Well, here's chappie number two. Enjoy.
………………………………………………………………………………
They were in it now.
Detective Gould strode through the engine room of his ship, the Ghosthunter. The room was huge; forty stories tall. This single cavernous room rose the entire height of his ship. Massive engine structures stretched up to the vast arched ceiling, while repair and maintenance servitors and the occasional living crew member scuttled around across the concrete floor and over the many catwalks like so many cockroaches, swarming over a piece of moldy bread left out by a careless owner.
After his meeting with the Inquisitor, Gould had returned to his ship and promptly set a course for Darkgrove. After seven days of travel through the Warp, he arrived at the edge of the system. Four days of sublight travel later, and they had arrived at their current position, orbiting Darkgrove waiting for clearance to dock at one of the massive orbiting space docks.
Gould looked up as a short, skinny man, a member of the Ratling sub-breed, approached him. His name was Lawrence Sorenson and he was the ship's engine room foreman.
"Ahh, Matt. Good to see you. Everything set for planetfall?" he asked.
"Almost, Lawrence," Gould said, "Listen. I've given everyone shore leave for the next week, or until I get back. Whichever comes first. It'd be good for everyone to spend some time off this dank ship and on actual land for once."
"Hoorah. Shore leave. Heck, I've been on this ship for…how long has it been… eight months straight now. Finally, some actual dry land," he said, "But, why did you come all the way down here to tell me this, couldn't you have announced it over the vox system?"
"Well, I wanted to ask you. What do you know about a…castle Tannhauser? I mean, as far as labs or test sites or the like?" Sorenson was an ex Imperial spy, and knew of all sorts of supposedly classified information, which was one of the reasons Gould had hired him.
"Well," he thought for a moment, "Not much. I do know that, in the past, there have been many legends surrounding the place. It's supposed to be deserted now. Isolated, you see, by the Death Marshes. Strange legends. Ghost stories and such. Seems perfect cover for some sort of experiment. Although I don't know if it was ever used for that purpose. So don't take my word for it. I'd check the archives. The castle might be listed under historic places; might give you some information."
"Alright, thanks. Hey, enjoy yourself." Gould said, extending his hand. Sorenson shook it. His touch felt metallic and cold. Two of his fingers, the ring and little fingers, were augmetic, souvenirs of an old war wound.
"Good luck, sir," Lawrence replied, "See you when you get back."
"See you."
After exiting the engine room, Gould headed for his ship's archives. They consisted of a large, rectangular, low ceilinged room with exposed support beams striping the roof. Rows of metal shelves were arranged in a line, with low hanging florescent lights suspended between them. These shelves filled most of the room, except for a central area, where a small table and chairs sat, used for examining documents. The shelves were piled with uncountable books and files containing information on various planets, cultures and events that Gould had amassed over his travels. They dealt with everything from the atomic cleansing of Kreig to recipes for New Vistian coconut brittle.
Gould strode between a pair of these shelves and found the file he was looking for. He took the dusty volume of Darkgrovian history down from its shelf and carried it over to the central table, where he sat it with a loud thump and sat down on the hard wooden chair next to the table. He searched the index until he found what he was looking for. He turned to the page on Castle Tannhauser and started reading.
Apparently, the castle wasn't new to disturbance or mystery. Legends of strange and eerie happenings had plagued the castle since its construction, including several allegations of various chaos cults operating out of the castle. Ordo Hereticus investigations turned up nothing, but rumors and ghost stories apparently still hounded the area even to the present day. Intrigued by this new discovery, Gould rose from his chair and, having found what he was looking for, returned the book to its place on the shelf.
After doing so, Gould left the archives and went up to his private quarters. They consisted of a vast apartment, with a large window running the length of one wall, to observe the warp or regular space. The walls and floor were whitewood, and the ceiling was cream-colored drywall, with recessed lighting ringing the perimeter and bathing the room in a dim, creamy light. This was Gould's "official" home, although he did live planetside from time to time, in Shadow Front apartments that were shared on a rotating basis with other operatives.
He crossed the living room and looked out the long window. He could see Darkgrove now, the sun glistening around the edge of the dark green planet like a "sunrise" and endless ship traffic floating soundlessly to and fro, in between the massive docking structures and ports, ice clinging to their hulls from transit through the Warp, glistening like snowflakes as they broke from the massive hulls and sliced through space like miniature daggers. He could see that they were pulling into one of these giant docking structures now. It looked like a huge floating marina, drifting endlessly in the "bay". Matthias was glad to have something else to look at other then the strange, gyrating lights and blotches of liquid shadow that composed the Warp.
Gould walked over and sat down on the white leather couch across from the window. He picked up a control wand and signaled for his music player to activate. Almost immediately, the Darkgrovian pound music group War Fetus's newest album issued from hidden speakers, sending rhythmic Kreigian lyrics echoing throughout the room. With this as a backdrop, Gould looked over his mission documents.
The mission was very simple: he was to go in, appraise the situation and recommend military response. It seemed a routine enough job, one that he had done hundreds of times before. But, throwing a proverbial wrench into the engine, he would have company.
Gould's old friend, the bounty hunter Jack Constantine, would accompany him as backup. The file stated that Constantine was chasing a fugitive who escaped into the death marshes, and he would accompany Gould in the hopes of finding the man. The fugitive would no doubt need to find shelter from the harsh landscape of the area, and Castle Tannhauser was the only known structure in the marshes. So Jack was coming along to give chase. This slightly annoyed Gould. He had no doubts about Jack's combat abilities; he was one of the Imperium's most famous bounty hunters, a living legend, but Gould was uneasy with having to lead Jack through the marshes. The area messed with the minds of normal people, confused them, and Gould's psychic abilities were the only thing that allowed him to navigate successfully through the marshes without becoming lost.
By now, the album had advanced two tracks and was playing a haunting combination of orchestrated and synthesized music accompanied by choral singing in High Gothic. It was one of Gould's favorite tracks by the artist. Even so, Gould walked over and switched the player off. It was time to make planetfall.
He exited his apartment, locked it behind him, and made his way down to his personal armory. This large, well lit room contained all of Detective Gould's weapons, a virtual arsenal comprised of everything from swords, handguns, and SMGs, to rocket launchers, wall mines, and heavy explosives. Gould strode past a rack of Edelweiss Arms-made assault rifles and advanced on a gun case he knew very well. Inside it was one of Gould's favorite weapons. Inside was a TAC Desert Hunter.
The TAC Desert Hunter was the magnum opus of the Tallarn Armament Corporation. Literally, as it fired magnum ammunition. Technically, it was a large semi automatic handgun firing solid slug ammunition from a detachable, in grip, box magazine. It came in a variety of chamberings and configurations to outfit it for any situation where high lethality and takedown power was needed. Soldiers loved it. It was robust and intimidating, making it the prime choice for anyone wishing to demoralize a foe.
Gould lifted the gleaming weapon from its case and inserted a magazine with a click. Chambering a round with a loud Ca-Chack, Gould holstered it. He then walked over to a wall and pulled a sawn off shotgun from a rack. Specifically, it was a Shalebridge Arms Mark 59 "Legion" hunting shotgun cut down to its present size with a power saw. Gould slipped this weapon into an adjustable holster and grabbed a bandolier of rounds. After slinging these over his shoulder and grabbing a few pieces of assorted kit from their respective places, Gould left the room.
He then proceeded down to the docking bay, where a shuttle was waiting to take him planetside. As he was walking down a brightly lit service corridor, looking over the mission documents one more time, he failed to notice two hooded men step out of a service closet behind him. He finally realized what was happening when he felt a cold muzzle press up against the back of his head.
"Alright, don't move," one of them said, sporting a thick Cadian accent, "Unless you do exactly what we say there'll be murder."
Gould turned around slowly and got a good look at his attackers. One of them was tall and muscular, and the other was short and fat. Both men looked to be of mixed Cadian and Vitrian ethnicity.
"What's your name?" Gould asked the tall man.
"Shoot him," the fat man told his compatriot.
"Ohh," Gould said mockingly. Neither of the men looked like killers. They were frozen in place, not moving a muscle. Gould studied the men's weapons; compact stubpistols chambered in 9mm. Closer scrutiny, however, revealed something to Gould. These men had obviously been very anxious about confronting someone like him. And in their panicked haste, they had forgotten one very basic thing, and this mistake had just tipped the odds in Gould's favor.
"Well," Gould said, in a mock defeated tone, "You boys must be pretty proud of yourselves, getting onto my ship and ambushing me like this. But you've got it all wrong. You've got nothing on me. I've still got the upper hand, you see," he said, smiling triumphantly.
He continued, "Perhaps it's the fact that your weapons don't have a round chambered. See that little indicator on the side?" he said, with a satisfied smirk at the surprised looks on his assailants' faces, "And my Desert Hunter, point three-five-seven, does."
He pulled the weapon from his long coat with a flourish and flicked the safety off, "Now, drop your guns and put your hands up. Make any sudden moves and your dead. Blah Blah Blah. You know how this goes."
The fat man reacted faster then Gould would have imagined, lunging for Gould's weapon. A loud bang reverberated throughout the hall, and the man fell dead, his shirt becoming rapidly stained by his own crimson blood. But by then, the thin man had lunged at Gould also, racking the slide of his weapon. Gould parried the pistol thrust in his face and fired back. The shot missed the man's head by inches. The man fired, Gould dodged, using his psychic powers to enhance his reaction time and awareness. Parry – Fire – Dodge – Reengage – Parry – Fire – Dodge - Reengage. The cycle continued, one of them firing while the other one knocked the weapon away. Eventually, Gould found a break in the man's defenses. Seizing the opportunity, Gould jabbed his weapon and fired. The shot snapped the man's head back violently. He slumped to the floor, looking very much the worse for wear and sporting a large, ugly bullet hole between his eyes.
Gould sighed and reloaded his weapon. He then walked over to the Vox set on the wall and keyed the common channel.
"Deckhand Yahlstein, please dispose of the mess in corridor twenty three. Take it to hold seven, please. This order is effective immediately and overridingly. That is all."
Turning and surveying the scene one last time, Gould continued to the waiting shuttle. On the way to the docking bay, he turned the situation over and over in his mind. The attack posed many more unanswered questions. If they were dealing with an organization with the resources to send operatives onto his tightly secure ship, guarded by dock security and gun servitors, Gould hoped that he would live long enough to see them answered.
………………………………………………………………………………...
Well, here's the second chapter. What do you think?
I always imagine that Gould has a fighting style similar to the style of Gun Kata.
Trivia Fun Facts of the day: The songs playing in the fic are meant to sound similar to E Nomine's song "Opus Magnum" and Era's song "Enae Volare Mezzo" respectively. I was listening to these songs while I wrote this so I thought I would include a reference to them as they partially inspired this chapter. (Note, they are not meant to be the same songs.)
Also, the name of the sawn off shotgun, the Mark 59 Legion, is a reference to the Biblical verse Mark 5:9, which reads: "And He asked it who it was, and it responded, saying, "I am Legion, for we are many."
The name Shalebridge Arms is a reference to the Shalebridge Cradle, from Thief, Deadly Shadows.
Just to note, a "box" magazine is a regular "magazine" in the traditional handgun sense. I.E. like you would see on a Colt 1911 or M16. Also, 9mm still exists in 40k, as mentioned in the Ravenor novels, so it can be assumed that many modern calibers are still around.
The songs are the property of their respective owners.
(Additional note: The name of the band War Fetus is the property Alex Weise and Ross Edel. Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.)
Update ticker: some dialog was reworked to flow better, and some punctuation mistakes were corrected.
R&R Please. I would love to hear your thoughts as the story unfolds.
Yet another note: I may revise or edit this in the future. Just so you know.