Fame Cimex Chapter 9
Jareq slipped out of the Captain's quarters with a soft tread. The Thunderlord's passages stretched away from him, cold metal and exposed pipes as far as the eye could see. Votive candles framed small shrines to the Emperor, though if they were memorials of a man or shrines to a god varied depending on which company was currently deployed on the ship. The air was stale and carried the smells of too many unwashed bodies and the sounds of the ship's bones creaking from old wounds was a familiar tone.
Curtly dismissed Jareq found himself with that rarest of treasures, free time, and he intended to make the most of it. He set off with a jaunty step, heading aft from the master's quarters. Soon he found a grav-lift and alighted, before directing the embedded servitor to descend fifty decks. A ship the size of the Light of Terra could not easily be crossed by foot or ladder, so a variety of transit capsules and lifts provided swift travel.
Light played over Jareq's face, blinking as levels came and went. He bore the appearance of a man of middling years, though Juvenat treatments meant he was actually several decades older. Firm of eye and with a square jaw, strong cheek bones and a broad nose. His arms were strong, biceps barely fitting into the loose tunic he wore and his back was straight. His tunic was plain, but bore the Chapter's icon on its breast, ringed by a circle of gold. Faint scars on his chest spoke of surgical scars, but they were few and fading. The signs of one taken as an aspirant to the Chapter, but rejected due to genic incompatibilities. One other thing marked him out, a worn medallion on a string about his neck. He held it close to his breast and did not speak of it.
Soon his lift came to a halt and Jareq stepped into a busy concourse. Here teeming masses of people came and went, busying about a multitude of tasks. Serfs all, young and old, lean and fit or doddering and elderly. Deck hands shouted at the throng to make way as they drove supplies to remote destinations. Archivists protested as they struggled to carry stacked rolls of Honour Scrolls. Artisans swung incense braziers as they paid homage to the Machine Spirit of the ship and younger boys plodded behind stern overseers, moaning about their aching feet whenever they could get away with it.
Jareq noted an Overseer directing a chain-gang towards their shift-posting. Indentured workers, they would be bound to a gun or a munition hoist and be worked in shifts till they died. Astartes warships merited more Technoarcana than the Imperial Navy, but no vessel in the Emperor's realm operated without thousands upon thousands of impressed hands, scooped form Hive Sinks and overpopulated slums across the stars. Jareq gave them no mind, criminals and wastrels, he cared nothing for their fate. An island boy from Lujan II, he looked down upon all those born from urban slums as corrupt, decadent and worthless.
Jareq stepped into the crowd and people made way for his passing. A few turned to rebuke him, but shrank before the spiral in a starburst on his breast. The icon was universal, but the ring of gold denoted that he served the Space Marines directly. The hierarchy of serfs below decks was complex and byzantine, but none were more esteemed than those who served the Space Marines in person. Jareq walked unhindered, till he came to a squared market. The Astartes would be surprised to learn it but humans had needs beyond food and water, and where there were people there was commerce. Here plethora's of assorted goods were traded, from fresh fruits to iho-sticks, religious trinkets and crude jewellery hammered out of old brass and glass.
"Looking for something new?" a soft voice greeted Jareq as he stepped within.
"What you got Mayra?" he asked the buxom woman leaning over a stall.
"Got new boots, in your size," the woman replied, "Taken off a dead man in the bilges and hardly worn."
"I'm set for boots," Jareq sniffed.
"Meat then, ship rat, caught this morning and stewed till you can't tell where it came from?"
"Tempting, but I'm in the mood for selling," Jareq said.
"Information?" Mayra asked with interest, "Can be worth a lot to the right people."
"Big changes upstairs, reform among the Companies. I reckon that's worth my price."
Jareq eyed the woman's curves, which were notable. Her chest was full, her face fair and a big mass of hair framed her head. Her expression however chilled, "I don't take coin for that."
"You sang a different song the other week."
"That was fun, this is business. Don't mix the two."
Jareq scowled but didn't push it, "How about some bottles of rotgut?"
"Two bottles, no more."
"Fair deal."
"You get caught drunk on duty, it's your arse."
"I'm not that stupid."
Mayra ducked under her stall and came up with two bottles of clay make. Inside thick liquid sloshed, potent and heavy. Ship rotgut brewed on board, hardly the fine ceremonial wines the Space Marines savoured, but strong enough to peel paint. Jareq could make these last weeks, he knew better than to overdo it, the hangover was bad enough but if he was caught drunk at his post he'd be a Servitor before the day was out.
He reached out but Mayra taunted, "Nah ha, intel first."
Jareq sighed, "Third Company is being reformed, out of Second and the scratch. Captain Toran's being named Third Captain."
"That will shake things up below decks, good to know. Certain people can use this."
"Nothing untoward I hope?"
"What do you take me for, we serve the Masters in all things."
That was true, the serfs were humans but their fealty to the Space Marines was unbreakable. Many of them were failed aspirants, and Hypno-indoctrination was binding. Even those without it viewed the Space Marines with awe, lords of war and stern angels of judgement. For those born inside the Fortress-Monastery and in the Chapter's fleet the Storm Heralds spoke with the God-Emperor's voice. Jareq was high in the ranks, but even he was nothing set against the meanest Space Marine.
Mayra frowned, "You worked hard to get posted to Captain Toran, didn't ye?"
"What's it to you?" Jareq snapped.
"I get he's new to the role and needs a hand with the finer details."
"Are you questioning his right to command?!"
"Never, but scuttlebutt is he got jumped up too early and isn't too popular with the other Captains. Just wondering why you volunteered to shuffle paper for him all day long, when you could have been bridge crew."
Jareq didn't want to answer that and took the bottles, "I should go."
Mayra didn't seem put out, "Come by after shift change and I'll help you open them."
"I thought you didn't mix business with pleasure."
"Our business is done, come back later and we'll see about the fun."
She gifted him a wink and then turned to the next person waiting. Jareq took off, knowing he should stow his rotgut and get back to his post before Toran summoned him. He walked with a brisk step, eager for the night watch to begin. Life as a serf was hard and demanding, but it had its perks. There were plenty of ways for a man to build a life under the Storm Herald's aegis and he intended to do exactly that.