Chương 35: Chapter Thirty-One - Whump

As it turned out, the best way to avoid questions was forward momentum. Octavia really wasn't sure how long that would last. But she had the rough shape of a plan forming in the back of her mind. If she killed enough Emperor-hating xenos, earned enough points, then managed to get even just half an hour to herself, then she might be able to buy a few things that would make her a lot tougher to get rid of.

The issue, of course, being that once all of this was over, she wasn't sure how Mother Draydiss—or, Emperor forgive her, Palatine Sister Androsa—would react to her. If they discovered the full truth, then bolts were going to fly, mostly towards her head. If they discovered the partial truth... well, that would at least gain her some time. Jeanne had been nagging at her for the past two hours, with some good points coming out.

For one, in order for someone to be canonized as a Saint of the Imperium, they had to meet with someone who was at least a Bishop. There were no Bishops aboard The Broken Scale. So, until they made it to Holy Terra or another major planet, she was safe. There was no denying that Octavia was doing exactly the kind of work that the Sisters of Battle were meant to do, after all.

"Okay," she said as she checked over the room.

"Looks like this space is clear. How is everyone?" She flicked her sword, The Edge of Penitence, to the side, an action that was only possible because of how strangely light it was. That had much of the blood and genestealer guts flinging off the blade and out from between the sword's teeth.

"Good, ma'am!" one of the Voidsmen said. He was looking at her with eyes that practically sparkled with unbridled faith. Kinda weird, but she decided not to make a fuss about it and simply nodded. Over the last couple of hours, she had run a merry course through the lower sections of the ship and had somehow managed to go from the far port to the far starboard side and was now back to somewhere in the middle.

That meant that they had cut through a lot of maintenance areas and small corridors, and through more than a few storage rooms, like the one they were in now. This nest of genestealers was only a dozen members strong, and of those, she only managed to kill three. It was frustrating, but... whatever. Three of the genestealers were kneeling on the ground when they arrived, clutching their stomachs, and two more were straight up dead already. The remainder had been easy to kill.

Some were obviously sick with something. The soldiers had taken to calling it the Emperor's Wrath and they were whispering that it was another of her miracles. She was keeping mum about it. Mostly because she had no idea what was going on. Glancing to the side, she took note of Novitiate Jeanne staring at her again. Her erstwhile friend didn't believe, for even a moment, that Octavia was any sort of saint. Octavia grinned back at her.

"How many did you get?" she asked as she stomped over. She didn't have to stomp, her armour was lithe and light, but stomping around made her feel like she was wearing chunky, indestructible Emperor-blessed armour, so stomp she did.

"One, and with some assistance," Jeanne replied, even as she tilted her head back and displayed the inside of her nose. Octavia snorted. Jeanne wanted to be a Sister of Battle so hard that she practically embodied the idea... along with the aloof snootiness that came with the position that she hadn't yet climbed to.

"Put your attack nostrils away, I wasn't teasing you or anything," Octavia said. Jeanne's eyes narrowed.

"My what?" Telling someone that they weren't being teased was a great way to tease them, Octavia found.

"Any idea why they're all so sick?" she asked instead.

"None. Though I suspect that it isn't the Emperor's direct will," Jeanne replied. She at least kept her voice low so as to not to be overheard. Probably for the best. Octavia had gathered a small gaggle of Voidsmen and enforcers and even a few of the other Novitiates. She knew some of those women by name, though they weren't close-close or anything. Probably for the best, really.

It would be harder to convince someone that she was worth working with after she pranked them by switching the labels on their all-white hair bleach and turned their hair pink for a month. Jeanne was still glaring at her.

"What?" Octavia asked.

"I still want to know where you got that equipment. I thought it might all be props at first, but they look functional," Jeanne said.

"The melta literally has my name on it," Octavia said as she tapped the gun strapped to one thigh.

"And the rest are made for me. You couldn't move them if you tried."

"You're not that strong, Octavia. I've seen you doing our weekly PT. You always cheat on your pushups the moment Mother Draydiss is looking away. And you're the one that needs to push the least."

"Hey!" Octavia protested. She spun The Edge of Penitence around, planting the end on the decking below.

"Give it a try, then?" Jeanne rolled her eyes, then, when Octavia let go, she reached out and grabbed the weapon's handle and... not much happened. Jeanne frowned, then pulled back, then pushed, then she really put her back into it, face turning red with the effort.

"What in the Throne?" Octavia gestured her off, then casually picked the sword up and leaned the backside of it onto her shoulder.

"I don't see what the fuss is about," she said. She was so, so close to breaking out into undignified chortles, but managed to keep it in.

"Ma'am!" one of the Voidsmen said. He was a Vox-operator, with a large set of headphones on, and a boxy sac on his back with several stubby antennas poking out of it.

"News, if you'd have it."

"Lay it on me," Octavia said as she adopted a more stern demeanour. She didn't miss the way Jeanne's eyes rolled.

"Orders from above, ma'am, there's a large assault force pushing through the ship. Operation said that the plan was to press into Subsidiary Plasma Generation Site Tau-B, then use that area as a staging ground for the final assault." This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Final assault?" Octavia asked.

"It makes sense," Jeanne said.

"We've killed what... a hundred genestealers?"

"Yeah, I guess," Octavia said. Fewer than that herself, but that didn't account for the kills scored by the Voidsmen with her.

"Maybe one-fifty?"

"Alright. We know other groups took out more. There can't be that many of them on the ship," Jeanne said.

"Why not? I heard they multiply like mad, and that there are always more of them than you'd think," Octavia said.

"Sure, but more than you'd think has an upper limit. The Broken Scale is a Cobra-class destroyer. Do you remember the charts for that kind of ship?" Octavia shifted on her feet.

"Remind me?"

"Urgh... that means a minimal crew of 15, 000. Call it 20, 000 if Rogue Trader Caduceus allowed more onboard. Our trip through the warp was meant to last between three weeks and two months. We have more than enough supplies on board for that, but not an infinite amount. These genestealers didn't infest the entire ship, only a small portion of the lower decks, so... even assuming they were stacked like cordwood, there can't be more than... say, a thousand of them, at the upper limit."

"You're real smart sometimes," Octavia said. That earned her another glare. Supposing that Jeanne was right, that did mean that her point-earning time was reaching a definitive middle. Besides, she was a little tired. She'd need a rest, soon. A full day of running around and excitement was a lot.

"Do we have anything to eat?" she asked. The Voidsman operator stared at her.

"Ah, no? I think that's part of Guardsman kit, but we're Voidsmen, we operate within the ship. There's usually a mess hall?"

"Ignore that one, she's just thinking with her stomach," Jeanne said. Octavia wanted to protest, but the woman was right.

"Okay. You said that that rally point was Subsidiary Plasma Generation Site... Tau-B?"

"Yes ma'am!" the Vox-operator said.

"How do we get there from here?" What followed was a short but still convoluted explanation of the ship's layout. They were a half-level down, mostly because the storage room they were in had small stairs at the back that connected to the floors above and below. They sealed the way down, just in case, then started through the ship once more, heading inwards towards one of the main maintenance passages that bisected the ship from aft to stern. It was designed to carry large parts, or something like that.

She wasn't too sure. Octavia was already not the best when it came to paying attention to her instructions, and they had only had a few lessons on shipboard combat and layouts, mostly rote safety briefs about firefighting, following orders from superiors to the letter, and warnings not to walk past signage they were unfamiliar with. She reflected that she had well and truly broken just about every rule they had told her to follow. Maybe she could pull out the rest and use them as a checklist?

It wasn't long that they were in the large maintenance passage the Vox-operator had mentioned. The moment they stepped out, she knew that fighting was going on. Mostly because a stray las-shot flicked by near the ceiling and clipped a lumen strip some ways back.

"Okay, everyone," Octavia said.

"Follow my--" she almost said 'follow my lead' but she was planning on running in, sword in one hand and bolter in the other, and she did feel some level of responsibility for the doe-eyed Voidsmen in her charge.

"Follow Novitiate Jeanne's orders!" she finished instead. Jeanne's head whipped around so hard her neck made a popping noise.

"What?" she hissed. But then Octavia was charging ahead already. It was the first time she had plenty of open, flat terrain to really push the power armour's capabilities in. She had already confirmed that it could glance off indirect lasfire and that a moron trying to stab her joints wouldn't get much done, so she was pretty confident in it already. Her boots thumped faster and faster, and soon she was rushing down the corridor at nearly twice her usual running speed. Good!

Not insanely impressive, but it would allow her to keep up with most Sisters of Battle in their own power armour, and she suspected that hers was straight up tougher anyway. The fighting up ahead was a mess. Even her inexpert eyes could tell as much. Whatever formation the Voidsmen had, it was broken, and she found herself running past some stragglers heading in very much the wrong way with the fearful or guilty looks of cowards on the run. Her scan picked up a few details.

A sergeant on the ground, a lieutenant shouting incoherently while waving a laspistol, a... Ad Mech woman cowering behind a trio of well-armed servitors mowing down an entire flank of the enemy. Oh, yeah, the enemy. More genestealers, but these looked as fresh as roses on a corset. None of them were coughing their guts out, or looking half-asleep. Worse, there were some genestealers there that were more along the lines of what she'd consider real genestealers.

The room they were pouring out of had some sort of nasty stuff going on in it, plasma arcing through the air, and bolts of motive force were zapping around, turning the whole room a bright blue with the occasional flash of actinic light. The Voidsmen were breaking. The servitors on one side were holding, but the entrance was too damned wide, and Octavia didn't bet on them holding forever. So, she timed her steps, taking in deeper and deeper breaths as she moved before she shouted.

"Have no fear, loyal servants of the Emperor! I am here to kick ass and chew rations, and I'm all out of rations!" Then her foot caught on an off-white substance a few feet from the very front of the enemy formation, and Octavia crashed into the ground with a whump.