Rain struck the flakboard roof and slid down the sides of the prefabricated dwelling. It was an ugly square structure, huddled near the center of the armed camp, but it provided protection from shrapnel and most small arms fire. This far from the front neither was much of a danger.

Inside a single light burned. It was an ancient black iron lamp than ran on whatever fuel was available, in this case promethium. It was an ugly, ancient thing, dented and battered from centuries of use. It stood on a simple fold out table that was currently being used as a desk. A fold out cogitator in a black armoured case, glass of wine, and a chromed Helixal Armswerks Imperata-IX heavy pistol were also on the table.

Lord General Militant Gregor Mustarios put down the meal tray he had been eating from and stopped the reports scrolling down the screen in phosphorescent green letters. Mustarios was a tall, handsome man whom juvenat technologies had frozen in appearance at his late forties. He kept his black hair short and neat, along with his mustache. He had a fine aquiline nose that gave him the aspect of a hawk, which was a minor vanity that he maintained. His uniform was black and comparatively unadorned.

Mustarios touched a rune key and scrolled back. The report was vague. It could be nothing out or the ordinary or a sign of psychic activity. It was not the first sign either. The enemy typically were subtle in their use of witch craft influencing weather, luck, and morale in ways that were often unnoticed and devastating. He bent over to pick up the vox handset by his chair and send orders for Sanctioned personnel to investigate.

"Please take your hand away from the vox, Lord Militant," said a soft voice, very close behind him. Mustarios froze.

"My men-"

"-have been dealt with. They will recover in time. Please do not make any moves. My weapon is completely silent, but I have a message I must convey."

"Tarados."

"Let us say there are those that would prefer that he ascend to high office. Your service to the Imperium has been great, but it comes to an end."

"He's not even on his deathbed yet and your masters are already murdering to secure the succession."

"Morality is not my purview. Only duty. You should have taken the offer."

"Well, at least now I know who sent you."

"Then you know more than I. Only your death is required. Your family will not be harmed."

Mustarios's hand shot forward and grabbed the handle of his pistol. There was a sound like a soft cough and blood splattered the cogitator's keys. Mustarios's body slumped over the table and began to cool.

Hey Ive read this on another starship board already... You writing was quite good. This is probably a better board to get your fan fiction appreciated.

heh, cynical cat is a quite well known writer on the black library forums....so.... what better place for fan-fiction then there!

Nicely written btw,

Thanks for the kind words. 

The funeral procession consisted of nearly a thousand people, all wearing the white accented black that was the traditional funerary garments of House Mustarios. The gowns were cut in layers to resemble tatters or perhaps feathers, and swept passed the ankle to drag on the pavement. The mourners wore elaborate headdresses with black plumes or great helmet-like masks in the shape of the heads of dark birds. Exposed faces were painted with a white cosmetic mixed with ash. The lips and the skin around the eyes were painted jet black and ebon tears marked their cheeks.

Two hundred household armsmen walked in the procession, armed with ebon laspikes and garbed in ornate black plate. Cherubs and cyberskulls floated above the procession. The only splash of colour was the sarcophagus, ivory with gold scrollwork and inscriptions. It was fit for a conqueror or a king and it was almost worthy of Gregor Mustarios.

The procession winded beneath the spires of the ancient city, one that had been destroyed and rebuilt more times than almost anyone knew like all the great and old cities of Ancient Terra. A billion people watched from the sidewalks and the overpasses and the spire towers. Some threw origami birds into the air, inscribed with prayers of the swift passage of the great man's soul to the Emperor's side. Others held religious icons or banners and others simply watched respectfully as the mourners walked kilometer after kilometer.

The sun began to sink through the sky when the procession passed under a great overpass bridge from which dangled a two hundred foot banner of depicting crossed swords under a blue-white star, the symbol of the Mustarios. Ahead of lay a wall of buildings that clung to the edge of the cliff. Below was the dry basin of what had once been the mighty Pacific and was now yet more hives holding teaming humanity. Their destination beckoned.

It was a great white palace, flanked by two fire belching towers. Two sentinels, clad head to toe in flowing white and wearing blank face masks, guarded the great ebon doors. They bowed low to the approaching mourners. Inside The House of Final Repose lay the funerary-priests who would load the sarcophagus into the furnace and render all to ash and slag. Terra teemed with the living and although the Mustarios had the wealth to do so, they did not intern their dead. By ancient custom the gold that went into the sarcophagus would go to a fund that provided scholarships and apprenticeships for the poor. By equally ancient custom, The House of Final Repose would donate its customary fee to the same.

The black gates opened, revealing white-robed funerary priests. They took the sarcophagus from the hands of the mourners and retreated into The House of Final Repose. The black gates slammed shut.

Captain Harlock said:

Do you mean here ?

Where it looks word for word identical, but is several chapters further along and posted by someone with a different name.

 Very nice, please feed us some more?

Bilateralrope said:

I think its the same individual- different psedonym

We are the same people.  I use Cynical Cat as my name on most boards, but joined SD.net before I had adopted that name.  If you'll check my SD.net signature, there's a link to Librium Arcana, which isn't exactly a huge board, where there I also go by Cynical Cat and post my stories,  I do appreciate the vigilance on my behalf.

Maria Igalia Mustarios stood like a statue in her mirror walled dressing room as a pair of maid's removed the raven mask from her head and put it gently put it on a stand. Another maid removed her gloves and carefully put them in a box. Her cloak and elaborate gown were next, followed by her shoes. Soft clothes dabbed at her face, removing make up that had taken more than an hour to apply.

In the end she was nude, except for her underwear. "The uniform, informal," she said softly. Her maids slid open a mirrored door and brought out a suit of midnight blue fabric that shown like silk. Crimson shoulder boards and a moderate amount of gold braid and flashes adorned the uniform. Her maids produced gleaming black boots and a cosmetics kit and went swiftly and surely went to work.

A stern, yet beautiful woman stared back at her in the mirror. He short black hair was combed back and dark, piercing eyes looked out from a pale skinned face with perfect features. She seemed ageless and eternal, like a warrior angel sent by the Emperor to destroy his foes. Perfect.

She left her dressing room and passed through halls with rich wood paneling guarded by men in midnight black carapace armour with very functional matte black hellguns in their arms. Oak double doors swung inward at her approach and then closed behind her. The men and women gathered around the table rose and bowed to her. She had eyes only for one.

Throne, he was still so young. He was barely older than twenty and handsome, so much like his father. She wanted to hold him and shield him from the worst that the galaxy had to offer, but it was too late for that. He was a man now and heir to his father's house. She sat down at the head of the table and met her son's gaze before casting her eyes over the rest of the her retainers.

The venerable Janos Peteros raised his hand to the orb standing in the middle of the table and it glowed white. His bald head peeked out from beneath heavy fur robes. Rejuvenat technologies had kept Peteros alive for five hundred years, but he was slender and increasingly frail. He had, at most, a few decades left. His mind was still strong and his loyalty fierce and unshakable. "Full intrusion countermeasures have been invoked my lady. No one will be able to hear what occurs inside this room."

"Colonel," she said, "permission is denied." The mustachioed chief of her husband's life guards bowed stiffly. He was a proud man, clever and experienced and deadly with every weapon ranging from his bare hands to chain axes and missile launchers and she needed him. The request for permission to commit suicide was traditional among failed commanders of the life guard and a refusal was the most common answer. "We all know it was not heretics that killed my husband."

"The question," said her son, "is what do we do now?" All eyes turned to him. "We all know that the Inquisition had my father killed, but there is no proof that his killer was a Shrine Assassin."

"Indeed, young master," said Peteros. "In any event, this house cannot survive a war against the Inquisition. We do not even know which faction was responsible for ordering our lord's murder."

"Faction?" said Sybel Dawning. The young woman was dressed, as usual, in unrelieved black. Her olive coloured skin and dark hair helped her blend into shadow and almost vanish when she reclined in her chair.

"Oh yes," said Peteros. "The Inquisition goes through much trouble to provide the impression of a unified front, but internally they are riven into separate factions. Much like the rest of us."

"Opinions on our current options?" asked Maria Mustarios.

"It is clear," Janos Peteros began, "that factions within the Inquisition want to secure the election of Jerzy Ralsom's replacement to the High Lords of Terra. The failure of Ralsom's last two implant operations is well known. The man has at best a decade and a half to live and our lord, may he rest eternally by the Emperor's side, was one of the most promising candidates."

"When they failed to bribe our lord, they murdered him," said Colonel Dowell with disgust. "Because he was too successful at conquering in the name of our Emperor."

"Indeed," said Janos Peteros. "It was undoubtedly why they made the offer of a warrant first."

"Warrant?" asked Paul Mustarios. "What warrant?"

"A warrant of trade," said Janos Peteros. "A most generous grant of a ship and funding and a warrant for trading beyond the Segmentum Solar made by the High Lords of Terra. An offer, I might add, they have extended to you, supposedly in memory of your father's accomplishments."

"Our lord refused," said Dowell. "He thought he could do more good serving in the Imperial Guard. And they murdered him for it."

"How can we strike back?" asked Paul. "Our house is strong and has allies, but against the Inquisition that won't be sufficient. If we had a candidate for High Lords among our ranks we would be stronger, but we do not. Nor do we have the friends and allies that were personally loyal to my father. They won't risk fighting the Inquisition and the forces their pet candidate can bring to bear out of affection for a dead man."

Grim nods went around the table. "So," said Maria Igalia Mustarios, "we are outmatched. For now. What moves will avail us?"

"It is likely that they will let us retire from the field," said Peteros. "It would take great strength and it would cost them much good will to make war on House Mustarios. It would also require them to reveal far too much about who they are and possibly start an internal war in the Inquisition with rival factions. If we attempt to fight them, they will attempt to destroy us, in order to discourage other candidates."

"And they will likely succeed," said Maria.

"Even if they do not, the cost to this house will be very high," said Paul. "And if we bide our time, they are likely to place a pawn among the High Lords of Terra and become unassailable."

"For a time, yes," said Jonas Peteros.

"A lifetime," said Paul. "And the opportunities to strengthen themselves, unless they fall in disgrace, will be many. This is another reason why they do not want a war, they believe that they can place themselves beyond our reach."

"That is true," said Peteros."

"What are you thinking Paul?" asked his mother.

"If I accept this offer then my cousin Alexos becomes head of the Mustarios family. He is unlikely to pursue any feud."

"Paul, you can't be thinking-"

"Of accepting this warrant of trade. Yes, yes I am. I think it might be best if you were to leave Terra, perhaps return to House Igalia's holdings on Edos. See your father and your sisters again. A steward can maintain our Terran properties, at least until Alexos decides differently."

"Give up your heritage?" Maria asked. "Think Paul. The warrant is good only beyond the Segmentum Solar. You won't have power here."

"Our enemies will be watching if I try my hands at politics or military service," said Paul. "They'll either block my advances or kill me. Out there, out there in the void there is no limit to the amount of power and wealth I can obtain and I will be beyond their reach. Until I decide to return. On my terms."

"You could die out there Paul. Many do."

"I can die in this room. I can die day by day, watching and planning and doing nothing while my father's murderers increase their power and neuter this house. Or I can die doing something worthy of a Mustarios. Bring new worlds and new wealth into the Imperium while gaining strength for that day when justice can finally be done. What would my father do?"

The table was quiet. Only breathing broke the silence. Then Janos Peteros rose. "I have served this house for nearly five hundred years. It has been a honour. I would give my life for you and your mother, my lord. Of all the Mustarios line that I have trained and served, only your father was a better student. I say this: Mustarios lives in you." He slapped his palm on the table. "Hail Mustarios!"

"Hail Mustarios!" roared all the retainers. Palms slapped hard on the polished oak in a rising crescendo.

Maria rose from her chair and the pounding stopped. "Lord Mustarios has spoken. Let his will be done."

Captain Harlock said:

I contacted him via pm on stardestroyer.net, he told me it is him under a different name.

Maria gazed down from her balcony. Before her stretched the great walled garden and orchard that were worth a governor's ransom. Land was precious on Holy Terra, and the Mustarios were rich with it. The family was ancient, its titles of nobility dating back to the reconquests that followed in the wake of the Horus Heresy. Scarcely a major war or crusade went by without Mustarios involvement. Over the millenia some had been cads, some had been cowards, but most had been heroes and conquerors.

Beyond the gardens and the walls that enclosed them were the other spires of the Mustarios holdings and beyond them the great expanse of the tower-city sprawl that seemingly went on forever. Countless trillions inhabited Holy Terra and there was only so much land. From the depths of the earth to the clouds in the sky, almost every usable inch was taken. The illusion of privacy was precious, but true privacy itself was a luxury only a few could afford. If she wanted to be, Maria could have been alone.

"You wanted to speak with me mother?" Paul asked. Her son stepped out onto her balcony, into the zone protected by countless anti-scan devices and shielded by a esoteric technologies.

"Yes Paul," Maria replied. "I think your decision is hasty."

"It was," said Paul. "That doesn't mean that was wrong. They're stronger than us mother and they're willing to use that strength."

"And they've used too much of it," replied Maria. "Think Paul. This attack was upon us, but it will have been noticed by many. We can unite in a coalition backing another candidate and crush our enemy."

"No mother," said Paul. "They'll wipe us out first. If they have Shrine Assassins at their disposal, there is no one they cannot kill. We have to be seen to retire from this conflict so they will turn their attention elsewhere. In that time need to gather information and strength."

"In that time they might become assailable."

"Perhaps," said Paul, "but if they are one faction within the Inquisition, there will be others. Once we know who they are and who their enemies are we gut them from within."

"You are set on this."

"I am."

"Paul, you are young. Listen to me. I know you have your heart set on great deeds, great deeds that will prove to everyone that you are truly your father's son. With a career in the Guard blocked I know that the charter appeals to that part of you. Don't play into their hands."

"I'm well aware that this charter is a trap," said Paul. "It's intent is to send me far from the corridors of power, hopefully to perish but to isolate me even if I survive. On the other hand, vast wealth and new holdings are the bait. The Inquistion and the Adeptus Mechanicus have a great interest in what lies out there. The hook is that I could die, but the bait is what I could catch."

"You're determined to do this."

"Yes, I am mother. I would have your blessing."

She put her hands in his. "You have it my son. Now and forever."

"Thank you mother." Paul walked back inside. Maria looked down upon the garden with glistening eyes. The stars had taken her child. When he returned, if he returned, she would not know him.

Now that is a taste of R.T.!

Janos Peteros unrolled the scroll and placed it on Paul's desk. The young lord's study was huge and sprawling, with walls lined with books and a raised upper level with a wall length window that was mostly taken up by the desk. The overhead lights were currently off and so light was provided by a half dozen lumen globes, hovering on suspensors. One came closer to the desk to properly illuminate the scroll.

"The terms of the warrant are most generous, as expected," said Janos Peteros. "It is a perpetual grant of the right to trade in the regions beyond the Segmentum Solar and grants the right to raise arms and ships with which to combat the enemies of the Emperor. There are no provisions for tithes or renewals and the a grant of nobility and rank "commensurate with the forces at his command" will allow you and any successors to deal with Imperial forces from a position of both strength and security. There is also a one time funding grant of considerable value attached."

"Yes," said Paul. "The bait is sufficient to make me bite. I need to avoid the hook."

"Ah," said Peteros, "that is where you are mistaken young master. There is more than one hook."

"Please," said Paul, "explain."

"First there is the offer itself. Abandon power here to go off into the dangerous dark of space in pursuit of glory. That is the most obvious hook and one that you cannot avoid. But what then? With only the ship that they provide you? That will save House Mustarios much wealth, but you would be stronger with it. What will you do for officers, crew, soldiers? The best personnel will cost or be drawn from the ranks of House Mustarios and if your fleet is large enough, more Mustarios wealth must be drawn upon to sustain it."

"The stronger I make my fleet, the weaker the house becomes," said Paul nodding. The weaker the house becomes, the less or a threat and the more likely it will succumb to other rivals. The weaker my fleet is, the more likely that the man who has the most reason to return with vengeance dies in the great dark or never amasses the power to become a threat. Yes, I see."

"I thought you might. What are your intentions, my lord?"

A chime announced a visitor. Paul hit a rune on his desk. The ceramite doors at the far end of the study opened and Colonel Dowell walked in. He bowed. "My lord."

"Please approach Colonel," said Paul. The military man walked across the crimson and gold rug, up the short flight of stairs and stopped at his lord's desk. "What can I do for you Colonel?"

"Sire, I wanted you to know that most of the men and officers would volunteer to go with you. You'll need good men out there, men whose loyalty can be relied upon."

"We were just discussing that matter Colonel. Are you included among the volunteers?"

"Yes sir," said the military man, drawing himself up to attention.

"Then gather the best two thousand of your volunteers for the ship's company. Make sure to requisition as many supplies and weapons as you'll need from the house's stores and then get them training together."

"Yes, my lord."

"We'll save the house the expense of outfitting a fleet, but we will take this very fine ship included with the warrant and we will use every resource at our disposal to make sure that it goes into the void with only the best on board. Janos, I'm going to need former spacers, officers and crew as advisers. There's plenty of spacers on and around Terra."

"But not plenty of reliable former spacers," said the old sage. "I will get my people searching for suitable candidates. In the mean time, my lord, I would like you to do a favor to an old man."

"Anything."

"Do not go anywhere without Sybel. She is my best agent. I mean no disrespect to the Lifeguards or the good Colonel's men, but I would feel much better if she were with you."

"I will Janos. Are there any more concerns?" Both men stared at him. "Any more concerns that can be addressed at this time?" Both shook their heads. "In that case, I bid you both good night. Get some sleep. There's plenty of work for us all tomorrow morning."

That's some good writing man. I'm impressed:)

"Cutter 337-IX, you are cleared for departure on your current flight plan," a harsh vox said over the vox. "The Emperor protects."

"Hail the Emperor," Paul replied as he grasped the gun cutter's main flight controls. "Take the engines off stand by," the young lord continued.

"Yes, my lord," said the tall, rail thin man in the copilot's seat. Damien Esticles was light skinned and white haired, his face and body lined with age and battle scars. He wore a heavy navy greatcoat over a midnight blue bodyglove. His eyes were a startling blue.

"Surveyor readings?" Paul asked. The young man wore the similar bodyglove. It was armoured sufficiently to resist light weapons and the collar and upper back section housed a hood that would convert the suit into an emergency vac suit. Behind them sat Sybel Dawning, wearing a black bodyglove of her own. The scabbard of her sword was tied to the seat next to her and a pair of autopistols were holstered around her hips.

"Our path is clear," replied the battlefleet veteran crisply. He had seen Mustarios glance at the screens and smiled slightly in approval of the young lord's actions.

"Excellent," said Paul. "Firing maneuvering thrusters."

Two small thrusters flared, pushing the matte black ship away from the skeletal docking assembly Another set fired again, turning the ship and then a opposing pair fired, killing the spin. Running lights flashed scarlet as the ship's nose swung across the glittering jewel of Luna and then towards space.

Beneath the cutter countless lights shown across the face of Holy Terra. Great clusters and lines of light signified the highest levels of activity and they crossed the continents of North and South American like the webs of a great spider colony. More lines and clusters slashed across what had once been the great oceans and were now the hives of men.

In orbit above humanity's home world the activity never ceased. Countless battlestations, weapon platforms, and ships defended Holy Terra. Their numbers were equaled by the commercial stations and Chartist and private vessels that shipped goods and people to and from the seat of Imperial governance. The web of activity spread out from the orbit of Holy Terra to include Luna and the host of Imperial Navy facilities in orbit around Terra's moon ranging from defence laser platforms to shipyards. Fleet bases and weapon batteries studded Luna's surface, making it a defensive bastion that was almost unassailable.

Paul brought the main engines online as the cutter lazily drifted away from the space station's docking arms. "Engaging main engines. Acceleration at ten gravities until we clear the station."

"Well done, my liege," said Esticles. "Very well handled. I would give you a stern look and a nod of approval if you were a battlefleet cadet."

"Thank you," said Paul. "Bringing up the acceleration to fifty gravities. Course to Saturnine shipyards set." Fingers flew across the controls. "Machine spirit has the course, autopilot engaged." He turned to his copilot. "So, what next?"

"It's a long trip to Saturn, my lord, and there is much to learn. The similarities between a cutter and a cruiser are few, but fortunately you have been well trained on how to fly. That cuts down on the what must be covered. You do not need to know how to operate a starship's controls, but you must know how they function. How long it takes to reload a macro cannon. The results of ordering a barrage of fifty cannons on an asteroid or a light cruiser. When a ghost return on an auger relay is the product of machine malfunction or reflection of charged gases or an enemy ship hiding in those gases. How much pounding naked hull can take, both yours and the enemy. How long it takes to turn and how quickly your voids can dump energy. All these things a captain must know and learning from books only covers part of it. That you know a cutter so well helps with many of these things, but there is still much left to learn."

"We have time. Let's begin."

-

The gun cutter glided over the great, glittering plane of ice fragments. Sybel Dawning looked out of the cockpit window. "It's beautiful," she said softly.

"The rings of Saturn, one of the marvels of the Solar System," said Esticles. "This was an independent principality during the Age of Strife. When the Emperor united Mars and Luna under the banner of Holy Terra, the fleets of Saturn joined with him."

"Is that it?" Paul asked, pointing at a far off cluster of lights hanging above the rings.

"Good eyes, my lord," said Esticles. "Yes, that should be the shipyard. We'll get a better look as we come in closer."

Two Lightning fighters passed the cutter on the left. Paul watched the sleek and deadly craft pass them and fly off into the dark of space. "Patrol?"

"The Lightnings? Probably. There is no star system as heavily patrolled as Sol, with the possible exception of Cadia. Most space is nothing like Sol. Here almost every no account rock and moonlet has a some kind of relay on it if not a full scale base or habitation. Every course has to be approved and should something go wrong the system is swarming with ships that can reach you quickly. In most places, a ship lives and dies on its own."

The metal-cage gridwork of the shipyard had come into view, illuminated by a host of navigation and work lights. It sprawled over a hundred cubic kilometers and bulged with habitat and factory modules that serviced the starships growing in its construction bays. "Magnificent," said Paul. "The ship in the far bay. That's it, isn't it?"

Damien squinted and peered into the dark. "Yes, I think so." The ship in question was painted white and trimmed with brass and gold. A great cluster of spires and towers crowned the rear part of her upper deck, a city and cathedral that travelled through space on the back of a great leviathan. Behind the cathedral towers were the massive engine tubes that would propel the ship through the void with streams of blazing plasma. The length of the great ship was studded with eagle headed maneuvering thrusters and a host of defense batteries. Row upon row of dragon headed macro cannon batteries dominated her flanks and a pair of massive dorsal lance turrets added to her destructive power. Her prow was sheathed in heavy armour plate and its top housed the huge barrels of yet another lance battery.

"Sweet Throne of Earth," whispered Esticles, "she is beautiful. Older style, a grand cruiser all gun pattern. A lot of power, but don't much fit in with current doctrine. Not many places still make them anymore."

"A good ship to take alone into the void though," said Paul.

"Aye. No torpedoes to restock. She can make her own cannon shells in her workshops. She can sustain herself for ages. What will you call her?"

"The Lord Gregor."