A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.
Chapter One
"Incoming, target has a lock!"
"Launch photon pods, now!"
Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.
"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.
"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.
"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.
"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.
"Do we have any escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.
A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.
"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.
"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"
"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"
"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."
"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."
When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.
The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.
The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.
Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.
"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.
"What better way to test our new device?"
"But it could self-destruct!"
"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."
"But who says we'll go back in time?"
"You'll have to trust my judgement…"
Chapter Two
"You ready, Will?"
Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"
"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.
They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.
"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.
As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…
Chapter Three
All across the Custodian, fire warriors marched down its long corridors in perfect formation, in rows of five by four they marched, their rifles propped up against them on their right hands, holding their helmets in their left, their expressions were blank, their pace perfectly in time with their comrades, a single mind for twenty men. They came in long columns of men, just ten metres between each unit, every twenty units was led by a single ethereal, this was the exercise routine every passenger on the vast battleship had to undergo in order to avoid 'space-cramps' and 'water-bones', which meant it was almost impossible to move unless you walk at least ten thousand steps per day. Battle suits were constantly being field-tested in the firing range for faults, hammerheads and other large vehicles were loaded with fuel for their pulse weaponry, ever solid object more than 4x5 cm was rigorously scrubbed with antibacterial disinfectants to avoid the unlikely possibility of disease that plagued many ships which travel thorough the warp, even on short hops, normally associated as 'warp-sickness'.
The water caste devised plans all day with the commanders in a vast meeting room at the forefront of the ship. Resources were constantly being mined from every odd microscopic rock their air vents happened to come across, some worthless, some containing precious concentrations of pulse fuel found in many elements, which can be diluted and fed into a recycling hub, each microscopic strand of this fuel could be expanded to allow one railgun shot, a very real game changer. Thus the hammerhead battle tanks and Broadside heavy battle suits were filled to the brim with this precious resource, wary of the challenges ahead. The inhabitants of the ship spent their free time getting used to the ever present smell of cleansing disinfectant, gazed out the window at the nothingness, except for a small sun in the distance that, every day, tiny black dots ever so slightly dimed the brightness. That was their goal.
Engineers ran past in units of 4x5, hauling sheets of 4x5 metre metal to a warehouse that measured a colossal 4x5 kilometres down in the storage bay. Everything was 4x5, the Tau love organisation above everything else.
Gilbert yawned loudly on purpose while the credits rolled on his mate's favourite film, Independence Day, John replied with death looks then sighed at his colleague's total lack of respect and returned to the monitors showed a constant feed of action from the cameras on satellites deep in the solar system in strategic points, he also had screens showing the strengths of the tides across the world and a vast assortment of maps in a messy pile beneath. The monitors were big fat things with about 200 GB each. Much more than the 'stylish' Macs of the present with their paper thin screens. But the keyboards were fat, clunky and continuous jabbing was sure to wake the whole centre up from their midnight beauty sleep. It was an astrological centre on the top of a dusty mountain in Utah. NASA funded… for now, nothing new had been discovered since their self-employed staff had found a rock on Venus with a small concentration of liquid water, yet no bacteria whatsoever, it was a breakthrough 6 months ago in 2014, but nothing had happened since, the planets continued to move round the sun, small rocks collided with the sun and made solar flares a few meters bigger than normal, that's it. John rubbed his eyes and scanned the screens individually, S205 was encountering some static; it was the outermost satellite, about 2,000 miles away from the solar system. "Got some fuzziness on Jackrabbit 5," John yawned, then sipped at his cold 'hot' chocolate. Something caught his eye: a large shape, moving impossibly fast towards the screen, the fuzziness increased and there was a loud grinding as the satellite was shunted back, as if a wall of air had been rammed into it, before the satellite exploded in a fantastic array of red and orange fire, John glimpsed the thing that had destroyed their prized Series 2 v20 engine powered explorer satellite, Jackrabbit no. 5. A vast construct of unimaginable size, engines roaring, heading straight for Earth…