‘May the Ancestors forgive me,’ Voidmaster Khar Drindal muttered as he watched his ship burn silently in the cold vacuum of space.
The Dhalaz Marka’s kilometre-long prow was a colossal drill head, capable of cracking apart asteroids and boring directly into moons. Its armoured hull was thick enough to withstand direct impact with solar bodies. Nevertheless, it had appeared to be meagre protection against the reavers. Plasma and oxygen bled from deep gashes as fresh explosions rolled along the ship’s starboard flank.
‘Did you say something, squat?’ asked Vitor Igovorski, proud heir of the Igovorski rogue trader dynasty and captain of the Frateris Aeternia, from atop his command throne. The human’s disdain was as malodorous and dangerous as a sulphur pocket in the deep mines.
‘I said we thank you for your assistance, Captain,’ Khar Drindal replied, his red-dyed beard bristling at the insult of grovelling before this pompous idiot.
‘Your gratitude is accepted, Squat,’ the Captain graciously answered, eyes glinting with barely restrained greed, ‘And your offering.’
‘You mean your price.’
Beyond the viewing port, the Frateris Aeternia lit up the void, macrocannon shells chasing the reavers from the crippled and abandoned Dhalaz Marka. Like dark blades plunging into flesh, the reaver ships dived into the mining vessel’s shadow.
‘Call it what you wish, squat. Nevertheless, I assume this is a small expenditure for the salvation of you and your squat mates.’
Khar Drindal fought the urge to retort in kind to the barrage of insults. Running his hands along the two sides of his tall mohawk, the Voidmaster’s words escaped his lips like a pneumatic hiss.
‘Aye, Captain.’
Feet stomped the deck. Fists beat plastrons. Bearded mouths opened.
‘Voidmaster!’ the Kin shouted, standing to attention when their leader stepped from the cargo elevator. Around the Dhalaz Marka’s diminished crew, the loading dock was a bustling chaos as servitors hauled containers, tech-priests chanted binharic commands, and human guards stood around, smoking foul incense sticks. They looked momentarily alarmed by the commotion, but their interest swiftly faded.
‘Status report,’ Khar Drindal commanded in Cthonian as he stopped by his senior miners.
‘All crew’s accounted for, Voidmaster,’ Overseer Boril reported, then glanced at Arch-Loader Grodan.
‘Cargo hand-off complete. The humans are eager to get them in their holds,’ Arch-Loader Grodan said, the start of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
‘Still your lips,’ Voidmaster Khar Drindal warned, his mohawk quaking in restrained anger. ‘They must suspect nothing.’
‘The Iron-kin are secure, Voidmaster,’ Iron Engineer Rothekra said after a moment. ‘They will be ready to settle the Ancient Score when the time comes.’
‘The Dhalaz Marka is as we left it,’ Helms-Kin Maelthar finished. ‘She looks worse than she is, as you intended, Voidmaster.’
Khar Drindal harrumphed in satisfaction. Looking above the dyed mohawks of his senior crew, he checked if their talk in Cthonian had raised any heads.
The humans remained unawares.
‘Gather the Scream Jewels and prepare them for the portal’s assembly. We can’t have our friends waiting too long.’
Captain Igovorski tapped at the haptic keys of his cogitator and emerald numbers cascaded down his command throne’s vidscreen. Weighing the expenses of the unleashed macrocannon shells against the expected income from the cargo he had taken from the squats in exchange for his assistance brought a smile to his thick lips.
His monetary tranquillity was shattered by blaring alarms and panicked reports rapidly flooding in from across the Frateris Aeternia. The Captain hadn’t experienced such a sudden and all-encompassing pandemonium in his almost two-hundred-year-long career.
‘Enginarium requesting immediate armed assistance!’
‘Lost contact with the gunnery decks!’
‘Reaver ships have re-emerged from behind the mining vessel!’
‘Trajectory analysis puts them on a direct heading with the Frateris Aeternia!’
‘Xenos encountered en route to Warp Drive Control Substation Epsilon-Rho-Five!’
‘What in the God-Emperor’s name is going on?’ Vitor Igovorski screamed, and all eyes turned to him. ‘And someone turn that damned alarm off, I can’t hear myself think!’
The alarm vox-horns cut off, but the emergency lumens continued to blink in silent distress. Vitor looked down at Karffan, a distant cousin and his second-in-command. Karffan was busy compiling the reports and didn’t notice the Captain’s attention until Vitor called his name.
‘Apologies, Captain,’ Karffan said, panic tightening his throat. ‘We are under attack from inside. Battle servitors of unknown origin are loose in the Enginarium and are currently hunting down our tech-priests. We also have reports of eldar reavers on board. The xenos have sabotaged our warp drives, preventing us from an emergency translation.’
‘Emperor’s balls,’ Vitor cursed, then picked up his vox horn and switched to shipwide transmission.
‘We are under attack! All crew to arms, protect the Frateris Aeternia! That includes our squat guests as well!’
As if summoned by his very words, the bridge’s armoured doors ground open. Clad in powered armour of typical squat design, Khar Drindal and his senior crew marched onto the bridge. To Vitor’s dismay, they were sporting energy weapons that he personally confiscated when the squats had come aboard the Frateris Aeternia.
Karffan instinctively stepped between them and the Captain.
‘We’re in lockdown. How dare you enter without the-’
Karffan couldn’t finish as his chest exploded, burnt viscera splattering across the Captain’s finest brocade pants. Vitor’s guards were blasted apart by bright orbs of energy as they raised their shot-cannons. Operators dived under their stations, huddling by the truncated bodies of the monotask servitors slaved to their terminals.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Captain Igovorski demanded in a trembling voice. His question was rewarded by a shot to the knee, and Vitor slumped back into his throne with a scream.
‘Mandragor system,’ Voidmaster Khar Drindal answered. ‘Remember it? Because we do. We don’t forget oathbreakers.’
‘That was my great-great-grandfather a millennia ago!’ Vitor sobbed, clutching his shattered knee.
‘We swore revenge,’ Khar Drindal continued, running a hand along his blood-red mohawk. ‘And our Drukhari friends will ensure that your suffering shall be equal to our wrath.’
