The Brothers Nero
"You can never have too many enemies. The more you've got, the more likely they are to get in each other's way. "
- Jarvin Wallankot, Idle Musings, 605.M41
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Segmentum Obscurus, Dion Sector, Reap Worlds Sub-Sector, Islay System, 881.996 M41
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"We're exiting the system, entering the debris field," Valentine Nero said.
"I'm popping on the void shields, minimum power," returned his brother, Vespasian Nero.
Normally, space vessels wouldn't activate their void shields, but the small corvette didn't have the bulk of larger Navy vessel to withstand the onslaught of stellar debris that encircled the Islay system. Like the Oort Cloud that orbits the Holy Terra System, Islay's spherical cloud is made up of comets and other space material, some of which are large enough to damage the starships sensitive exterior components.
The starship was called Olive. She had once been an Imperial Navy corvette, though many decades ago it had been decommissioned and sold. The ship passed through a number of hands before the brothers Nero purchased her. No longer Navy, the Olive continued in a similar line of work, she was now a hired-gun - contracted as a part of the mishmashed assortment of intrasystem ships that made up the Islay System Patrol Group.
The bridge of the Olive was a dark rectangle. It had a low ceiling and the walls crammed pipes and valves. The room was festooned with cables and machine parts. Cogitators lined the walls, the screens and read-outs blinked in the dim light. Rusty chairs supported crewmen and the occasional perma-wired servitor. The bridge muggy warm and stank of oil, sweat, feet, and bad breath. The center of the room was dominated by a large, octagon holomat. In the holographic projection the Islay system floated in mid-air, dozens of text-boxes floated at edge of the sphere, each a note of interest from the their long patrol.
She had been travelling the outer reaches of the system for over ten weeks. Ten weeks was a long time for such a small vessel to be out. Bathing facilities were primitive at best and laundry stations virtually non-existent.
The brothers Nero, hair so black it looked blue and pale-skinned, stared at the holo-sphere. Valentine moved a toggle and the image zoomed to their current search location. "Not a lot out here," he commented.
"No, there isn't. So what's that?" Vespasian said.
Valentine made a curious humming sound and moved the toggle towards the tiny speck of light out the outer extreme of their stellar auspex.
"D'jar, all stop," Vespasian called out.
The bare-chested man working the helm controls used both hands to pull back a huge lever set in the floor.
"What do you make of this?" Valentine asked.
Vespasian frowned, "Not sure. It's a heat signature of sorts." He looked up at his brother, "The dead of space is an odd place of heat sig."
"Octek," Valentine called across the bridge. Octek's head turned towards him. His face was a sheet of polished metal, featureless save for two glowing lens for eyes and a speaker grill for a mouth. Even in the sweltering heat the ship's lexmechanic wore the full robes of the Mechanicus. "Bring the sensors to focus on the unidentified marker bearing three-three-four by eight-eight-seven, negative twelve degrees."
Vespasian looked at the holomat's screen, analyzing the data that came in as Olive's highly-customized and over-powered sensors swung to scrutinize the anomaly.
"Yeah, it's a heat sig alright," Vespasian said. "Small, under powered, but active"
"Two thrones says it's a sleeper," Valentine replied, eyeing the spot of light carefully.
"Hah, better yet, I'll see your two and raise you another two. I wager it's the raiders the ISPG have been looking for."
Valentine looked at the data screen, then glanced at the holo-sphere, "Yeah, alright I'll take that bet. But," he paused, "if you're right, that means we'll have a fight on our hands."
Vespasian nodded, "Mr. Nom, play the bulletin regarding the most recent raids."
Nom, a thin young man with pair of headphones around his grimy neck, tapped the runes of his controls. A tinny, metallic voice squealed out of the overhead speakers.
"All ISPG vessels, hear this. On command of Islay System Space Command, notice, recent raids against system assets has been underway. Vessel, or vessels, unknown, review attached data file for recorded known-vessel specifications and tags. Last reported contact was vessel, or vessels, fleeing towards outer debris field."
"It's them, I know it," Vespasian said. "Let's get the ship ready for combat. Action stations."
Regardless of her heritage, Olive was no war vessel. Though her twin-barreled torpedo tubes and laser-battery packed a mean punch, she wouldn't last long in any sort of prolonged engagement. But running straight in, all guns-ablazing wasn't how the Nero boys liked to operate.
The Olive had always been a sniffer ship. Her sensor array was fine thing. And made even more so when the Nero brothers acquired her. Her systems were unique and hand-crafted by Olive's resident chief tech-priest, Belmont. He had been a senior magos of Transmechacanii operation aboard a truly ancient Mechanicus Battleship before some shameful incident saw him budged off to a lowly intrasystem patrol squadron.
Belmont had not let his skills go to waste. At the bow of the ship are two dozen long antennae. Another two dozen ran along the top of Olive, giving her the appearance of a bearded hedgehog. The bizarre looking system had a vast sensitivity, being able to pick up all but the weakest radio signals or radiation notes. It also had a great selectivity, easily being able to distinguish between the background noise of the galaxy and a selected noise. They could pick up signals as far away as one million units, equal to or greater than most battleship-class starships. The system had cost the brothers Nero a small fortune, money they didn't have and couldn't afford to pay back.
Belmont was called to the bridge and he and Octek worked their tech-magic. After conferring over the data, they agreed it was a sleeper, a ship turned cold to avoid detection. It was a good maneuver and clever. Most ships with have missed it, but not Olive. Her machine-spirit was curious and nosey and never missed anything.
The Nero boys, on second thought, agreed the best course of action was to go in hard and fast. They hoped they were still outside of the other ships sensors range. They loaded torpedoes, charged the laser-batteries and powered up Olive's big plasma engines.
Belmont turned the sensors around, blasting the area between them and the unknown contact with a mirror of the space noise around them, in effect, masking their vessel's signal, except a moving heat-print.
When they appeared the other ship's sensors, they would look like hot-blob but with no other signatures. Confusion would be rife. The Neros hoped they would look like a bizarre hot-comet, and the other ship's sensorist wouldn't fuss over the strange contact.
It took four hours to close the distance. D'jar angled Olive to pass within ten thousand units of the unknown contact. As they moved closer and closer, more data was captured by the acute sensors. It was ship. Cold, but not so much it was dead. It was without doubt a sleeper.
As they neared the vessel its heat signature began to rise.
"It's waking up, standby to engage," Vespasian said. He pulled a comm-horn off the holomat table, "Comms, hail that vessel, open channel." After a moment, he spoke into the horn, "This is Islay System Patrol Group vessel Olive. You are ordered to stand down and extinguish your engines. Failure to comply will result in the use of deadly force."
Valentine watched the incoming data-feed. The vessel was still heating up. "Nope," he said, "they ain't havin' it. Torpedoes?"
"Torpedoes," Vespasian readily agreed.
Valentine reached over and grabbed a comm-horn. He looked at to the communication officer sitting near the device, "T-room, Mr. Creedy." There was pop and a voice came on the line, "Torpedo Room, Dag speaking."
"Dag," Valentine said, "Your 'peds ready?"
Dag laughed, "Oh yeah. You want 'em down the mouth or up the arse-hole?"
"Stay on the line, I'll let you know in a second," Valentine hung up the horn, but kept his hand on it. He nodded to Vespasian.
"Creedy send my message again."
After another minute of no respond they were in visual range. Octek brought the image of the vessel up but in the holo-sphere as a flat two-dimensional screen.
It was larger than the Olive, at least twice its size. Boxy, dull grey and rust red, it was mass-freighter. If it was the raider, it was no-doubt armed and its engines pumped up. Belmont worked a whizzing and buzzing cogitator, a script-box appeared below the image; [XCV – 178. Registry Penda Beta. Peskova]
The ships name was the Peskova.
"Peskova, answer my hail. In thirty seconds I will attack. Final chance," Vespasian said into the comm-horn.
After another minute of silence, Valentine said, "Still no response, I say we hit them with one 'ped, and have the other on standby."
"Agreed," Vespasian said. "Even one might be too much for it."
Valentine calmly lifted the horn and said, "Fire."
At the prow of the ship, the crewmen chanted the litany of safe-firing as they took shelter behind blast walls. At his station, Dag had already feed the firing solutions Belmont had provided into the torpedo's simple machine-spirits. He pressed a lunch rune.
The torpedo blazed from the front of the Olive - a bright, burning star. The Peskova had already begun to move sluggishly when it struck in the aft. Its engine assembly disintegrated into a mass of twisted metal and flaming debris. The ship was thrown into a spin, shuddered, and looked as if it was about to break apart.
"Got her!" Vespasian said. "She's not going anywhere. We'll get in close and get boarding parties on her."
"Yeah, we'll take this one as a prize," Valentine replied.
Watching the spinning ship, spewing debris and plasma gas both realized what a poor prize the Peskova would make.
From the mid-ship docking ports landing skiffs launched. With corrective-jets firing they made contact with the Peskova. Demo charges blasted holes into the ship's skin. Kalvin Seaforth, chief of Olive's armed detachment, and his men wore armored void suits as they advanced into the vessel.
There were brief exchanges of lasgun fire across the length and width of the Peskova where the mercenary armsmen engaged the desperate pirate crew. The first section to surrender was the ship's enginarium. Sergeant Ulokova took control of what was left of the shattered room and ruined power systems without having to fire a shot, the terrified men all but giving themselves over to her.
Seaforth himself took the bridge, which put up considerable more resistance. With the bridge and the engine-chamber taken, the rest of the crew surrendered.
The mercenary armsmen rounded up the survivors. There were surprisingly many of them. They were put aboard the skiffs and transferred back to Olive. The only space large enough for them all was the primary airlock. Vespasian joked that if that wasn't reason enough to behave, he didn't know what was.
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Valentine thumped onto the bridge, still wearing his boarding suit and carrying a lascarbine. For nearly ten hours he had been on the Peskova supervising the prisoner transfer and reviewing the captured vessels cargo load.
"Val?" Vespasian asked.
"Yeah. It's them alright. They've still got cargo crates unopened and in their original wrapping," Valentine said. He slung the rifle over the chair's back and pulled off his plasteel flak vest, "I put their captain in the brig, if you want to talk to him." He sat down heavily in an empty chair and started undoing his heavy boots.
"Not really," Vespasian snorted. "It's a long walk back to Islay, plenty of time to talk later."
"True," Valentine replied, kicking a boot to the deck. He wiggled his toes around. "How are we going to get the Peskova back? You should have seen the enginarium. Broken like a cheap wine glass."
Vespasian grunted, "Can it move under its own power?"
Valentine kicked off his second boot, "Don't make me laugh."
"We could always tow it. I guess," Vespasian said with little conviction.
"Without basic maneuverability, it'd be an ugly trip home."
"We'll strap a skiff to it then."
Valentine looked at his brother, "That didn't work the first time, it wouldn't work this time. No skiff-strapping."
Vespasian grumbled for a moment. Finally he said, "Belmont, get your minions together and see what you can do about getting some power restored to Peskova's maneuvering jets."
Magos Belmont left without saying a word.
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It was a fifteen day trip from back to Islay. Vespasian did stop by the brig to have a quick chat with the Peskova's captain. The man was bearded and unkempt and unclean. Much like the Nero brothers. Space travel did little for a man's sense of fashion or personal hygiene.
Vespasian passed an iho-stick through the bars. The pirate captain took it, put it to his mouth and leaned his face to the bars. Vespasian lit it for him.
"You're an agreeable sorts, ain't ya?" The pirate captain said, taking a deep draw.
"Sometimes," Vespasian replied. "You've a name?"
"Quint."
"What's your story, Quint?"
"No much to say really. Had me a raw deal onboard the Peskova. The previous captain and I disagreed a time too many. A quick stabbing and I was captain," Quint said, puffing on his iho-roll. "Didn't really want to be Cappy, to be fair."
Vespasian nodded.
"The Guild doesn't look too kindly on Captain-stabbings. So what's a man to do? He's still gotta eat."
Vespasian nodded again, and lit his own iho-stick.
"Maybe we could work out a deal. You and me," Quint said
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Got me a stash. It's yours if you let me go."
"That so?"
"That's so."
"Well, I'm sorry Quint, but I don't believe a word you're saying. Honestly, a lowly deckhand aboard a second-rate bulk puller has a stash large enough to buy me off. Don't make me laugh."
Quint pursed his lips. Then he laughed, "Ha, you've found me out. I've got nothing but the clothes on my back and this here smoke."
Vespasian smiled, "When we get to Isaly, I'm gonna pass you over to the authorities."
Quint shook his head and finished the last of iho-roll. "Who you gonna give me too?"
Vespasian took a long draw and blew out a large cloud of smoke. "Arbites or Navy, whoever will pay more for you."
Quint stared at him.
"Not so agreeable now, am I?"
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Olive put into space dock at Islay's Eye and the Adeptus Arbites paid the reward for Quint and his crew. The last the brother's saw of Quint was him being stuck down with shock-mauls and shacked by the neck to the rest of the maul-stunned pirates. The black carapaced Judges brutally marched them away for chastisement, punishment and redemption.
The Nero brothers took the Peskova apart and salvage whatever they could and sold the rest as scrap to the nearby shipyard. When combined with their patrol pay, the bounty money, and the scrap refund, it amounted to a decent haul. The crew got their full paid, with added bonuses. Belmont got a few new toys. Stock and supplies were refilled and replaced. The Olive herself had some outstanding repairs completed and a fresh coat of paint to her exterior. Olive green to match her name.
Once refit was well underway Vespasian and Valentine Nero had a few days rest and relaxation in the most expensive hotel the spacestation that circled Islay had to offer, the Exetor. They sat in an expensive booth at the hotel lounge, freshly washed and shaven. They were dressed in fine cut cassocks, jodhpurs, and knee-high boots. They drank top-shelf amasec and smoked fine xlinho-leaf cigars. The cost of their evening meal alone could have feed the Olive's crew for two months.
A man in a well-pressed grey uniform stood at the table, watching the two men talk drunkenly at one another. He coughed slightly.
Valentine looked up. "Yes?" he slurred and squinted at the man, "eh, Captain?"
"Which of you is the captain of the Olive?"
"He is," they both said simultaneously and pointed at each other. They laughed uproariously. Gasping glasses they took shots of liquor.
"Right. Excuse me, gentlemen. I have an offer to make to the captain."
"Just say your piece already," Vespasian said.
The man put a briefcase onto the table and used it to push shot-glasses out of the way. He popped the latches and pulled out a data-slate. He coughed lightly again.
"I'm Captain Hextus of Battlefleet Dion. The Navy would like to offer temporary employment to the Olive and her captain … or rather captains. Dion Sector Command is putting together a fleet." He passed over the date-slate. "We'd like you to come along."
Valentine took it and thumbed through the data, reading carefully. Vespasian leaned over and slapped his hands out of the way. He scrolled to the bottom of the information. Where the payment statement was logged. He coughed and sputtered. It was a substantial amount of Thrones.
"That's a goodly helping of big-seats," he said to the Navy officer.
"The Olive is an impressive vessel. Well respected in the subsector as the best sniffer around. Dion Fleet could use a ship like yours. The contact will be for five years, standard and sidereal."
"Navy, though. It comes with all sorts of rules," Vespasian stated.
The officer smiled, "Well, yes. You'll be required to act as any other starship under Navy rule and law. Also, you'll have navy personnel aboard."
Valentine looked suspiciously up from the data-slate, "Spies?"
"No, Mr Nero. You'll have a Navy liaison officer come aboard. He's there to make sure you can work within the Navy operating protocols. As well, you'll be seconded an Astropath and a Navigator."
"We're not really equipment to handle mutants and pskyers."
Hextus nodded, "Noted. However, if you contract with us, the Navy will install appropriate equipment and facilities to house both."
"We'll have to talk this over. If you don't mind," Vespasian nodded his head at the bar.
"Take all the time you need," Haxtes said. He closed his briefcase and walked to the bar.
The brothers watched him take a seat and order a double amasec on the rocks.
"Vesp, what do you think?" asked Valentine. His brother was quiet and watchful.
Eventually he shook his head slowly. "The Navy isn't for me, Val. Not anymore."
"I couldn't agree more. But have you seen this payment?"
"Yeah. That's another reason I don't like it. That amount of currency for a little ship like ours doesn't sit right. Throne Above, Val, we a tiny ship and they are offering enough to buy the ship outright'"
"Tiny, please! We can make Warp-Jumps."
"And what? You think that makes one of the big boys? You were never in the Navy. You don't know what they're like."
"Well no …"
"Val," Vespasian interrupted, "They're buying us. Like a gun or Throne, a damned servitor. They are trying to buy us. And I will not be bought."
They waved Haxtes back to their booth. Vespasian looked the navy captain in the eyes and said, "Thank you for the offer, Mr. Haxtes, but we're not interested in being beholden to the Navy. I hope you understand."
Haxtes nodded and laid a plastacard on the table, he tapped it, "If you change your minds, my contact details are right there." He nodded to them, "Gentlemen," and left. Vespasian took the card, glared at it, and slipped it into his pocket.
The Nero brothers returned to drinking and smoking. It wasn't long before they heard another cough and looked up. Two men stood at the table. One was tall and bald with fierce look tribal tattoos covering his neck and head. The other was thick-shoulder brute with small eyes and a sneer.
"Vespasian, Valentine," the feral-looking man said.
"Ulth," Vespasian said, involuntarily gulping.
"Enjoying yourselves?"
The brothers exchanged looks.
Ulth leaned over to help himself to a bottle of top-shelf amasec. "Eh, excuse me, you didn't pay for that," Valentine said, putting his hand on the bottle.
Ulth stopped and looked over him. His eyes were pure ice-blue and possessed a hunter's quality to them. "Neither did you," he said softly.
"Actually you find …" Valentine began.
"Shut up!" Ulth snarled. He pulled back his coat, revealing a handgun tucked into a holster at his waist. "Everything you own belongs to Mr. Lionus. You take his money to fit-out your boat, yet you never returned any. How many thrones was it?"
The Neros sat quietly, staring.
Ulth titled his head slightly, "A million. One million thrones you borrowed from Mr. Lionus. He wants them back. Or he wants to see you. From the way you're living it up I can only guess that you've got the currency, right?"
"Well you see … hmm … we …" Valentine looked to the brother for help. Vespasian just shrugged.
Ulth grinned. "Just as I thought. Come on, get up. Let's not make a scene."
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The debt-collector and the muscle-man lead the Neros out of the Exetor and around to the backside alleys. They were dark and filthy, and isolated.
"Hold up here," Ulth said.
The Neros stopped and looked nervously around. This was the kind of place were bad things happened to people. Especially people who owed vast sums of money to a violent loan-shark. Trash from the hotel filled the waste bins. The alleyway stank of rotting food and cleaning products. With the high walls, locked hatchways, and two armed men just waiting for them to try and run, there was no hope for escape.
"Before we go see Mr. Lionus, I'm gonna take me a flesh prize," Ulth said, stepping close to them, "Now, which of you wants to volunteer a finger for my collection?"
"You're a primitive, Ulth. A damned primitive!" Valentine shouted and shoved him in the chest.
Quick as a snake Ulth reached into his coat, pulled out a solid shot revolver and violently pistol-whipped Valentine across the cheek. He cried out and dropped to the ground.
His brother threw himself forward and grabbed Ulth's wrist and grappled with the larger man for the gun. Ulth's muscle-man leapt in and punched him in the back.
As the three men wrestled, Valentine rose up. His face was bleeding heavily and his eyes were hard. Growling, he slammed the edge of a dented and discard silver serving tray into the muscle-man's neck. Blood splurted out across the shiny surface.
His death yowl caused the wrestling Vespasian and Ulth to look over. Valentine brutally slapped the debt-collector across the face with the tray.
The feralworlder stumbled back, dropped the gun, and fell backward. Vespasian leapt after the revolver. Like the toughened warrior he was, Ulth leapt up and faced Valentine. Teeth bared, he drew a wicked knife from his belt. Valentine held the tray like a shield, ready to defend himself.
Vespasian rose to one-knee and aimed at him. "Fook off!" he snarled, bracing the revolver with both hands.
Ulth saw the pistol and paused. His blue eyes darted between the two brothers and he licked his lips. The odds weren't in his favor.
With the speed of a striking viper snake, Ulth flung his knife at Vespasian.
The man ducked away and the revolver went off with a roar. When Vespasian recovered, all he saw was Ulth's coat tails disappear around the alley's corner.
Valentine dropped the tray. It clanked to the deck loudly. Beside the tray lay the muscle-man. One of Lionus's men. The loan-shark would not like that. Wouldn't like it one bit. The Neros were in deep trouble. They had to get off the Eye as quickly as they could.
Vespasian stood up and asked his brother, "You alright?"
Valentine slurred and muttered, "I tink 'e bloke me face…" holding his hand to the bleeding cheek wound.
Ever the opportunist, Vespasian rolled the dead muscle-man over and rifled through his pockets. He came away with a wallet, a half-pack of cheap smokes, and another revolver.
Pushing his brother down the alleyway, he stopped to retrieve Ulth's knife and rushed the stumbling, punch-drunk, Valentine away.
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"Mr. Hextus will see you now," said the lovely and flawlessly dressed secretary. She stood up and waved her hand at a nearby door. She stared cautiously at the two men. One was holding a bloody handkerchief to his face and the other had a revolver tucked into his belt. She saw it whenever his twisted around to look over his shoulder.
Vespasian nudged his brother into Hextus's office.
To the officer's credit he didn't look twice at the wounded and armed Nero brothers. He'd seen it all before.
He looked up for behind his desk and simply said, "May I help you?"
Vespasian looked at his brother. Valentine nodded encouragingly and smiled. His teeth were covered in blood.
Vespasian said, "Look, alright, we've reconsidered your proposal. We'd like to sign on."
"Excellent. I'm glad to hear it," Hextus said. He stood up and stretched out his hand to Vespasian, "Dion Sector Command, Battlefleet Obscurus, and the Imperium of Mankind thank you for your commitment."
Vespasian nodded, shaking his hand, "Yeah, yeah. Say, where are we going again?"
"Gentlemen," the navy officer spread his hands wide, "we're bound for the Heart of Emptyness."
"Ohh …" slurred Valentine, his eyes going wide, "Ohh fug … Ohh fook no!"
"You can never have too many enemies. The more you've got, the more likely they are to get in each other's way."