I spend twenty minutes searching the thunderhawk for a screwdriver and two minutes rewiring the switch Mr Cygnus wanted fixed. By the time I’m done, Sergeant Odhran has been treated.

I approach the marine, trying to keep my nervousness hidden. Even though he’s injured, I would stand no chance against him, unless I can surprise him like I did the chaos marine I killed with my pipe, and for all I know, he could be just as nutty. These guys travel from battle to battle and think hypnosis is an acceptable form of therapy.

“Hello, Sergeant Odharn. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Odhran squints at me, “Ah.” He coughs and frowns.

“Hold a moment, I’ll get you some water.” I pull off my pack and rummage about for a bottle, undo the cap, and hand it to him. “The medical station should have rehydrated you, but I suppose that doesn’t clear 80 years of dust from your throat.”

He reaches out, notices the missing arm, grunts, and takes the water with his left hand instead.

“Try to take small sips if you can. I’m going to tell you what I know about your situation while you recover. Make a fuss if you want me to stop.”

Odhran sips his water and raises an eyebrow at me.

“Right. You successfully defended the warpdrive during the initial manifestation when the gellar field was damaged. Your armour and implants placed you in hibernation after you suffered severe injuries and you were left for dead. Your fellow marines were slain during a four month boarder repelling action, along with 99% of the crew.”

I stop for a moment. Odhran sighs then nods at me.

“The remaining crew tried to free the Distant Sun from the space hulk it collided with and failed when they were set upon by multiple xenos forces over two years of further battles. The survivors fractured and fought among themselves, leaving a dozen survivors who eventually died of old age.

“We are still on the Distant Sun and it is still attached to the space hulk. Power to the hulk has failed and it will soon be lost to the warp, setting us free. Meanwhile, tyranids, orks, and cultists are trying to cut into the ship to get to us while also readying their own vessels to depart. Also, the weather is stormy and there is a chance of Eldar.

“As for me, I am Magos Aldrich Isengrund. I also had the misfortune to end up on this space hulk. I discovered the Distant Sun, fought through the orks and tyranids, stole some ork shuttles and boarded the Distant Sun. Which, now that I think about it, is probably why they’re trying to break in. I did kill an awful lot of them.”

Odhran gives me a thin smile.

“Right. Any questions?”

Odhran hums, takes another sip, then nods, “A few, Magos. Where are my arms and armour? How long do we have until the xenos breach the hull? How long until we are set free from the hulk.”

“Your armour and boltgun are in the thunderhawk armoury, about ten metres to your left. Your armour is damaged, you will have to patch it as best you can, or locate a spare. We should be free in ten, maybe eleven days. As for breaching, you can ask the Distant Sun’s machine spirit. It is sitting at the end of your bed, afterall.”

“It is? I’m afraid I cannot see such things, even with my armour. You are blessed, Magos.” Odhran relaxes a little.

Ah, so it’s not a hologram! Those steampunk animals must be an internal visual projection through my machine integration implant. Doesn’t the imperium have something similar? I consult Aruna’s data list and find it, a mind impulse unit. That helps clarify Aruna’s comment about my implants during our first conversation and why it could walk through the stasis fields.

“Aruna, please could you answer Sergeant Odhran’s question?”

Aruna sniffs at me, curls up, and pretends to sleep.

“Apologies, Sergeant. Aruna has no answers for us at this time. Probably because it doesn’t matter, we’ll be fortifying like crazy anyway. Would you like some food? You must have something stocked in here.”

“There is an amino-porridge dispenser in a small galley behind the cockpit.”

“I’ll be right back.”

I pop up the ladder near the front of the thunderhawk. The cockpit sits just above and behind the front ramp. The dispenser reminds me of a miniature N.O.M. from the federation cafeteria. I follow the onscreen instructions, procure food, and return to Odhran.

“Here.” I pass him the bowl. “I couldn’t see any spoons.”

Odhran tips the bowl back, gulping the porridge, “We’ve never had any.”

“Well, it is more efficient without one.”

Odhran snorts, “That’s what Brother Tadhg, our tech marine said.” He frowns, and tosses the empty bowl onto the side table. The bowl is pristine. It must have a hydrophobic coating or similar.

“Thanks for the food.”

“You're welcome. I’ll look for something better when we’re not so pressed for time.”

“I will see to my gear now, Magos.”

I shake my head, “Rest one more hour if you can. Let the drugs flush from your system and give your body a chance to replenish all your lost blood. Much less chance of you messing up a repair and a bad repair might get you killed.”

“Very well, Magos. If you insist. Perhaps the chapel? I would like to pray.”

“Sure. I’ll wheel you there myself.”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

“I am not that debilitated.”

“You have a missing arm and there was a gaping hole in your chest twenty minutes ago. Move too much and you will literally come apart at the seams. The medical station does good stitches, but just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not there.”

“Fine. Wheel away, Magos.”

I start pushing the gurney from the thunderhawk, “I don’t hate your enthusiasm. We’ll be needing every gram of it soon enough.”

With a massive bang, something collides with the hangar door.

“You know Sergeant Odhran, by my age, I really should know better than to tempt fate.

Odhran has a positively feral grin on his face. He laughs, then winces, “Take me to the armoury. Battle awaits!”

Well, at least he is happy. I drag the gurney back to the armoury.

“Aruna. What is assaulting the hangar door?”

Aruna opens a single eye and sniffs, “Orks. They launched boarding torpedoes from their Rok. I shot them all down.”

“Ah, so when you say orks, you mean orks, not their machines, and by assault, you mean they’re bouncing off the hangar door.”

Odhran chuckles as he listens to my half of the conversation.

“Yes, however they do have crude void suits and ninety-one survivors. Two of them have plasma deffguns. There is an observation station in a small recess on the far right of the hangar door. Even with field bracing active, they will be able to burn through its armourglass view port.”

“What automated defences do we have that can target them now or within the hangar?”

“No functional guns, and the shuttles are out of ammo.”

“What about the thunderhawk?”

“You will have to ask it. The thunderhawk belongs to the adeptus astartes, not the mechanicus.”

“Permission restrictions again?”

“Yes.”

“Mr Cygnus?”

Odhran gives me a confused look, then his eyes widen. “More machine spirits?”

“Yes. I’m going to ask the thunderhawk if it can help us.”

“Remarkable. I didn’t know it had a name, we always called it by the name of the vehicle.”

I wince. “It’s not a fan, the name is one I gave it to facilitate communications.”

“Honk.”

“And it’s standing on the ramp, cleaning its wings with its beak.”

“What manner of creature is it?”

“A black swan with silver stars embedded on its feathers, as if it were an avatar of the night sky on a garden world.”

“Honk.”

“Suitable grandeur for a heroic machine.”

Mr Cygnus flares its wings and struts back and forth across the ramp.

“It is pleased by your praise.”

“Hiss.”

“It is forbidden from firing any weapons in the hangar. Nor will it fire anything at all until it receives some maintenance. I think it is annoyed because of its neglect.”

“That sounds bad.”

“Hm, we will be facing ninety-one orks, some with heavy weaponry, without any support of our own. Do you have something suitable we could cover their likely breach point with?”

“There should be a heavy bolter and one hundred thousand rounds in store. I will have to check.”

I point to a small door by the hangar, “They should be coming from there. You’re the expert, so decide how you want to cover it and defend yourself. I’ll get one of the shuttles ready, and ram it into them when they start to overwhelm us, that should give us enough time for a fighting retreat.”

“Acceptable. I have a few ideas on how to make things difficult for them. I will need the servitors.”

“Do what you must. It’s not like we get to reload our save file if they kill us.”

“What an absurd idea.”

I chuckle, “I suppose it is. Shout if you need me, and try to get your armour sealed if you can. We might end up in a vacuum.”

“You’re green, Magos. Stop fretting and get to work.”

“Compared with you? I suppose I am.”

I ready the shuttle and weld the observation room door open just enough for one ork to squeeze through at a time. Then I position a second shuttle so that the plasma exhaust will wash over the doorway when the engines fire.

“Time ‘till xeno breach, Aruna?”

Odhran stops down the ramp, laden with guns and ammo, “There are deployable barricades in the thunderhawk. Fetch them.”

“OK.”

As I enter the thunder hawk, the two servitors pass me, holding plasteel crates. Behind me, there is a bright flash from the welded door.

Aruna appears before me, hovering, its ass in front of my face. “The orks are firing. With their current weapons they will run out of air before they can breach the ship.”

“That’s a relief.”

I gather the barricades. They look like wide, rectangular riot shields, two metres high, with wheels on the bottom, which is great, because I can barely lift one of them and there are six. I move four of them before Aruna speaks again.

“They’ve launched fighters and bombers and are trying to aim their main guns at us, but those cannot target us through the station.”

“Can their strike craft breach the hangar?”

“They can. It depends how many get through the point defences.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

A klaxon sounds and a deep grinding voice vibrates through the hangar, “Alert... Distant Sun is under threat... Combat protocols engaged... Warning... No officers found... Searching for the most senior crew... Error... No crew located... Searching vessel for substitute... Substitute located... Assigning guest Magos Aldrich Isengrund as temporary captain... The Omnisiah knows all and sees all... Do not disappoint him.”

I gape “Why couldn’t you do that before?”

“The Distant Sun was not under threat. Only you and Sergeant Odhran could be harmed by the boarding parties. The strike craft are a legitimate threat, granting Aruna more autonomy. Your authority will last as long as the strike craft do. Speed is your friend, Magos.”

“Fuck, the command codes!”

I sprint to Sergeant Odhran and tell him about the strike craft, what I need to do, and why.

“As there is a danger of a major breach, I will set up further back and hold them off.” He approaches me and cuts my armour from me. “I do not want to be stuck floating in space once they are dead because you were too slow. Now move, Magos!”

I run.

Aruna keeps pace beside me, occasionally leaping and swatting a holographic mechanical butterfly from the air, ones that look like an ork built it.

As I run to the chapel, the ship repeatedly shakes from heavy strikes. Fifteen minutes later I arrive at the auto-temple.

“Hangar breached... Hangar sealed... Ork strike craft group at 12% and retreating.”

I dive down the steps to the tiny chapel, disable the stasis field with a cry to E-SIM, and try to drag Explorator Epoloch299 from the plasteel bier. I groan.

He’s too heavy.