash site for a short while, and had managed to recover most of his equipment. Casting an eye about for the glint of light from partly-buried items, or the tell-tale flash of colour from a stowage crate, he moved about the site, searching. He had so-far uncovered not just his own weapons and equipment, handily stashed together within the same crate, but also amongst various mundane items and workers’ clothes he had retrieved several other items of note – a signet ring bearing an inquisitorial seal, some parchments covered in strange diagrams, and an inquisitorial robe. This last item he had decided was too bulky to carry, so he simply noted its design, and burned it in the flames of a burning piece of debris. Once the still-glimmering ashes had blown away on the wind, he had moved on. Perhaps his greatest find was still clutched tightly in his hand. An encrypted data-slate. When he had first discovered it he had attempted for several minutes to un-encrypt it, but had not come even close. Whoever had owned this slate had not wanted its secrets to be spilled. Dunhelm took this as a good sign. Eventually he would find a way to crack it, and then who knows what secrets it held within? Judging by the finds he had already made it seemed certain this data-slate belonged to another inquisitor. But who? He had encountered two others so far on the orbital, and who knew if they had masters, allies, or cells of other inquisitorial agents operating on this world?
He was just picking his way around the wreckage of a coolant tank when he stopped suddenly. He had seen movement. He was sure of it. A brief flash of yellow and a glint of metal. Slowly, quietly, he stashed the slate within his greatcoat, drew his shotgun, and took a step forward.
Suddenly from out of the smoke bounded a dark metal construct, its plates edged with stripes of hazard-warning yellow. In that instant Dunhelm caught sight of two glowering red eyes, and then it was upon him. It leapt up to impact heavily into his chest before he had even swung his shotgun around, sending him sprawling. As he went to stand machine-strong jaws clamped around his leg and he cried out in pain as the cyber-mastiff’s razor-sharp teeth dug deep into the flesh and bone of his leg. He lashed out at it with his shotgun, battering it over the top of its head, and dislodging it from him. Rolling back to his feet, he fired off two shots at close range, woefully inaccurately in his haste, while retreating backwards from the hunter-construct. The mastiff came at him again, but he was better prepared and smashed it to the side with the butt of his shotgun. The mastiff landed upside down amongst the ruins of broken seats, and let out a strange mechanical howl as it struggled to right itself and escape from the wreckage.
Suddenly from out of the smoke bounded a dark metal construct, its plates edged with stripes of hazard-warning yellow. In that instant Dunhelm caught sight of two glowering red eyes, and then it was upon him. It leapt up to impact heavily into his chest before he had even swung his shotgun around, sending him sprawling. As he went to stand machine-strong jaws clamped around his leg and he cried out in pain as the cyber-mastiff’s razor-sharp teeth dug deep into the flesh and bone of his leg. He lashed out at it with his shotgun, battering it over the top of its head, and dislodging it from him. Rolling back to his feet, he fired off two shots at close range, woefully inaccurately in his haste, while retreating backwards from the hunter-construct. The mastiff came at him again, but he was better prepared and smashed it to the side with the butt of his shotgun. The mastiff landed upside down amongst the ruins of broken seats, and let out a strange mechanical howl as it struggled to right itself and escape from the wreckage.
Seeing his chance, Dunhelm turned and ran into the smoke. He hadn’t gone ten yards before out of the smoke came a yellow-clad figure, charging towards him from out of the smoke-cover.
Anetta had collected several key items she was sure her mistress would be interested in recovering, but was sure there were yet more important artefacts to be retrieved. Furthermore, there had so far been no sign of the occupants of the shuttle. This did not sit easy with Anetta, and she pressed on, determined to discover evidence of their demise and destroy any traces of their inquisitorial allegiances, lest their discovery lead to too many awkward questions being asked. Anetta knew her mistress did not like unwelcome eyes peering into her business.
Suddenly, she caught sight of a figure: a man in a greatcoat stepping through the wreckage. As she watched he went to turn away, but suddenly stopped. He appeared to be peering into the smoke – Anetta wondered if she had been spotted. She retreated into the smoke a little, and ducked down behind a broken section of wing that had imbedded in the ground. She could still make out the figure through the smoke, but only just.
“Archimedes, fetch!” she muttered, pointing with her shock maul towards the figure who was now slowly drawing a shotgun. The gesture was unnecessary, the cyber-mastiff being linked to her through an MIU transmitter. It knew what its target was as soon as the command was issued, and its eyes lit up like red stars. The cyber-mastiff bounded off through the smoke after its prey. The dog-like construct was designed for search and pursuit, and was much faster than a human. It would reach the man in the smoke in seconds. Anetta ran after it.
“Archimedes, fetch!” she muttered, pointing with her shock maul towards the figure who was now slowly drawing a shotgun. The gesture was unnecessary, the cyber-mastiff being linked to her through an MIU transmitter. It knew what its target was as soon as the command was issued, and its eyes lit up like red stars. The cyber-mastiff bounded off through the smoke after its prey. The dog-like construct was designed for search and pursuit, and was much faster than a human. It would reach the man in the smoke in seconds. Anetta ran after it.
The woman shrieked as she swung a shock maul towards him. Dunhelm ducked aside and took several quick steps backwards. Dropping his shotgun he drew his long power falchion and it hummed to life, tiny sparks of lightning danced around its blade as it activated. The woman came at him again and he stepped to the side, swinging his blade two-handed in a horizontal swing. The woman, some kind of enforcer judging by her uniform, reacted quickly and blocked the blow with her shield – a large rectangle of black and yellow chevrons. There was a shower of blue and purple sparks as the energy field surrounding the shield met that of the energised blade. Though the shield held fast, the blow staggered the woman and Dunhelm followed up with another swing, this time around and down from overhead. The woman rolled backwards to avoid the strike, and pulled herself back to her feet, raising her shock maul to strike. Dunhelm blocked the blow and lashed out with one hand the punch the woman in the faceplate of her helmet with his armoured gauntlet. Again, she staggered backwards, loosing her footing and tumbling onto her back. Dunhelm stepped forward, sword raised to take advantage of the opening he had created.
Suddenly his leg was snared, and pain once again flared from the already damaged tissue. His strike arrested, he twisted his body to see the cyber-mastiff, jaws clamped around his leg. He cried out and lashed out one-handed with the falchion. The mastiff leapt back out of the way of the scything blade. Dunhelm turned and went to thrust again with his long blade, but his damaged leg went out from under him, and he stumbled, reaching out his free hand to the ground to steady himself and prevent himself falling completely.
The woman was there again, and she swung with her maul. Dunhelm desperately blocked the attack with his sword as he drew himself up on his good leg to fight. The shock maul came again but he was too slow this time and it connected fully with his breastplate. The armour took the brunt of the hit, the tendrils of electric force dissipating over the armour plate. It knocked the wind from his lungs, but Dunhelm refused to go down. Over the shoulder of the woman he saw the cyber-mastiff approaching once more, but this time he was ready. The woman stepped forwards once more, but Dunhelm ducked her swing and smashed the hilt of his sword, two-handed, into her faceplate. This time the visor cracked and the woman fell backwards, a spray of blood from her broken helmet arching behind her. The cyber-mastiff leapt, and Dunhelm sidestepped. Using every ounce of his will to remain upright on his ruined leg, he brought the power-falchion down onto the mastiff as it tried to turn in the air to face him. The blade impacted at the construct’s neck, between the armour plates of its head and back. The array of cabling and struts parted in a cloud of sparks and screeching of tortured metal. The mastiff’s head bounced off an empty stowage crate and came to rest, its eyes now dark, next to where its limp metal body had rolled and lay still in the dirt.
Turning back, he saw that the woman was struggling to pull herself back to her feet. He strode forwards, again willing his leg not to fail, and wrenched her shield from her grip. As it left her hand, the energy field guttered and died, but it was still a formidable piece of equipment without it. Dunhelm smashed the three-inch thick plate over her head. She fell again, and remained still. With a spit of disgust, Dunhelm threw the shield down next to the prone form of the enforcer. He took the time to study the yellow combat-uniform she wore. There were many branches of enforcers across the Imperium. They shared similarities in equipment and dress, but were still distinguishable by their colours, badges and ident tags. This enforcer was not from this world. Dunhelm resolved to discover where she had come from. Why did she work alone? And whom did she serve? Even as the questions emerged in his mind, he suspected he might already know the answers.
He sneered and limped away.
He sneered and limped away.
Anetta Brakkus sat on the ash-covered ground with her back against a fire-scorched piece of metal that might once have been a tail plane. It had been three hours since she had been knocked out, according to the chronometer on her belt. Her helmet rested on the ground beside her, its cracked visor reflecting the light of the sun as it crept to its zenith in the sky. The few wisps of smoke that remained hanging over smouldering debris no longer obscured its glare, and the full scene of devastation was all too visible.
At her feet lay the metal body of Archimedes, her cyber-mastiff, and in her hands she held its head, looking into its un-illuminated eyes. She felt a wave of regret about its demise, but quickly suppressed it. This was not a lost friend or warrior companion, it was a machine, a tool, nothing more. With that thought she turned the head in her hands to inspect its sheared neck joints. Torn cables and severed struts presented themselves. Anetta nodded, this was repairable. Her mistress had contacts that could fix this as good as new. Better even. Sure, she could have a new one, and she was sure the tech adepts given the task would query her request to repair this older model instead of acquire one of the latest versions, but she had owned this same cyber-mastiff for over ten years now. Yes, it was a machine, a tool, but maybe it was something more. At least, to Anetta it seemed that way. Some things mattered. Like loyalty.
And duty.
And duty.
The wailing of sirens tore her from her reverie, and climbing to the top of the crater’s edge, she could see the approaching red and blue lights of the vehicles of an Adeptus Arbites response team, unable to be stalled any further.
It was time for her to leave. Jumping back down the shallow edge of the crash site, she gathered up her equipment, slipping her de-activated maul into its sling and mounting the shield on her back with its heavy leather strap across her chest. She slung the bag containing the items she had collected from the wreckage loosely over one shoulder and then checked the fastening on her gun holsters – the shotgun on her back and the tiny silver pistol on her hip, that was empty having expended its one, unusual shot. She considered her decision not to use the shotgun. Perhaps it had been a mistake. One that left her injured, and the man escaped. She had wanted to capture the man alive and take him to her mistress for questioning. But perhaps she had instead given her something even better.
It was time for her to leave. Jumping back down the shallow edge of the crash site, she gathered up her equipment, slipping her de-activated maul into its sling and mounting the shield on her back with its heavy leather strap across her chest. She slung the bag containing the items she had collected from the wreckage loosely over one shoulder and then checked the fastening on her gun holsters – the shotgun on her back and the tiny silver pistol on her hip, that was empty having expended its one, unusual shot. She considered her decision not to use the shotgun. Perhaps it had been a mistake. One that left her injured, and the man escaped. She had wanted to capture the man alive and take him to her mistress for questioning. But perhaps she had instead given her something even better.
Smiling to herself, she picked up the damaged cyber-mastiff and, cradling it in her arms, walked away.
Aldous Dunhelm walked, painfully, along the roadways and back-alleys of the capital. Never revealing his face and, as always, taking a different route than that of every previous time, he made his way towards his covert rendezvous. In the material on the back of his greatcoat, so small as to be nearly invisible to the naked eye, the tracer chip emitted its silent signals.